Wing Chun: Hello?

Sarah: Hello? Hello?

Wing Chun: Hel– hello?

Sarah: Hello? I can’t — hello? Anyone there?

Wing Chun: Hello!

Sarah: Hel– I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak up, I can’t hear you over the din of this goddamn Anna Nicole Smith coverage.

Wing Chun: God, seriously. I’m the baby’s father, okay? Enough already.

Sarah: All those dudes have to go into the GBC…

Wing Chun: …and fight over a single bike.

Sarah: Exactly. A very tiny bike with a little pink hairbow on it.

Wing Chun: Aw, sad!

Sarah: Well, really. That one picture of the baby…heartbreaking. So cute. And she’s just a big ol’ dollar sign with Pampers on to them.

Wing Chun: I really, really would like to buy Prince Frederic von What’s-His-Nuts a Jamba Juice and ask him what he’s thinking, because I just do not understand it.

Sarah: I have to think he’s telling the truth.

Wing Chun: I…well, okay, but even if he is, why would you not keep that shit to yourself?

Sarah: He needs the money? It’s probably really expensive being married to Zsa Zsa. Like, really expensive. The traffic tickets and court costs alone.

Wing Chun: Oh, sure. But then it’s probably really dangerous being married to Zsa Zsa, too. Right? I mean, if girlfriend isn’t afraid to whap a cop upside the head?

Sarah: Maybe they’re in on it together. Maybe they were sitting at the kitchen table clipping coupons and Zsa Zsa was like, “Didn’t you haff a zing viz zis Anna Nee-cole, dahlink? Becoss, you know, liebchen, zis discount marabou, it giffs Zsa Zsa a terrible rash.”

Wing Chun: Zsa Zsa is German?

Sarah: Oh, she’s totally not. I just don’t know any Central European terms of endearment.

Wing Chun: Fair enough.

Sarah: Anyway.

Wing Chun: I guess I see what you’re saying, though. It’s not like there isn’t a passing resemblance between Zsa Zsa and Anna Nicole.

Sarah: And it’s not like Anna Nicole didn’t like the older gents.

Wing Chun: But I’d still keep a lid on it, if I were him.

Sarah: I don’t know how physically intimidating she is at this point; she’s like a million years old now.

Wing Chun: But he probably is too — and regardless, do you want to incur The Wrath Of Zsa Zsa? She’s screeching, she’s pelting you with Pomeranians, the next thing you know you’ve got a broken hip.

Sarah: I disagree with you, but I will say that the Pomeranian-pelting is a delightful image.

Wing Chun: Thank you.

Sarah: I’m imagining this little old man standing in a giant front hall with a lot of tacky pink marble and gilt-legged furniture, just in the middle of a puddle of barking Poms with his silver walking stick all, “Jupiter Christmas, here we go again.”

Wing Chun: And it’s not even Zsa Zsa throwing the Poms. She’s making the maid do it while she stands there with her arms folded, hurling insults.

Sarah: And the maid’s like, “Sorry, Mr. Freddy. [huck]” “[Arf!]”

Wing Chun: Or perhaps the walking stick is actually a large umbrella, which he unfurls to shield himself from the rain of tiny canines.

Sarah: As he walks slowly into the library, tired in his bones, and pours himself a glass of scotch.

Wing Chun: Serenaded by the distant, furious yapping in the foyer.

Sarah: And the dogs are barking, too!

Wing Chun: …Ba dum bum.

Sarah: Your mind is a wonderful place.

Wing Chun: You have to laugh at this crap or you’ll lose your mind.

Sarah: Well, if that’s what his home life is like, I’m glad he’s in the GBC. It’ll be like his country club or something.

Wing Chun: Oh, obviously.

Sarah: Although I wonder if maybe the fort isn’t a bit down-market for titled royalty.

Wing Chun: Oh, I just assumed he’d bring his manservant Oliver with him, and Oliver would furnish a little corner of the fort with those leather chairs with the buttons, maybe a standing ashtray.

Sarah: His manservant Oliver.

Wing Chun: Yes.

Sarah: Do…you have work you’re avoiding, to come up with this elaborate a —

Wing Chun: Yes.

Sarah: Very good then.

Wing Chun: So I’m overruled on the manservant.

Sarah: Oh, I didn’t say that.

Wing Chun: I’m overruled on the “named Oliver”?

Sarah: Hee. No, “Oliver” is approved. And now that I think about it, His Highness is probably fine with a chintzy fort as long as he can play backgammon with Trebek.

Wing Chun: Or cards. Using Eubanks’s giant set. Jumbo rummy.

Sarah: Or whist.

Wing Chun: Whist. Of course. Your mind is a wonderful place. A wonderful, Edwardian place.

Sarah: My parents could have stopped me after the third Lord Peter Wimsey book in a row. They did not.

Wing Chun: Were you the kind of kid who said things like “by Jove” and “that’s capital”?

Sarah: Not just “that’s capital” — “why, that’s capital.” So: yes. I also said “dash it all” and “piffle” quite a bit.

Wing Chun: That’s unfortunate.

Sarah: You really have no idea.

Wing Chun: Uh, might I direct your attention to one Bad Teen Novel?

Sarah: People in my Bad Teen Fiction died of apoplexy. More than once. And thrush!

Wing Chun: What is thrush?

Sarah: Well, exactly.

Wing Chun: No, seriously. What is it?

Sarah: It’s a disease of the hoof. A horse thing.

Wing Chun: Ah.

Sarah: But the humans in my stories would get it. On their faces.

Wing Chun: You win.

Sarah: “Thanks!”

Wing Chun: Heh. …Whoa.

Sarah: What?

Wing Chun: Okay, see…yeah, your parents could have instituted an Alcott quarantine —

Sarah: And should have!

Wing Chun: And should have, right, but! At least they don’t shoot at you because you chained Mr. Stupidhead to a banister for overdosing on drugs.

Sarah: I did tie him to a tree once.

Wing Chun: …Sarah.

Sarah: Nobody shot at me, though. …What?

Wing Chun: I’m just going to forward you this link, and while you’re getting caught up, I’m going to buy my dad a very generous gift to thank him for —

Sarah: Duuuuuuuuuuude. Dude!

Wing Chun: I’m saying.

Sarah: There is so much information here, and none of it clarifies anything.

Wing Chun: I’m saying!

Sarah: I mean, I thought I knew what was going on, kind of, and then —

Wing Chun: And then the fireplace poker!

Sarah: Yes!

Wing Chun: And excuse me, but was the other son chained to the staircase the whole time?

Sarah: That was my question. Was Ryan O’Neal pissed about Griffin chaining the other one to the stairs? Or is he pissed about tripping over the chain? Because it sounds like he’s mostly bitter about stubbing his toe.

Wing Chun: Versus the fact that his adult children are doing drugs and handcuffing each other to the staircase.

Sarah: And the pregnant girlfriend? I just…what is she even doing there? Forget why she’s dating Griffin O’Neal in the first place, or that she thinks he’s dad material, how does it happen that she’s between the poker and its intended target?

Wing Chun: Yeah, that’s…I didn’t even think of that. Not that I’m an expert on the behaviors of pregnancy over here, but according to television and film, the usual instinct is to move away from an assault in progress, right?

Sarah: Pregnant or not, once the cuffs come out? I’m calling a cab.

Wing Chun: Maybe Griffin was hiding behind her.

Sarah: I have to think that even that guy is not that big of a nimrod. “Where can I hide? …Why yes, this distended womb will conceal me quite nicely!”

Wing Chun: “Ducking behind the couch is so ’05.” Also, when did someone finally bust out the big clippers and cut Redmond free?

Sarah: If they did. He could still be there for all this story says about it.

Wing Chun: For real. They mention the police videotaping the scene, but not so much with the Redmond rescue.

Sarah: “Officers? Little help here? …Guys?”

Wing Chun: “Hold on a sec, just…just trying to figure out the zoom feature here. Just oooooone more sec…”

Sarah: Just the slapstick aspect of it…I mean, I shouldn’t be laughing, because Ryan O’Neal shot at his son, but…Ryan O’Neal shot at his son. For chaining up his other son.

Wing Chun: Which he did because he thought the other son overdosed.

Sarah: And this is the same son who killed Gian-Carlo Coppola, no?

Wing Chun: I forgot about that, that’s right. I remember feeling really bad for Griffin O’Neal when that happened.

Sarah: Yeah, me too. Because they were best friends.

Wing Chun: Doesn’t look like the O’Neal family learned anything from the experience.

Sarah: But that was a boating accident, right? So they might have learned to…God, I don’t know.

Wing Chun: Take their possibly fatal horsing around indoors?

Sarah: Manage their anger with firearms instead of watercraft?

Wing Chun: I just…I feel like we have the same conversation every time, but it’s like, how do people come to behave this way? I mean, even if Ryan O’Neal was only shooting at Griffin to scare him, what did he think that was going to do? Was it supposed to trigger some cinematic “from now on, I’ll straighten up and fly right” reaction? You’re shooting at him, Dad! What kind of parenting “technique” is that?

Sarah: Didn’t Ryan O’Neal get back together with Farrah Fawcett?

Wing Chun: I…yeah, maybe. So?

Sarah: So it’s pretty solid proof that his common-sense-o-meter is busted.

Wing Chun: Good point. …Wait, wait, hold on. It says here that it’s Griffin who had the fireplace poker.

Sarah: So Ryan hid behind the pregnant lady. That’s nice.

Wing Chun: No, Ryan ducked to avoid the poker and Griffin whonked his own girlfriend in the head.

Sarah: Where are you reading this?

Wing Chun: The Wik.

Sarah: On my way. …Okay, so then Ryan runs off because he’s “nervous because of the woman’s pregnancy”? Nervous that…what? And then Griffin is chasing him all Pokerzilla, so that’s why he got the gun?

Wing Chun: Can I ask another question?

Sarah: No. …Seriously, don’t, I’m confused enough.

Wing Chun: Who just has handcuffs in the house? Like, available? That fit around a man’s ankles?

Sarah: Okay, since we’re asking questions — why do they live with him? Do they live with him?

Wing Chun: I…ecchh. You know that feeling you get when you’ve eaten too much candy? Sick and kind of grindy in your stomach? I have that feeling right now.

Sarah: I feel the way I usually feel after finishing a Joyce Carol Oates book.

Wing Chun: Sleepy?

Sarah: Heh — but no. Dislocated. Depressed. That Vegas-in-the-morning sensation.

Wing Chun: Emotional seasickness.

Sarah: Yep, totally.

Wing Chun: In theory, the lot of them should go in the GBC, but in practice…it’s not funny, anymore.

Sarah: It’s just fucked up. Yeah, I agree. But here’s the real question: If Dr. Phil had them on the show as a Dr. Phil Phamily, would you watch?

Wing Chun: …No.

Sarah: I would.

Wing Chun: Okay, so would I, but only for a couple weeks, and if it didn’t get way less depressing in a hurry, I’d stop.

Sarah: You know what I would totally watch them on, though? Nanny 911.

Wing Chun: Oh wow, me too. You know Nanny Stella is not trying to hear about gunfire.

Sarah: “The next time yeh taseh yeh brutheh, yeh goin’ inta time-owt.”

Wing Chun: …

Sarah: Worst Scottish accent ever, I know.

Wing Chun: You know I love you, but it really is.

Sarah: And it sounds the same as my Irish accent, I know, I know.

Wing Chun: Which sounds the same as your Apu imitation.

Sarah: Oh, it does not.

Wing Chun: Dude, it totally does.

Sarah: “You little duckies are trying my patience, but you’re –”

Wing Chun: — Sean Connery.

Sarah: Shut up, it is not.

Wing Chun: Hey, don’t feel bad. My Brando imitation sounds like George Jetson taking a dump.

Sarah: Oh, everyone’s does. That’s the whole point of it. And speaking of taking a dump: Ralph Fiennes.

Wing Chun: Oh, the “became amorous” story.

Sarah: That euphemism is so odd. What is he, Pepe Le Pew?

Wing Chun: Hee. But honestly, that’s pretty much what I picture happening — he’s smooching all over her, she’s squirming crazily while little cartoon heart bubbles burst all around them.

Sarah: I love the part where she’s like, “I explained to him that this was inappropriate.” Because why would he know that following a uniformed flight attendant into the bathroom and “becoming amorous towards” her when she’s just trying to pee isn’t cool? No, he has to have it explained to him.

Wing Chun: She’s a flight attendant. She spends her days explaining how to operate the freakin’ seatbelts.

Sarah: So the whole “it’s Obviousville and I’m the mayor” aspect wouldn’t have fazed her, you’re saying.

Wing Chun: I’m sure it didn’t. Haven’t you ever noticed that there’s always some multi-tasking dinkball who has to be told to stow his tray table before takeoff, even though Amish fetuses know that that’s the rule and the plane is already taxiing? They probably don’t even notice the idiocy anymore.

Sarah: I wonder if there’s some kind of desensitization class you take at the flight-attendant academy.

Wing Chun: There must be.

Sarah: But once again we’re confronted with the Want. Take. Have. attitude, which we never understand no matter how hard we try.

Wing Chun: Oh, I understand it. I just don’t act on it.

Sarah: Important distinction. Heh.

Wing Chun: Well, you know? I want to walk up to an Orla Kiely display and say, “One of each, please,” but I don’t, because I have a mortgage.

Sarah: Yeah, I know.

Wing Chun: So, if you and I are in the Girls’ Bike Club, we are boringly, nerdishly obeying traffic laws and wearing the prescribed helmetry.

Sarah: Whereas if Ralph Fiennes is in the Girls’ Bike Club…

Wing Chun: He’s cutting diagonally across a six-way intersection to follow a girl in a miniskirt.

Sarah: Right. Well, at least he’ll fit in.

February 12, 2007

Tags:   GBC