so here’s a fun story about this movie. guess who loves this movie? me! i do! i love this movie. i love this movie so much that when i was in the 7th grade and i saw “first wives club 2” on pay per view i was like: HELL YEAH!! FIRST WIVES CLUB TWO!! NO ONE TOLD ME THERE WAS A SEQUEL!!!
here’s the synopsis for first wives club 2:
disgruntled first wives take their ex-husbands’ new lovers under their wing.
sounds great, right? awesome viewing material for a precocious 11-year-old.
so i buy this movie, and like, three minutes into it i’m starting to feel suspicious?? like it’s really low quality and my girls are nowhere in sight?? how come none of the first wives are the same?? how come they’re alone in a bedroom with mood lighting?? why is she taking off her shirt?? why are they both taking off their shirts?? WHY ARE THEY—
here’s what i did not know about first wives club 2:
it is a lesbian porno of no relation to the beloved 1996 classic.
so of course i, horrified that i’ve accidentally bought porn on my family’s account (and in that state of panic that kids work themselves into whenever anything regarding sex is mentioned), quickly shut off the TV and go upstairs and watch an episode of veggie tales to like, cleanse my soul and apologize to jesus, and that’s that.
EXCEPT, OF COURSE:
you have to pay for pay per view.
so the end of the month comes and i have completely put this incident out of my mind, haha, i accidentally bought porn, how funny, TELL NO ONE. right? and i’m sitting at a nice dinner with my mother, my stepfather, and my very religious aunt deb, and we’re just talking about farm things, whatever, when suddenly my mother puts her fork down and says, “okay, there’s something we need to discuss. as a family.”
AS A FAMILY.
and i’m like, running through a list of people i know who could conceivably be dead, and fantasizing about my mother announcing that she’s going to buy me My Own Computer Just Because U Earned It Kiddo, and she pulls out a piece of paper that says DIRECTV across the top. and i’m like: OH NO.
"i received the tv bill today," my mother said, and i was like, shoveling potatoes into my mouth as fast as i could because i knew that when i went to PORN PRISON they weren’t going to feed me this kind of quality starch. "does anybody want to tell me who purchased the pornography?"
as a reminder, a quick table survey:
my mother, surprised and disappointed by the porn bill (innocent)
my stepfather, a grumbly old cowboy who just wants to sing along to kenny chesney and watch the hunt for red october (innocent)
my aunt deb, a super religious catholic whose best friend is a nun named Sister Placid (innocent)
me, the 11-year-old with a mouthful of potatoes who definitely purchased the lesbian pornography
silence.
my mother said, “i’m not going to ask again.”
silence.
my aunt looked at my stepdad. my stepdad looked at my aunt. NOBODY LOOKED AT ME, THE 11-YEAR-OLD WITH A MOUTHFUL OF POTATOES WHO DEFINITELY PURCHASED THE LESBIAN PORNOGRAPHY.
my mother shook her head and put the bill down. “this was incredibly inappropriate,” she said. “skip, deb, whoever. buy that shit on your own time. i’m not paying for it. what if molly had seen it?”
WHAT IF MOLLY HAD SEEN IT?
"don’t expose my kid to that crap."
DON’T
EXPOSE
MY KID
TO THAT CRAP
"if you want to watch porn, fine, but do it in private and don’t expect me to pay for it. i can’t believe one of you did that in the living room."
I CAN’T BELIEVE ONE OF YOU DID THAT
IN THE LIVING ROOM
but molly, why didn’t you own up to it and explain that it was an accident?
are you fucking kidding
i did not want to go to porn prison
the fun conclusion to this story is that i never owned up to it, which means that there are 3 people in the world who have not solved the mystery of the lesbian porn. a quick survey:
my mother, who lives every day wondering whose porn she paid for
my stepfather, who probably wishes he knew less about his wife’s sister’s porn preferences
my aunt, who probably wishes she knew less about her sister’s husband’s porn preferences
but molly, why don’t you own up to it now, with the safety of time and distance and the knowledge that porn prison isn’t real?
Front and back of a giant custom order Monstroctopus I finished last night! They wanted an angry face on one side, and a kissy face on the other.
It’s got about a 3 1/2 foot antlerspan. :)
WENTWORTH RECAP (2.02): MY VEGGIES BRING ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD
Previously on Wentworth, new Governor, Ms Fergusson, decided Franky’s time as Top Dog has come to an end. Pulling her the plug on her drug trade, and by extension her control of the women, Franky suddenly needs to scramble. Hoping to throw a big grenade into the fire, Fergusson pulled Bea from her delusionary Debbie-land and set her in the pen with Franky, hoping they’d eat each other. But Bea’s blood lust is monogamous and strictly reserved for one person: Brayden Holt.
Big bloody blood splotches splotch out over a sink. It’s not a murder scene. Or Bea brutally beaten. She wipes a dribbly goop from her hairline and flicks sticky reddened gloves away. Bea’s no victim today. She’s suiting up for war with a new dye job, because Big Red? She’s back, y’all.
And with hair on fire and eyes ablaze, vengeance is number one on Bea’s to do list. So she stares and stares into her cell mirror, whispering for Bloody Mary to show up and magically murderize Brayden Holt. When Boomer appears on her cell door step, Bea looks half worried she’s gonna get beat up and half amazed her mirror-chanting could have worked.
But nay. Boomer is just there to drop off her Brayden Holt news clippings and say sorry for semi drowning Bea in a blocked prison sink. Bea graciously accepts the apology and laments how Booms’ ex-boyfriend is a man slut before heading out for visitation with Harry.
Ugh. This guy. Harry and his giant little boy frown have shown up wanting a divorce. When Bea asks about Debbie’s ashes or memorial plaque, Harry just whines that Bea will get half his cash and assets when he finally crowbars himself out of her life like the barnacle he is.
So Bea one-two punches him: one, she’ll divorce him, and two, he can keep his money. She just wants one little thing from him. TO KILL BRAYDEN HOLT.
Over in the cellblock, new H-Blocker Skye is getting twitchy for some hard drugs. Liz’s woolly knitting diversion therapy is just not cutting the cold turkey sandwich, and Skye is getting a severe case of the crazy eyes. Which is making Franky super nervous. Particularly when Franky’s number one drug rival winds up in Medical, drinking her dinner through a straw, all because she couldn’t supply. Not a positive trend for old Frank.
Meanwhile in garden-for-your-soul paradise, Doreen is feeling the warm glow of Purpose and the heady buzz of a Governor providing her every veggie growing need. It’s all a bit good to be true. Literally. Fergusson don’t do nothing for free. Suddenly Doreen finds herself anointed the inside man on Bea Smith. The moment Doreen realises this, you can literally see her doing the appropriate mental math for this situation.
Back in Cell Block H, things are getting active. A very innocent looking Asian girl is moving into one the cells. Meanwhile, Skye is screaming her head off that someone better get her some hard drugs or she’ll slash her wrists. The new girl, not being able to speak a word of English, seems completely freaked about the whole thing. That, or she just really wants to know where the fresh towels are. Hard to tell.
Mr Jackson and Fletch show up with very different game plans. Will begins to calmly negotiate with Skye to drop the blade. Fletch calmly walks in and negotiates some pepper spray into Skye’s eyeballs – but not before she manages to open her veins over the walls. Bea, now more attuned to the coopery smell of blood than a vampire, is there in an instant. She wraps Skye’s wounds and helps hustle her to Medical, leaving herself once again splattered in red.
Fergusson takes the opportunity to walk Bea back to her cellblock, and advise her that she has to attend a few psych sessions if she wants to stay out of the slot. Bea mutters that she’s already asked for the help she needs, and scurries off to think deadly thoughts whilst watching blood wash down the sink.
And ask for help she has. Harry rocks up at to a panel beaters thinking he’s been asked to sell his mechanic style wares, only to realise that Bea has pulled a crafty one on him. His gob drops open as much as his tiny mouth will physically allow when he comes face to face with Brayden Holt. He knows exactly why he’s been brought here. And when Brayden turns his back to him, and a hammer is suddenly gripped in his hand, and he’s biting his tiny lips into his tiny, bitter mouth… he knows he’s going to actually, 100%... scamper off down the road like a wimpy weasel.
Out in the yard, ovaries are exploding all over the place. Because would you know it, the writers smuggled more men into the show. Not just any men. Prison tradies. And Fergusson has them all there on a platter for Doreen.
Back inside, tired of trying to mime ‘everything is okay’ to the new girl, Liz has Kim translate some Korean. Which, wouldn’t that be your first stop? Anyway, Kim’s eyes pop out of her head when the girl tells her that a few balloons of heroin are hanging out somewhere in her digestive system.
Franky. Is. Stoked. She can use this surprise stash to convince the prison’s desperate drug addicts not to flay her alive. Boomer looks at the girl like she’s a heroin piñata she can’t wait to rip open. Liz wants to take her to Medical; her life could be in danger. But all Franky sees is a vending machine with excellent timing. She declares they will wait until the girl drops her proverbial load.
Keen to lubricate the girls gullet and get the job done, Franky performs some prison style sleight of hand, and gets the lunch girl to pash her while hiding a bottle of vegetable oil in her lady parts. Which, after seeing Boomer hiding a mobile phone in there last week, I now realise what the phrase ‘empty your pockets’ must have a totally different meaning in lady prison.
Bea reluctant attends her mandatory psych appointment, all under the nosy Big Brother surveillance of Guvnor Fergs. Bea hates the whole thing, until the psych unwittingly illuminates the top five ways Bea can trigger Harry’s explosive temper.
She immediately calls harry up and presses all his most sensitive, insecure buttons, until he’s a blind ball of rage driving right on over and burning down Brayden’s shop.
Of course it doesn’t work the way Harry planned, since he didn’t plan it at all, and Brayden shows up to rescue his buddy trapped inside. Bea is busily staring down the next morning’s news, daring it to change its story, when Boomer shows up wanting to cash in a favour. Booms wants a little man-tention, and boy does Bea deliver.
The guys respond in typical prison tradie fashion.
Fergusson calls Bea in for a debrief. While they talk about Purpose and Power, across town Brayden and his buddies beat the shit out of Harry. Literally. They’re so disgusted at his gutless pants pooing that they decide there’s no way he could have torched the shop, and don’t blow his brains out. Bea, as if sensing the whole thing, grins and reassures Fergusson that she’s done being helpless and is determined to make her time count.
Later, Vera shows up for the post work drinks Fergusson invited her to. She’s a little confused as to why Fergusson wants to drink in her office, but heck! Friends don’t question their potential BFFs and mentors! She settles in and Fergusson literally LETS DOWN HER HAIR and announces that they’re going to be pounding the vodka.
They drink and drink and tell each other stories. Except Fergusson isn’t even drinking alcohol at all. That creepy creep is just drinking soda water while making Vera crush a bottle of vodka on her own. Fergusson manipulates and guilts a floppy, drunk Vera into telling her all about Fletch and their terrible sex and all his secrets about him and Governor Meg.
It’s so awful. Particularly because Vera is so desperate for friendship and care in her life, that really Fergusson didn’t need to give her a single drop to get her secrets. All she needed to do was to sit Vera on her matronly lap and say:
… and Vera would have told her every secret her soul had.
Back in Cell Block H things are getting tense. The girl still has her drugs hidden in her bowels, and people are starting to freak out. Liz begs and begs Franky to get medical help, but Franky can’t bare the thought of letting the drugs slip through her fingers. This decision is going to be her undoing, because all at once the girl starts to convulse and froth at the mouth and as quickly as it started, she’s dead.
Later, Liz confronts Franky in her cell. She lets Franky know that she’s lost her way – fighting Jacs, she was smart. Now she’s out of her depth, making stupid decisions that are going to get her in the biggest kind of trouble. Typically, Franky fires up and threatens Liz as best she can. But as soon as she’s alone, Franky melts down. Liz is right; fear of being overthrown is pushing her into dangerous waters, and now all she can see is the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head, ready to fall at any moment.
We round out with a lumpy, Doreen and Tradie Taylor make sex eyes and decide to raise an injured magpie as their own. A bruised Harry visiting Bea for (hopefully) the last time. She gives him his divorce papers and tells him to piss off. She’s ready to test the length of her go-go-Gadget arms and do the job herself. She retires to her place in front of the news, trying to focus the pure hatred pouring from her eyeballs into some kind of laser that will melt the shit-eating grin from Brayden’s face.
WENTWORTH RECAP (2.01) FERGILICIOUS DEFINITION: MAKE THE CRIMS GO LOCO
Once again we’re following a newbie through the prison gates, but this time we are tailing the prison tailored power suit of our new, cold, calculated Governor, Ms. Ferguson. Ever since Bea penned a love letter to Jacs’ throat, Franky has been The Law in Wentworth – drugs, contraband, and prisonwide fear spelt with a capital F for Franky.
But Governor Ferguson doesn’t go for any of the touchy feely malarkey that any unnamed URST filled Governors may have encouraged. No sir. She’s all about CORRECTIONS and being TOUGH and IN CHARGE and NEVER BEING FRIENDS. Basically she’s there to make the women her bitch. Which is going to seriously piss off Franky, cause obviously, that’s her job.
And sure enough, with hair pulled into the Bun of Doom, Ferguson’s first order of business is to power walk into Franky’s laundry, slap on a plastic glove Grey’s Anatomy style, and pluck out some well hidden drugs like they were just laying on the floor.
It tweaks Franky right out. So to soothe her frustrations, Franky has two of her failed drug mules fight it out gladiator style for her forgiveness. It’s bloody and brutal; even Franky is disturbed. But it looks like the more power you have, the further you have to go to keep it. And given Franky’s basically in charge of the whole complex at this point, she has to keep cranking the brutality up to eleven.
Over in the break room we find Fletch is all sobered up and anger managing. He’s all soft and perpetually sorry for being the world’s biggest prick to Vera (which YES, continue your shame), and to prove he’s a new man he even went to Bali for a whole month and didn’t get boozed once. Which in Australia is basically like saying someone is now ready to be canonised. He tries talking to Vera, but she’s become hard and twitchy and seriously does not have the time for Fletch and his good guy quest on account of the fact that her awful mother is dying of cancer.
She basically sighs with relief when Ferguson drags her away to stare at some bash victims. As they chat, Ferguson sees something she likes in Vera. Probably her relentless determination to bury herself in her work so she doesn’t have to face Life. That, and the fact that they’re bun twinnies.
Franky’s sat up in the Governor’s office and she is so not into the redecorate. There’s a lamp in her and Erica’s make out corner and the vagina plant has been replaced with a row of super sharp pencils. Ferguson shows up and sets about testing whether Franky is going to be a team player or a CORRECTIONS project. They strike a tentative deal where Ferguson will help Kim train to be an accountant, so long as Franky plays by her rules. Franky is cocky as hell, so Ferguson goes about correcting that.
Ferguson jabs a pen into her own hand, idly pointing out that being top dog has a few occupational hazards. If Franky doesn’t like her rules, she can easily help some other prisoner take the top job and really, Franky does not want to be fired just like Jacs.
As Franky is heading out the door, Ferguson pulls out her trump card. It’s, oh nothing, just a pile of letters Franky wrote to Erica Davidson, the contents of which I am sure someone has already committed to the tomes of fan fiction.
Franky’s cockiness falls off her face.
Ferguson is two for two.
Back in her cell, Franky starts planning how best to set Ferguson on fire. Booms pulls Franky’s secret drug dealin’ mobile phone from her fanny to show her the footage she took of this mornings fight. Franky’s frown turns upside down. It’s the perfect thing to leak to the media and embarrass the new Governor with.
Keen to destroy a few more dreams before the day is out, Ferguson shuts down Will’s drug and alcohol support group. She cuts short her ‘caring is for losers’ speech when a reporter shows up with Franky’s footage. In one smooth breath, Ferguson tells her to stick her video right where Boomer keeps her mobile phone… because she’ll give her first dips on all future prison news. Hands are shook and the footage is dead.
With Franky becoming way too much effort, Fergie gets to wondering like the rest of us: where is Bea Smith. Well, she’s just living in a sepia tinted world of Debbie delusion.
It’s a gorgeously soft focus place, where Bea and Debbie perpetually eat toast and plan Debbie’s formal outfit to be some awful frilly seventies thing mums always love.
I’m not sure what teenage girls picture heaven to be like these days, but I’m pretty sure it’s not your mum dressing you in ugly dresses for the biggest dance you didn’t live to see - for all of eternity.
Over in the Slot, Ferguson and Vera are peeping in on seriously tranquillised Real Life Bea. Vera tells us that Bea’s initial charges were dropped but now she’s serving twelve years for Jacs’ manslaughter. Ferguson decides its time to get Bea back in the mix, so its cold turkey no more drugs, and a zoned out Bea is rolled back into the yard. And even though Bea barely even knows her own name, Franky is immediately convinced Bea’s planning something against her.
It only takes a tiny prod from Ferguson before Franky is jamming Bea’s buzzed out head into a sink of water until Bea hollers to everyone that Franky is in charge. It must give Franky a bit of a power boner, because nek minnit she’s attacking Kim’s nether regions like the secret to ultimate control is buried in there.
Bea on the other hand is ready to flip tables. This Debbie-less non-fantasy world is hard and violent and plain out sucks balls. She gets restrained in medical until the worst of her withdrawal passes. But it’s not enough for Bea – she needs to get back to fantasy post haste, so trades a favour to Franky for some sneaky sedatives. Luckily Liz is there to stop her, monologing her way into Bea’s mind and convincing her that she just needs to find something to live for.
Outside, Ferguson has brought Doreen into the yard for a late night rendezvous. If I were Doreen and had seen The Shawshank Redemption, I’d be crapping myself that the Governor was about to have me shot to smithereens.
Ferguson is unnerving as hell, but luckily all she wants to do is upgrade Doreen’s flower patch into a fully blown veggie garden. Doreen is super excited. Which in itself makes me nervous for her. This smells a lot like the beginning of Doreen being groomed for top dog.
Bea decides to pop one last pill to say goodbye to Dream-Debbie. She explains that she can’t spend her days spaced out of her mind anymore. She has to venture out into the real world because she has a mission now. To destroy Brayden Holt.
As Bea stares bloody murder eyes at Brayden’s picture, Ferguson takes another shot at Franky by moving Kim into another cellblock. Vera takes home Fletch’s tiny Buddha statue and Will gets called ‘scum’ via text. Bullies. Geez.
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