Okay, first of all, no more Queer as Folk screening parties for me. I forget how extremely embarrassed I get watching, uh, "sexually-oriented" material with large groups of people, and spent half the ep hiding in the kitchen, and the other half braced to go flee to the kitchen. Thank God for VCRs. And the only reason I'm telling you is because RedDev said that if I didn't, she would. Stop laughing, RD. Knock it off, I have to do the recap.
So, Showtime opens with this, like,thousand-word disclaimer which basically translated to: "ATTENTION EVERYONE ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET EVERYWHERE: In no way, shape or manner are all the Naked Gay Men meant to offend you!" For half a minute there, I thought I was going to have to sign a waiver. And yes, in my world, "Naked Gay Men" is capitalized. Get used to it.
The opening credits are an onslaught of pastel neon colors, against which muscle-bound men wearing various types of not much and the occasional cowboy hat -- they show up a lot in QaF so we'll just call them the Hot Dancing Gay Boys -- writhe frenetically to a pumping techno beat.
And now we're in Babylon, a gay club in Pittsburgh. And what did I tell you, it's Hot Gay Dancing Boy Central! Sweaty, gorgeous, half-naked men as far as the camera can pan. Man, I gotta tell you -- I love my life. Over a disco mix of "Can you Feel It?" originally by the Jackson Five, Hal Sparks voice-overs, "It's all about sex...they say that men think about sex every twenty-eight seconds. Of course with gay men, it's every nine...and that's why we're here at one in the morning, instead of home in bed."
Cut to a blank-looking demi-god standing at the bar. "That's me," Michael says, "...I wish." The camera jets down the bar to Hal Sparks. "This is me. Michael Novotny, the cute boy--door type. Twenty-nine, 5'10", 140, 9 and a half, cut -- all right, so I exaggerate." The sly eyebrow-raise at the end gets a chuckle. I'm not made of stone, here. If you amuse me, I laugh.
Michael's standing between two other men -- one tall, dressed in a tight orange midriff-revealing shirt and what looks like magenta leather pants -- Emmett -- and the other a nebbish-looking guy in a polo and jeans. That would be Ted. As the music switches to a club mix of "Let's Hear it for the Boy," Emmett asks the others, "Since when did '70s night become '80s night?" Personally, I'm bracing myself for "'90s night," at which point I will officially declare myself dead. Emmett's musing leads to group nostalgia about disco music, which leads to an off-key but spirited group rendition of "I Love the Night Life," which is interrupted when yet another gorgeous and mostly naked man walks past. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" Emmett sighs. "Venice. At Sunset," Ted replies, not meaning it. And wrong, too. "Well," Emmett snaps, "you go down the Grand Canal. I'll go down on him." I like Emmett. "Emmett's campy, but you have to admire him," Michael voice-overs. "These days, it's not easy being a Queen among commoners." Tell me about it. The tiara cleaning fees alone...As they are passed by still another off-duty Hot Dancing Gay Boy, Ted, sounding remarkably like a fifteen-year-old boy complaining about the cheerleader who snubbed him, gripes about "perfection's inability to recognize anything but itself." Emmett calls it -- Ted hit on that particular HDGB, and got shot down. Snicker. Michael voice-overs, "Ted...has a really big heart. But nobody here is interested in that organ." Well, what organ are they -- oh. Never mind. Sorry, I usually think of that as an appendage. ["Oh. Not the brain, then." -- Wing Chun]
Michael continues talking about how it's all about the sex, until you have sex, and then you worry about the sex you're having. Unless you're Brian Kinney, Michael says. Cut to a young man, cruelly beautiful in a tight blue t-shirt and jeans, dancing with a mesmerized HDGB, "Then it's, 'Who gives a fuck? You're lucky to have me.'" Brian grabs the HDGB by the front of his pants and drags him to a back area separated from the dance floor by thick chain-link curtains. Michael, inexplicably, decides this is the best time to tell Brian that they need to go home.
Michael pushes past the silver-spangle-speedoed masses -- like I could make that up -- into a red-lit room in which a lot of men are having all kinds of sex. GAY sex. So, just in case you were wondering when it was going to get "shocking," wake up. We're here.
Michael, after casually greeting another, uh, occupied friend of his, finds Brian and growls, "It's late. Let's go!" The HDGB already has Brian's zipper down, so I'm thinking that's not going to happen. Brian says, "I'm just going to give him my number." "What did you do, write it on your dick?" Michael snaps back. I lose my train of thought wondering if he was able to include the area code. And, wait, if he gives him his work phone, then there's probably an extension number, too! Huh? Oh, right. Recap.
Outside Babylon, Emmett and Ted wait for Michael and Brian to emerge. Emmett's rating and greeting all the drag queens: "Not everybody can wear tangerine," he tells Ted, as Michael comes out. Of the club. GOD. Michael tells the others that Brian will be done in a minute, Ted does much bitching about having to go to work in the morning. Since it turns out that Ted has his own car, he could leave anytime, but whatever. Emmett notices that there's a man on the corner staring at Michael. Michael confirms that he's been "cruising me all night!" He says this like it's a bad thing. Annoying, even. Emmett says, "Check out that bubble butt. And that basket? There's enough there for the Big, Bad Wolf." I do so like Emmett. Why be boring, you know? Michael says there's more to a man than penis size or a nice butt. True, but usually not at one in the morning. That late, you're pretty much down to the basics. Or so I've heard. [Cough] Anyway, Ted says that if that's true, then why is Michael obsessed with those over-muscled guys in comic books? Awkward exposition. My favorite. Michael insists he's not interested in the Cruiser. Ted says this is his chance to prove to Brian that he's not the only one that can get laid.
Meanwhile, out on Liberty Avenue, a blond teenage boy, looking like the youngest person in the history of the world, gapes open-mouthed (let's leave that one alone, shall we?) at his surroundings. He walks up to a guy dressed all in black, who's leaning against a lamppost, and asks him where's a good place to go. The guy counts down all the clubs and their different types of gay clientele, including an intriguing reference to "the twinkies at Boytoy."
I'm a straight girl, so I call my GayRef (conveniently on speed-dial) and ask, "What's a twinkie?" "Young, cute, boy," he tells me. "I thought those were 'chickens,'" I reply. "Well, anyone young is a chicken. Twinkies actually work at the 'cute' thing," GR says. You stop growing once you stop learning, I always say.
Anyway, the older guy tells the kid to forget about it and just come home with him. The kid blows him off. Uh, I mean, he turns him down. DAMMIT! The kid says no. That's it. That's what happens, all right? Geez, and just think -- only twenty-one more episodes to go. The guy scoffs at him to go home to his Mommy. The kid backs away slowly, but not from whence he came.
Outside Babylon, Brian shows up at last. As they pile into Brian's Jeep, Ted and Emmett riff off him about the HDGB, whom Brian says wasn't that great: "I got bored." Ted and Emmett are like, oh yeah, we know how that is. Michael adds, "He looked hot to me." Brian replies, "Anyone would look hot to you." But he says it in a nasty way, making me think that maybe I'm not supposed to like him.
And here comes the kid, slo-mo, through the steam pouring out of the manhole covers (dammit) in the street. I'm not kidding. It's in slow motion. And it's pretty silly. Brian is riveted. Michael, watching from the other side of the Jeep, senses trouble. Sharp. Brian's obviously still horny and the blond looks like he's NINE YEARS OLD. Mr. Magoo could see the danger here. Brian ignores his friends, walks up to the kid, stops about two inches from his face and asks, "Busy night?" Total invasion of personal space, but the boy -- whose name is Justin -- doesn't really seem to mind, and I gotta tell ya, I probably wouldn't have, either. Trying to be cool, Justin says he's been bar-hopping, rattling off all the places the other guy told him about, including a leather bar. Not. Rather than slough through Brian's intensely cheesy pick-up master retinue, yada, yada, yada, Brian ends up leaving Ted, Emmett, and Michael on the curb and takes Justin home. On their way to Ted's car, the trio pass Michael's Cruiser, who Michael tries to shoo away like a stray dog.
Brian's spacious and stylish Downtown Penthouse Loft. Brian walks in, takes off his shirt, heads straight for the refrigerator, and pulls a bottle of water. Justin hovers near the door, which Brian tells him to close. Justin takes a deep breath, steels himself, and pulls the door closed. Brian...okay, Brian stands in the middle of the loft, and POURS the entire bottle of water over his head. The camera focuses on the water dripping down his face, his hair, down his muscled chest...cough...um, right. So, Justin's response to this? "Nice kitchen," he says, looking terrified. ["I think if someone did that in front of me, I would have to laugh until I developed an aneurysm and then run away. Which is why it's a good thing I'm not a Hot Dancing Gay Boy." -- Wing Chun] Brian asks Justin if he likes Special K. Justin replies that it's okay, but he likes Cheerios better. Sigh. Brian, of course, meant drugs, and pulls a packet out of his back pocket, "mixed especially for [him] by [his] discopharmacologist." Is that an actual medical profession? Justin says that he can't, he's pretty much allergic to everything, including Tylenol. Brian says that Tylenol is what they give you when you're allergic to everything else. While they're talking, Brian's stripping down to his jockstrap. In the middle of his living room. But I guess it's his living room, and he can strip there if he wants. I don't really mind, I'm just saying. Justin's committed to finishing this conversation, though; he says that codeine is the worst for him, since it makes him vomit and have diarrhea. Brian pushes down the jockstrap: "Well, we'll be sure to keep that one on the top shelf." And there he is, in all his naked glory. Well, we just get to see his naked butt, but believe me, that's glorious enough.
Justin can't even produce drool.
"So," Brian asks, "are you coming or going? Or coming, and then going? Or coming and staying?" That's a lot of choices to give someone who no longer has any blood flowing to his brain. Justin takes off his jacket and joins Brian in the middle of the loft. The two start kissing, backed by dance music whose lyrics scream, "Man! Man! Boy! Boy! You think you're a man/you're only a boy! You think you're a MAN! You're only a BOY!" I am seriously not making this stuff up. The two continue to make out as the camera cuts and dips and weaves and circles them and does all kinds of neat tricks.
Ted drops Emmett and Michael off. Emmett notices that Michael's Cruiser has followed them and is parked across the street. Emmett reminds Michael that he hasn't had sex in quite some time, and just to go for it.
Back to Brian and Justin. They're in bed. Brian's straddling Justin and giving him a hand job, but warns him not to come yet. He asks Justin what he likes to do. "I don't know. Watch TV. Play Tomb Raider." Okey doke, Justin's just a kid. He's a virgin. He's new. We get it. Brian asks him what he likes to do in bed. Justin professes not to be picky. He's versatile, "and ambidextrous, which makes it really hard to decide which hand to throw with." Sigh. No, really, WE GET IT. Brian asks him if he likes to rim. Justin says sure. Brian, knowing Justin has no clue, and not moving an inch, tells him to go for it. Brian's cell phone rings at this moment. From the one-sided conversation, we can figure out that whoever it is has been trying to reach him for a while, but he was out, and whatever happened just happened and Brian needs to get wherever. He's pretty coordinated himself --- he continues jerking Justin off during the whole conversation, which ends up being a bad thing, because Justin comes all over Brian and the bed. Brian, of course, yells at him for it. "It'll wash out, won't it?" Justin asks, worried. "I mean, you should see my sheets at home." I'll bet.
Back at Michael and Emmett's apartment, Michael's hooking up with the Cruiser. Emmett walks through on his way back to his room, and Michael explains that Emmett's lived with him ever since a hooker burned down his apartment building two years ago. He doesn't say if the hooker was gunning for Emmett, or if it was just an unfortunate baking accident, or what, and now I'm damn curious. Michael reaches into the back of the man's jeans and pulls out...a fake butt. The guy's actually proud of it, telling Michael it's called "The Butt," and he got it out of a catalogue. Michael doesn't quite know what to say. But he, too, is saved by the ringing of the phone.
It's Brian: "It's happened. I'm picking you up in ten minutes. I need you." No "Hi, how you doing? Sorry to call so late." None of that. People have such horrible phone manners these days. Or it could just be Brian. Michael says he's "kind of got [my] hands full," right now. The Rubber Booty Buddy Bugger (™Shack) pulls a fake penis out of the front of his jeans. "It's called 'The Bulge,'" he says. "If you get them together, there's a discount." Jesus.
Brian hears the Cruiser in the background, and starts to tease Michael about having someone over. "I can't believe it," Brian says. "You should be here," Michael replies. Snerk. "Fuck the shit out of him," Brian tells him. Michael, still holding the fake butt as a shield against RBBB, yells, "No! Pick me up!" He hangs up, then tells RBBB that he has to go, but they'll definitely reschedule, no ifs, ands or -- he winces and hands him "The Butt."
At the loft, Brian tosses Justin his clothes and tells him he has to go home. Justin asks what's going on. Brian says, "Everything." Deep. Also, illuminating. Justin says that he can't go home -- his parents think he's staying with a friend. Parents? Justin futzes that he's in college. He's twenty-one. A sophmore. Uh, a junior. Uh, a sophmore who's almost a junior. And smooooooth. Brian asks, "What year were you born?" Justin thinks and says 1979. Brian says no one has to think about what year they were born. Brian asks again, "How old are you, really?" Justin says he's twenty. Brian keeps looking at him. "Nineteen?" Brian's still looking at him. "Eighteen." Brian: "What is this, a missile launch?" No, that was a few minutes ago on the bed. Ba-dum-dum! Got a million of them, folks. All for you. And Justin's seventeen. Years old. As in, born the year Return of the Jedi came out. Which means I'm showing both my age and my geek quotient, but hey, you know I hide in the kitchen during sex scenes. We have no secrets. Right. So, Brian doesn't seem particularly upset, like you and I would be if we'd just committed a felony. "What is it with kids today?" Brian asks, laughing. "We just want to get laid like everyone else," Justin retorts with fake bravado. Brian asks him if he's ever had sex before. Justin eventually admits that he hasn't, and asks if Brian's mad. Brian says no, and that he was fourteen his first time. He then relates a story straight out of Playgirl -- not that I would know (cough, cough) -- about being in the locker room while his gym teacher was taking a shower, and walking right in there with all his clothes on, getting down on his knees, and giving the teacher a blow job. Justin is impressed. "Weren't you scared?" Brian: "I guess we're all a little scared our first time." He reaches for his cell phone and smiles. "But I don't remember anymore."
Brian picks up Michael. Michael's upset that Justin is still with him; Brian tells him Justin didn't have any place else to go.
Cut to a hospital hallway, Brian, Justin, and Michael, running, pushing each other playfully as they make their way.
Now comes the part where I actually started to like Brian. You can just imagine my disappointment. Brian, with Michael and Justin close behind, opens a room door. The place is filled with women who are stereotypically lesbian, and pull away from the bed to reveal Melanie, a short brunette, with her arm wrapped around Lindsay, blonde and holding a baby. Melanie's smile fades when she sees Brian. Lindsay looks delighted. "Say hello to your son," Lindsay coos. "Oh my God," Brian and I both reply -- he in shock, me in horror. He makes his way through the Disapproving Lesbians to the bed and says that he's disappointed that he wasn't there when Lindsay gave birth: "After all, how often do I get to see snatch?" The Disapproving Lesbians, including Melanie, are disgusted. Lindsay and I laugh. Brian picks up the baby. Melanie snaps at him to be careful. Brian more or less ignores her. Lindsay says that Melanie wants to name him Abraham, after her grandfather, while Lindsay wants to name him Gus. Brian turns around and asks Justin which one he likes best. Justin says that "he wouldn't survive a day in school named Abraham, but Gus is okay. I like Gus." "Thank you very much, " snaps Melanie, "and who the hell are you?" Definitely a people person. She and I are going to get along just fine, I can tell. Brian -- for shock value, of course -- tells Melanie (while having to be reminded of his name) that Justin was the one who came all over him while Brian was on the phone with her. The Disapproving Lesbians are obediently disgusted. Couldn't help it, Brian says -- he's only seventeen. The Disapproving Lesbians are both shocked and disgusted! Ten points for Brian! Lindsay winces, too, but she's laughing at the same time. And I like her for that, oddly. I have friends who -- while not that extreme -- are just inappropriate, especially at the most inappropriate times, and you still love and support them because they're your friends. Sure, Brian doesn't just have a nice ass, he is one, but really, what are ya gonna do? I am somewhat surprised that he's not afraid one these righteous babes might call Child Services on him, but Brian doesn't seem to give a fuck about much. Oh, well. And, no, I'm not saying it's right that he had sex with a seventeen-year-old. Okay? Okay. Melanie: "So, you and Lindsay both had an infant tonight." Right. But don't go thinking that's the last of the "Brian had a baby, too" jokes. This is, after all, American television, and we don't do subtlety here. You've been warned. Brian makes a comment about the difference being that Justin won't suck on his tits unless he wants him to, and extinguishes my good will. That didn't last long. "Gus." Brian intones, holding his son up to his face. "It is a good butch name." Bastard. He's cute with the baby. The baby reaches out and grazes Brian's face. So cute! Michael takes a picture. Awww. Put down the baby so I can hate you, you jerk! Gah!
Now we're on the hospital roof. Brian gazes over the city, deep in thought. Michael says, "I can't stand all those lesbians, fawning over him with all that goo-goo talk." Brian: "Women like babies." Michael: "I was talking about Justin." See, I told you. A hammer is a staple of all American screenwriters. Please continue not to kid yourself. Michael's trying to draw Brian out about the baby, but all he's getting is that Gus is "a wrinkled little time clock, showing that [Brian's] getting older by the minute." Brian asks Michael why Michael didn't stop him. Michael reminds him that he tried to, and I don't doubt it. Apparently Lindsay laid the flattery on thick. Are you surprised that it worked? Yeah, me, neither. Now he has a kid forever, Michael tells him. Brian says there's one way to fix that, and jumps up on the roof's edge. Michael, pseudo-worried, makes a reference to ER: "Birth and Death in the same episode." That would be a shout-out to Tony Jonas, one of the executive producers of QaF, who was President of Warner Bros. for the first four seasons of ER. It's a lame shout-out, but it's a shout-out nonetheless. Just think of me as your own personal DVD easter egg. Michael screams at Brian to get down. Drama! Brian tells Michael he's going to have to come up and get him. Michael dithers for about ten seconds, and then takes the hand that Brian offers him, fear and worry -- and can it be Unrequited Love? -- written all over his face. Yeah, this is much better. Now you're both about to die. But like I say, drama always wins. Here endeth the lesson. Michael and Brian cling to each other, as a dance tune pops, "What have you done today to make you feel proud?" Good question. Well, let's see. Brian got a bad blow-job in a dance club, took a seventeen-year-old to bed, and missed the birth of his first child, pissing off about ten people in the process and flirting with some serious jail time. Michael almost slept with a man that had neither a real butt nor a real penis, failed to stand up to Brian three or four times, and is not dressed nearly as well as he could be. I, on the other hand, had a fairly productive day at work, look great, and may just finish this recap before Christmas. Those two are about to plummet to their deaths. I'm sitting here typing to you fine people. I win. Brian turns Michael around so that he's closest to the edge of the roof -- TYPICAL! -- and wraps his arms around him. "Let's fly!" Brian says. "I'll be Superman, and you'll be Lois Lane. I'll show you the world." "How come I always have to be Lois Lane?" Michael whines. Well for one thing, Lois Lane doesn't have any balls, either.
Brian and Mike head back to Lindsay's room. They pass a male nurse in the hallway, who gives Brian "The Look." Michael's bemused. "I fucked him," Brian says. "You looked at him," Michael replies. "I fucked him," Brian repeats. "In that two seconds, we did it all." Michael snorts, "How was it?" Brian, popping a pill in his mouth says, "Fabulous." So, basically, even Brian's fantasy life is better than your sex life. Damn shame. Thanks for playing, Mikey. Michael mother-hens Brian (we'll see soon enough where that trait comes from) that he's "going to go in there, say goodnight to Lindsay and the baby, get some sleep, get up and go to work to support [his] kid for the twenty years." Might have helped if you'd been able to stop him from popping that pill. All bets are pretty much off now.
Brian shows up right before Gus is taken back to the nursery, and gets to hold him one last time. He's cute with the baby again. I have never hated him more. Lindsay sends Melanie out for some ice and a ginger ale. Brian's very sweet with Lindsay, too. Lindsay helps make Brian's character human. Too bad she can't do that with Melanie. "Here we are, Ma and Pa," Brian says, giving Lindsay a hug. Lindsay, hormones whacked out, bursts into tears. But they're happy tears. She thinks. She's not sure. That causes more crying. She says, jokingly, that they're finally adults. In his best Peter Pan voice, Brian says, "Don't say that, Wendy! We'll never grow up." And he means that.
Lindsay [chuckling]: Do you think it's too late to return him?
Brian: Maybe we should ask.
Lindsay: Don't be scared. If our parents could fuck up, so can we.
Brian tells Lindsay that he would have had sex with her, if he'd had to. Lindsay and I both roll our eyes. Lindsay reminds him that he had plenty of chances. Brian: "Took advantage of a few, as I recall." Lindsay: "Wasn't half bad." Brian: "Now you tell me! You mean I could have been straight this whole time?" Lindsay, smiling: "I wouldn't say that." Dear Writers: More of these two, please. I don't mind so much not hating Brian, I'm just not getting very many chances. Thank you. Brian leans in for a kiss just as Mel walks back in. She avoids an epileptic seizure by that much.
Brian and Michael find Justin in the hallway, having his palm read by one of the Disapproving Lesbians. Brian grabs him by the ear and says, "It's far too lesbionic out here for a young boy."
Cut to Michael, driving Brian's jeep, while Brian, sky-freakin-high, fondles Justin in the back seat. "Tick. Tick. Tick," Brian's mumbling. "The first words my son said to me. Smart little fucker. He can tell time already." Michael asks Brian what he's on. He's on Ecstasy, Michael! Brian starts to go down on Justin. Michael swerves the car in order to distract him: "Sorry, didn't want to hit that doggie." Snicker. Mike asks Justin where he lives, Justin says he's going home with Brian. Mike's like, nope, not on my watch. Brian gives Justin a multiple-choice quiz whose only answers are, "You're going home with me." Michael wimps out. Nice. You are now an accessory to statutory rape. You. Big. F'in. Idiot.
I'm glad that I warned my mother, because she was really happy for me when I got this gig, and now I've got to sit here and describe Justin lying face down on Brian's bed while Brian starts at the nape of his neck and runs his tongue all the way down to the top of Justin's perfectly shaped ass, and I told my mother that this type of thing was going to happen, I was sure to use the term "sexually explicit" several times, so I hope she's nowhere near this recap, because I don't want to hear it. And just in case you're wondering, she doesn't think it's smutty because it's gay sex. It's smutty because it's sex. My mother is an equal-opportunity prude, just like her daughter, so back off. Brian pauses, and the camera pans up to Justin's face. Suddenly, Justin starts to gasp in pleasure and pain. "Now you know what rimming is," Brian says. Both an entertaining and educational host. Can't beat that. Wait, I meant -- oh, never mind.
Meanwhile, back at Michael and Emmett's, Michael is complaining about Brian to to his roommate, who is curled up on the couch with a coffee cup, amused. Emmett's wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a "Queens College" t-shirt. That's pretty damn funny, actually. And to top it off, Michael says, he's really horny. Emmett hands him a new gay porn video called Schindler's Fist. I can't even enumerate the many ways in which that is sooo WRONG, but I had to pause the tape twice, anyway, 'cause I was laughing so hard. Michael, somewhat mollified, plays it. "Drop trou and bend over!" orders one masculine voice. "For my physical?" says another, more effeminate . "No, for target practice!" booms the first voice. Michael rolls his eyes. BWAHAHAHAHAHA!
In Brian's bed, he and Justin are, um, in a missionary-style position, with Brian on top. I asked my GayRef if there was a particular term for that, and he said, "Yeah, it's called 'getting fucked.'" All righty, then. Justin asks about condoms. Brian makes Justin put one on him. And, uh, there's lube, which is cold. I'm told that's realistic, but using KY Jelly is not. Brian, um, enters Justin, and Justin says it hurts, and asks if it always hurts. Brian says not as much, but that the pain is a part of it. Okey doke, before I instinctively run away and hide, let's take this to the bridge. Brian tells Justin, "I want you to remember this. So, whoever you're with, I'll be there." Not that that's twisted or anything. I'm just saying. Intense sexual scene continues, set to mellow techno music. Justin is enthralled. Line to the slaughterhouse starts to the right. No waiting.
Fade to black, then up to Brian, waking to his alarm clock. He turns over on his back, and there's Justin, gazing at him with puppy-like adoration. Oh, MAN. Brian, half-asleep, cuddles up to him, then opens his eyes in complete befuddlement and asks Justin what he's doing there. Justin, flustered, but still in wuv, reminds Brian that he said that Justin could stay. Brian sits up. The apartment is totally trashed. "Don't tell me, " he says. "I was doing handstands." "And juggling," Justin says. "You're not very good." I hear Symbolism likes cold pizza. I wonder if Brian has any in his fridge? Brian rages that "Anita" didn't give him Ecstasy, but "some shit that she cooked up in a bathtub in Tijuana." Justin admonishes, "That's why you should never take any drugs that aren't recommended by a physician or a reliable pharmacist." The look on Brian's face is priceless. Brian says he'll take Justin home, Justin reminds him that Michael has the car. Brian professes to remember everything...except Justin's name. The puppy-face falls a little. Straight girls across the world feel his pain and stick another pin into the closest voodoo doll. And we each have at least one, by the way. Justin gets out of bed to take a shower. Brian checks his messages, and finally hears the one Melanie left him about Lindsay going into labor. "Fuck, I have a baby!" he yells. On hearing the water running, he mutters, "Two babies." That's not the last one, either. Sit tight.
Michael, still on the couch, wakes to the sound of a car alarm. He runs to the window, and sees two boys jacking up Brian's Jeep. He rushes down stairs and runs them off, as they scream, "Faggot Queer!" Original. "Who are you calling 'Faggot'?" Michael yells. Dunno, babe, must be the other man in the pink tank top that says "Babylon" across the front. Emmett walks up, takes one look at the passenger's side of the jeep, and busts up. Brian's going to kill him, they agree. Mike curses, as a headlight falls into the street.
Brian hops up into the shower with Justin, and starts soaping him down. "Why didn't you tell me I had a kid?"he asks. Shouldn't that be "another kid"? Just trying to help. It's Exposition Time again, as Justin asks a bunch of questions about the baby that are none of his business. Lindsay was, indeed, artificially inseminated, and lesbians are indeed, women. "Well, sort of," Brian says. Cute. And, thankfully, Brian will not be raising Gus, but providing the "strong masculine influence that every young boy needs." Um, eww. Sadly, Justin says his mom sometimes wishes he was never born. Well, that sucks. Yeah, I know, I just said "sucks." Brian and Justin have sex in the shower. Yes, they have really good chemistry. Now leave me alone.
Later, Michael finds Brian both dressing and kissing Justin. "I couldn't send him off without a nourishing high-protein breakfast," Brian explains to Michael. Really too much information, there, Brian. Justin's walking around like he owns the place. Michael snaps at him to hurry up. Twice, even. While no one's looking, Justin picks up Brian's jockstrap and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. Where no one will find it. Shyeah, right.
Outside, Brian gives Michael shit about the Jeep, while Justin laughs and laughs. We can't see exactly what they're looking at. Michael and Brian bicker for a while until Justin says, "You sound just like my parents fighting." At which point Brian shrugs it off -- it's a company car, anyway. Brian asks Justin if he cares. Justin, full of bravado, assures him that he does not. I believe his exact words were, "Fuck no." So, that's pretty definite.
The jeeps guns it down the Justin's school's street, Brian driving like a maniac, uniformed kids scurrying everywhere to get out of the way. He cuts a sharp turn in front of Justin's school, and now we can see the punchline: "FAGGOT" is spraypainted in fluorescent pink on the passenger door. Kids snicker and stare. One, a pretty black girl with wavy shoulder-length hair, looks concerned. Justin slinks as far down as he can in his seat, but it's way too late for that.
A boy walks by and yells, "Hey, Justin, you want to suck me off?" "No," Brian yells back at him, "But I'll kick your tight little virgin ass so hard you won't be able to sit down for a week." Someone on the boards said that they could see where they dubbed "kick" over Brian saying "fuck." I couldn't catch it, but that would have been cool, too. The boy slinks away. Justin grins. Could he be more in love? He asks Brian when he can see him again, and Brian answers, "I'll see you in your dreams." Which may or may not exclude any other place. Hard to say. This could cause a problem. The pretty girl looks even more concerned as Justin greets her, and she tells him that his mom called her house that morning, and she didn't know what to tell her. Justin says, "Daphne, I just saw the face of God. His name is Brian Kinney." Then Justin straps a leaking timebomb to his chest, and promptly slips on a banana peel on his way into class.
Michael kvetches about the graffiti, telling Brian that he's going to have to repaint it. Brian says he likes it that way -- fuck 'em. For emphasis, he screams out "FAGGOT!!!" For those who can't read. Or see, for that matter. We must all try to helpful whenever we can.
This marks the end of the first part. Yes, there's more tonight. They try and placate me with more Hot Dancing Gay Boys. It almost works.