Okay, so, this may be the shortest recap I've ever delivered. Why? Because I just returned home from the hospital, where I spent the major portion of the day sitting to my poor Hank4 while doctors prodded and poked him, primarily because he had a temperature hovering right around the 105 degree marker which, really, means that he spent the major portion of the day wondering if he was just one step away from spontaneous human combustion, and the damn twelve-year-old interns spent the major portion of the day going, "Um. Wow. We're just absolutely baffled here." until I really wanted to spank each and every one of them with a spiked paddle until they cried out loud for their mommies, and I had to have Sandman bring Hank4 and me home to my apartment, even though I'm sure Hank4 would rather be at his own place around the corner, because I really don't want him to be alone right now and I want to take care of him, but I have to do this bloody recap and I'm already really late with it and I don't want Sars and Wing to fire my ass, so my sad, sickly ball of molten sweetness is out in the living room wrapped in three down comforters and wailing at me that the damn antibiotics for his eventually-diagnosed kidney infection aren't DOING A DAMN THING AND WHY IS JOHN TRAVOLTA ON THE TV AND HOW DO I CHANGE THE CHANNEL AND ARE YOU DONE YET?
So, you know, I'm in a bit of a muddle here.
Oh, and my VCR decided it just wouldn't tape this last episode so thneed, one of the GP posters, had to send me her copy just to save my sorry Irish ass. So, you know, thank you, thneed. Thank you from the bottom of my retarded little heart.
Ahem.
Okay, either Kev's fully come out of the gay PA closet or he's helping Dave rehearse a scene, because the show opens with Kev whispering, "What's the matter? You're not afraid to kiss me, are you?" Dave, stuttering, says, "I j-j-just d-d-don't want to kiss you in front of all these people, that's all. C-c-can't we do this in private?" Um, is Dave fully out of the stand-in closet? Wait. It's like I thought. Kev's helping Dave rehearse a scene for an audition. Dave tells Kev that his audition has to be perfect. Kev thinks that Dave just wants to get this part because he wants to kiss Marcy. Dave, who can clearly see that Kevin has missed taking his daily clue pill, tells him that he wants to get this part because, you know, HE WANTS TO GET JUST ONE PART. You know, BEFORE HE DIES?
Later that day, Hunter's surveying the wardrobe stock in search of the perfect wedding dress. Um. Hello? Can anyone say Barneys? This is Hollywood, isn't it? They do have shopping malls, don't they? The Barracuda is not pleased with the selection and orders the wardrobe mistress to copy Catherine Zeta-Jones's dress and just bill the show. The wardrobe mistress flips Hunter the bird and hollers, "Well, slap my ass and call me Mary! Our little girl's a gittin' married! How 'bout you take your 'Catherine Zeta' wedding-dress request and stick it right up your soon-to-be-drooping ASS!!" Or something like that.
Meanwhile, Coco's going off about the whole shotgun-wedding thing. She can't believe they're supposed to take this whole thing seriously when Hunter's known Dweezil for about as long as it takes to shove a frozen pea up your right nostril. "I mean, she spent more time picking out that new car," she says incredulously. "Well," reasons Schmarce, "it was a three-year lease." Schmarce goes on to say that Hunter looks so happy and at least she has someone. "I don't have anyone," Schmarce whines. "I don't even have a date for the wedding." The light bulb in Coco's dim, dim, pitch-black head goes off and she suggests Dave for Schmarce's date. Schmarce thinks it'll be awkward and inappropriate if she asked one of Hunter's ex-boinking partners to be her escort. "You're right," says Coco. "I'd hate for Hunter's last-minute wedding to turn into a big joke." Sniff. Sniff. Do you smell that? Why, it just reeks of sarcasm.
Over in his director's chair, Rob's going off about David E. Kelley while he reads Variety. Rob really needs to get over himself. He writes and produces a schlocky teen orgy, not schlocky legal-eagle-based mini-dramas. He's nowhere NEAR David E. Kelley's Emmy-sucking talent. Kevin walks up as Rob's in mid-tirade and tells him that, for what it's worth, he was a stutterer himself once and that Dave really nailed the affliction in his audition. Rob wholeheartedly agrees. This, of course, doesn't mean that he's not going to give the part to some crappy New York actor who's doing one of the network execs. Too bad for Dave, I guess. Rob says that, unlike David E. Kelley, he has no say in whom to cast. Kev comforts him by saying that he does have a say in what to order for lunch. Again with the food. Always Rob and the food.
Hunter's publicist is yammering on about what pathetic rag has bargained for the exclusive photo rights to the wedding. People? Entertainment Weekly? Teen Beat? Nope. Sorry. The honor goes to Hora!, the most popular magazine in Spain that no one's ever heard of. Hunter balks at this news, but since the honor comes with a $500,000 check, she's not going to bitch about the details. There's also a gratuitous titty-shot here as Hunter inexplicably changes on camera for no reason. Hi there, boosting the ratings much? Oops. Too late. Season's over. Moving on. The publicist (who, by the way, has some wack hair going on here and a three-pack-a-day voice that's actually drawing Hank4 from his tomb to see if she looks as sexy as she sounds. "Fuck," he snuffles and mopes back to his lair. Sorry, honey. I'll call you when Nomi Malone shows up) asks Hunter what celeb bridesmaids she has lined up, and is very disappointed to learn that all Hunter has are Schmarce and Coco. But, for a hefty $25,000 price tag, she can get Hunter a name. Just a name? For twenty-five grand I'd expect a body as well.