I was too confident when knighting Paradise City as my next shitty thing to exploit. I was aware that I was setting myself up to dedicate approximately 360 minutes of my fleeting existence to this abomination, but that seemed like nothing compared to the four months I wasted on my last relationship (also an embarrassment that I can’t believe anyone signed off on). I did not factor in that a journalist [audience member coughs, or was it a laugh?] must devote their full attention to something in order to adequately rip it to shreds, which is about 350 more minutes than I ever spent listening to my last boyfriend when he spoke. I was even taking notes like a good girl! At first!
I originally made it until the beginning of the third episode, where something happened that offended me so deeply that I gave up; I rage quit. (We’ll get to that later.) My first review totally conveyed that the show was ass, and surely, none of the 50 people who read it were trembling in anticipation for the next installment (of anything I’ve ever written, ever), so I said fuck it, on to shittier things, never to suffer through this booboodoodoo again, cheers.
….Unfortunately, I am but a human, rendered helpless by my intrinsic craving for attention and validation. A flattering, kind word from anyone would be enough to convince me to snort meth in a car parked directly next to a cop again, so surely, when a boy enjoyed my review and said, “Rose, you could write a whole book on that show and I would read it,” I knew I had to drape the noose around my neck and shout “IT’S ALL FOR YOU, DAMIEN!” before jumping (to my death) back into Paradise Shitty.
(In fact, had I been a little more sober upon receiving that text at 3:00am, I would’ve probably shot out of bed, eagerly absorbed myself in the show like it was a dumpster I accidentally tossed my wedding ring into, wrote the 500 page novel on how it sucked, edited the bitch to perfection, and had the manuscript printed, laminated, and waiting on his desk by 8:00am that morning. Because he is a total hottie, I would also be sitting on his desk with my skirt hiked up to expose the perfect amount of thigh; I would’ve even made the time to go out and buy a skirt.)
Alas, I had one too many rums, so my magnum opus had to wait a day, and then, I gave up… again, though I did finally make it through the third episode. The show simply sucked more dick than I felt like sucking: A deadly combination.
(There may be a few overlaps of this into episode three. If you care: 1] why? and 2] I am sorry.)
The second episode is titled “A Groupie in the Tabloids,” which is funny and made me laugh and is just as unlikely of a scenario as every other plotline in this stupid ass show, and there are many — about 470, which only adds to the level of masochistic torture because you almost need to be sober in order to keep up, but you drink to make it bearable. Sad; I was obviously doomed to fail from the start.
It picks up where we last left off: Andy Emo, gawking like a moron at the Virgin Horse Girl and her baby as they soiled his totally successful comeback show by rearing their dismal heads. For being the daughter of a woman who begs rockstars to take her child’s virginity while she gets banged out by the drummer, his baby mama somehow ended up with no personality other than being sad, but that makes sense, I guess. She probably regrets at least 17 out of the 18 years of her life. It’s just peculiar that she did not inherit even an ounce of her mother’s… uh… moderately terrifying effervescence, if you will.
Much to my disappointment and her chagrin, he did not flip her off and instruct the limo driver to run them both over, but he did get in the car without acknowledging her. His boo asks if something was wrong because she still hasn’t stopped caring about his well-being despite him being a treacherous whore. He lies, as treacherous whores are wont to do.
This heartbreaking insult in her life that has apparently been composed of nothing but heartbreaking insults was the last straw. No, Horse Girl does not throw herself and her child in front of the limo, but she does go to his record label the next day and drops that fuckin’ baby off like she was an Amazon driver on her 17th hour of her shift where she was denied water and a piss break flinging a fragile package onto your doorstep! She includes the child’s birth certificate, which lists Andy Emo’s character as the father. Everyone at the label shits their pants; the baby’s just vibin’.
Some old head at the label agrees to take care of her, and we can tell it is love at first sight because he is decrepit, lonely, and can’t get over the fact that people don’t buy CDs anymore. I think his character is supposed to be the only member of The Relentless and their team that isn’t a total fucking insular money-hungry clown. I don’t hate him!
(Later on, he ends up saying, “General admission? I haven’t been general admission to a concert in 30 years!” which is a really funny quote because it’s going to be me when shows come back and no band guy will guest list me because I’m about eight years too old for them and kind of mean. This was entirely out of context and I am jumping ahead, but I wanted to make that joke before I forgot about it.)
Everyone’s panicking and awkwardly tiptoeing around what to do. Andy Emo doesn’t give a flying-nonchalant-I’m-a-cool-fucking-rockstar-fuck about the baby because he has an entire team of idiots who kiss his ass (for an emo band?) so it’s not like he has to smell It or look at It or take care of It or anything, but he’s worried that this will ruin him and Gretchen’s relationship. He tells Booboo from Twilight that he is planning to wait to break the news to her until after he proposes. Booboo from Twilight’s response can be summarized as: ??????????????????????????????
At that moment, we were all Booboo from Twilight.
Cut to a scene of him and Gretchen in couple’s therapy. It’s totally not a bad omen that they are not even married yet and have to attend couple’s therapy; it’s like, super normal. He should definitely propose and then tell her that he had a bastard child with the girl whose virginity he took under her lunatic mother’s orders. That is a fucking flawless plan with no chance of error. They’re going to live happily ever after, for sure.
Gretchen is moping along about how she’s still not comfortable with the fact that he cheated on her with their bassist, never once identifying the root of her misery being that HER WHORE ASS BOYFRIEND CHEATED ON HER WITH THE BASSIST, which the therapist did not mention, either. Did she come recommended by his team of sycophants? Probably. Instead, Gretchen blames herself, of course; Andy Emo blames that he was addicted to heroin; nobody blames Andy Emo. She couldn’t help but feel like it happened because she’s not an e-girl, apparently. “I’m never going to have that gothic, edgy look…” she whines, and I laughed.
“I think an English teacher is a lot hotter than some rocker girl,” Andy Emo reassures her, and then I REALLY FUCKING LAUGHED! Shit: I almost shot Miller Lite out of my nose and ruined all my notes! That is a total lie — he doesn’t think that because no one thinks that. (Please reference the introductory paragraphs for why my pitiful ass is well qualified to make such a claim. I even went to English teacher school!)
Now, I will admit that I don’t pay much attention to the part about the local band because the drama is about 600% funnier, but the blatantly absurd, misconstrued portrayal of the alternative music industry in this series should not be overlooked. Nothing is accurate or correct; the show’s perception on what it is to be in a screamo band, even a moderately successful one, is a glorified fantasy seen through rose-tinted-glasses by a 13-year-old girl writing a fanfiction. It is almost unfathomable that a record label, who signs alternative artists, has their name attached to this because it is simply… not how anything works. Even a laymen could see that.
The Relentless, who “haven’t been writing or anything,” and haven’t even been in the same room together in a year except to watch their singer humiliate himself and take them down with him on national television, are demanding a $3,000,000 advance to record their next album. For a FUCKING EMO BAND?
My homie, signed to Sumerian Records, is currently in the process of recording his band’s next album. I thought about saying, “Damn, so y’all secured that 3-mil-bag, right? Hell yeah! Daddy’s getting Jersey Mikes tonight! Also, I hope my being so forward won’t be taken as rude, but can you buy me new teeth?” but he hates this show as much as I do and I didn’t want to salt the wound. The fact that one of the conversations between the label executives regarding this absurdly large advance fades into one of his band’s songs was rude of them enough.
(My commentary in my notebook about this scene reads: WAIT? A FEW MILLION? WHERE??? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA this is ridiculous I can’t understand anything at all am I stupid)
More illogical fallacies: Some fool booked a show at a venue that doesn’t allow moshing, which is every fucking venue for legal purposes so when kids inevitabely mosh, they cannot sue because they were warned, and this causes some sort of uproar on top of the unexpected delivery of the bastard child and the band’s outlandish demand for an exhuberant amount of money that they totally do not deserve for including the line “hopelessness is me” in that one song. The singer of the local band comes up with a brilliant idea to save the day (don’t ask me what it was because I don’t know), calls up the label, gets in touch with the HBIC directly (totally plausible), pitches it to her, saves the fuckin’ day of course, and gets his band booked on a promising show.
I think that’s what happened, at least: I’m sorry, but I wasn’t paying attention. I wanted to see Andy Emo make more foolish decisions that will inevitably lead to the total destruction of his super healthy relationship, which careens us to where I rage quit, though I think that bleeds a little bit into episode three — sorry, again. Should I put a spoiler alert here? I’m not going to put a spoiler alert here because no one is actually going to watch this show.
Anyway, our King of Gothic and Edgy Looks and Queen of Not Having a Gothic or Edgy Look are on a ferris wheel, which I believe was to be a tribute to their first date? Their first kiss? Who cares! He talks out of his asshole like a true cheater; one of them says something about how they are “on this journey together” (though I recall a few instances where he totally forgot she existed, such as when he was piping down Bella Thorne). He proposes, but drops the ring like a total moron. (A suave lesbian would never!) Then, the ferris wheel is stuck!!! OH NO!!! BABE!!!!! BABE!!!!!!!!!!! They say babe about 15 more times each, she declares that of course, she’ll marry him! The ring doesn’t matter because “what matters most is how well you walk through the fire” and Bukowski rolled over in his grave and I slipped on a greasy banana peel for 45 minutes straight until I fell into mine.
Episode 3 review coming soon.
ROSE DAMIAN 