Episode Report Card Mr. Sobell: C | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Wait, So Now The Parrot's Jesus?
By Mr. Sobell | Season 1 | Episode 2 | Aired on 06.16.2007
John: Right there with you, bro.
But the scene doesn't transpire that way, not at all. But before that happens, we learn that Butchie isn't feeling dope-sick right now -- wonder if John's presence has anything to do with that? -- and that he needs to take a horrendous dump. Hey, so does John -- or at least he follows Butchie into the bathroom and repeats Butchie's line about needing to take a horrendous dump. Butchie heads outside to give John some privacy, but not before noting that he has yet to see John heed nature's call at any time during the past 24 hours. Perhaps I'm biased, but I preferred the way my scene unfolded -- a lot less scatology.
At the Yost manse, Shaun is checking out the results of the Huntington surfing competition on a perfectly good MacBook that he's defaced with stickers. Sacrilege! I hear if Steve Jobs and Jonathan Ive find out about stuff like that, they personally drive to your home, confiscate your Mac and leave you with a Dell Inspiron instead. In Shaun's case, however, it just makes Linc skulk around outside the front door. "Shaunie Yost," Linc says with just a touch of false bonhomie. "I got your demo, man. It rocks." Cissy stares at Linc through the screen door like she's wandered in the middle of Death Valley and he's running the area's only lemonade stand. Linc asks for two minutes to explain his awesome representational powers. Cissy opens the door -- literally and figuratively -- to evil and tells him to speed it along -- Mitch will be home soon, and he doesn't like ex-90210 cast members corrupting his grandchildren.
Still waiting for John to finish his business, Butchie exchanges pleasantries to Ramon who's like, "What, are you still here? You know the place got sold to a whack-job who wants to level the joint, right?" Butchie gives him the hang loose sign and heads back inside to inquire if John is "all dumped out." Indeed, he is, and he's not just saying that because it was the last thing repeated to him. Well, he is, actually, but play along. "A-plus on the fume control, pal," observes Butchie before launching into his own morning ablutions. "Radio silence now, John, until further notification," Butchie continues. "This is a dump a grown man can be proud of." You know, say what you will about Butchie -- deadbeat father, horrible addict, damaged person -- but this cat sure is enthusiastic about his bowel movements.
Two minutes must have passed, because Linc has completed his spiel to Shaun and Cissy. And just in time for Mitch to arrive home and wonder what Linc is doing darkening his door. Cissy begs him to let the Prince of All Lies get a word in, and for good reason -- Linc pulled some strings and got Shaun in that competition at Huntington, after all. Mitch does not seem particularly grateful, launching into a tirade about the evils of corporate sponsorship in the surf world; Cissy tells him too cool it. "Just this once, Mitch," she whispers. "Think what Shaunie wants." And me too, Mitch -- think about my insatiable need to churn out surf legends. Well, she doesn't add that part, but I pretty much figured it was the subtext here. Linc decides a more direct appeal to Shaunie is in order: Hey kid, I was once a surfer, too. But I was never good enough to give people a thrill just by watching me -- not like your old man and his old man. And not like you, either. Instead, I figured out I could exploit the hell out of folks like you and make a pretty penny doing it. And sure, I made mistakes, like helping turn your old man into a junkie, but I've learned from those mistakes, and let's let bygones be bygones and what say you just sign here on the dotted line? That's a paraphrase, of course, but the bottom line is that Linc realizes that he no longer needs to sell an image: "The thing itself -- that's the thing." Mitch snorts that's an awful convenient conclusion to come too now that he sleeps on bags of money, surrounded by beautiful women. But his words have apparently convinced Shaun: "I'd like to compete," he says. "I like it." Mitch seems to realize he's licked. "No image," he tells Linc, who agrees that it will be all about the surfing and no Butchie-esque bad-boy marketing techniques. Maybe Mitch should get that in writing.