Episode 9 of Exploring the Human Body with Whitney and Bobby opens with a lot of mumbling about hair. "That's a lotta hair," is the first thing we can hear clearly and it comes from Whit. Of course it does. She's talking about that of Bobby's nephew, Kelsey:
Whit then pretends to braid her husband's too-short hair. Bobby informs us that Whit's poor judgment comes from the fact that instead of dolls, she played with matches and gasoline when she was little. She gets all excited -- a little too excited for him to be lying.
"And burn them shits' asses up," she enthuses. And then: "Amen, I started the Nrk riots, you know that?" The what riots? Oh. Newark. Awesome!
Then, she and Bobby start doing that verbal/physical picking thing they do. Except, this time their bickering ends happily.
After the credits, more of this setting: their Atlanta home.
"This is the Brown house," Bobby tells us. Get it? Bobby Brown/the house is painted brown. That's the kinda cleverness we've come to expect from the man who wrote (he'll have you know!) "Get Away."
Whitney tells us that Bobby does a good impression of Rick James. She's wrong. She gets him going by humming some bars of "Superfreak". His impression is detrimentally marred by his complete botching of the chorus-concluding "Yow." Whitney thinks it's perfect anyway. Love is deaf, y'all.
Tommy then says he's made a reservation at arcade-restaurant Dave & Busters, which Wincey is not happy about. What, the Eat & Play Power Combo doesn't entice you, Whit? How bourgie. Bobby explains that D&B is for pimps, a plus in his book. "Put you right to work when we get there, sweetie," says Bob. "'Sweetie?' Bobby, you know I hate that shit . . . That sweetie shit don't work well wit' me." "Sweetie" might not work well, but implications of prostitution? Like a charm!
Meanwhile, as they're talking shit, BK waits patiently with what looks like paperwork.
Child neglect is hilarious.
As they get ready, Whit does that weird overhead-bell-ringing motion she did on last week's previews . . .
. . . minus the alarm sound. WTF? Quit playing games with my heart, Bravo. Now we'll never know what she meant. I'm over it as soon as I see her (literally!) kicking it stereotypical Russian style:
When the group arrives at D&B, some man holds the door open for them and Whit says, "Didn't I see you at the gas station? I sure did!" OMG. I'm moving to the ATL.
At D&B, some tweens recognize Bobby. That's a demo he desperately needs the support of. How nice!
Except . . .
Haha! I'd ask the same question. Anyway, the editors let us know Whit's whereabouts almost immediately:
"Kickass!" she yells. She's gaming. Good thing she brought her cyborg cellphone earpiece!
During dinner, Bobby breaks down the Browns' family glue: "Yo, when my family's together. Y'know, all we do is we laugh, we have fun, we kick it. That's what the Browns about: laughter." It would seem that way.
Then: more games. Bobby plays pool with an underused Pop. Pop loses.
Bobby Jr. steps up to play. Bobby refers to him as "Lil' B," so that's what we're calling him from now on. Lil' B totally sucks, so Whit tells Bob, in front of everyone, that he should let Lil' B win.
I think she means, "Let him win, soon."
While the boys are doing their thing, BK gets positively ladylike.
(What's good, 'Necia?)
Whitney is serious about the wanting to go thing.
OK, now I'm serious about moving to be near them. I love that she says "You know me," which means she's totally done it before. I would ride her . . . wait, what's that Bobby? You have some snark for this one? Please, go ahead! I hate to impose on a family . . .
It's funny cuz it's true. Bobby finally lets Lil' B win, which turns out to be the right move. It makes Lil' B so ecstatic that he claims his birthright and creates a song on the spot. We'll call it "I Won". As he sings, he rocks back and forth on his precariously high stool, exhibiting yet another birthright: ostensible insanity.
"Robert!" See, Whit's pissed because his song is totally better than her newest creation, "Goodbye, Goodbye". Feel like singing along, anyway? Here are the lyrics:
A catchy tune. "And y'all think I'm crazy," voiceovers Bobby. No, I'm pretty sure we think Whit's out of her mind ("batshit," that's my favorite way to describe it). But good guess!
Then, more gaming, this time at Malibu Grand Prix. Bobby hops from one failed activity to the next, all the while adopting Pop's raspy ranting style. There's something truly endearing about someone accepting his future self.
Bobby spots Skee Ball and lets us know. It really sounds like he's saying Skeet Ball. He says it a lot. It's pretty gross.
And then, true to form, he cheats.
Cut to go carts! Bobby heckles a stranger on the track while waiting in line. So let me get this straight: if you live in Atlanta you can 1) Pump gas with Whitney 2) Find Whitney on the side of the road 3) Be the brunt of Bobby's ridicule. Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a new capital (which makes even more sense when you consider my nomination of "Roni" for our new national anthem).
And then Bobby, whose intelligence and diligence make him untouchable and completely exempt from the kind of mocking he so freely dispenses, informs us that he used to drive in the Kentucky Derby. Then, he proves it.
More game-oriented shenanigans ensue, including balls flying at Bobby's balls in a batting cage. And then Whit calls. She's never far away and that's a good thing.
Bobby's side of the conversation makes for another wonderful soliloquy. If last week's burp narration was "Friends, Romans, countrymen," this must be "Out, damned spot!":
"'Ey honey…I'm coming by there…I'm on my way. I'm like right down the block, anyway. 'Bout two minutes away from you…Who's there?...You got company, don't chu? You got somebody over there wit chu. Who there wit chu?...Who's there?...Oh, really? You got a man there wit chu, don't chu?...Huh?...If I catch shit up in there, you know what I'm do…I'ma bust his…Wha?...You ain't in the mood for playin'? I'm not in the mood for playing. Who's over there?...Who am I? I'm your husband! What chu mean, who am I?...What?...Oh, you're a grown woman? You're a grown woman? Huh? You grown now?...Who's over there?...Bye."
There's apparent reconciliation, which leads Bob to voiceover: "Whitney and I, y'know, we know how to fight, and we know how to make up. That's the good thing about us." The good thing? It seems unfair to just pick one.
Commercials and then time for a new house, this time in Morristown, NJ.
Bobby gives us a breakneck tour of the house that would be completely useless were it not for my ability to catch it all and spell it all out slowly. Seriously, I'm all about watching Bob and Whit be high, but it's also nice to learn a little something about where they call home. I mean, they're practically family at this point. Anyway, this is Bob's former home studio . . .
. . . former because Whit won't let him use it on account of their bedroom being over it. He uses a lot of words to say "creative bankruptcy." Moving on, we see an awards case . . .
. . . Bob points out that he's won five Grammies, seven American Music Awards and two People's Choice Awards. And all he got was this stupid reality show. He also admits that most of the awards in the case are Whitney's, which, duh.
Their great room:
"That's . . . a room," says Bob about this one, which clearly deserves a better explanation that probably wouldn't even be too difficult (hint: use the word "pool"):
A game room. Is it a shock at all that the games seem to be out of commission?
A shoe room:
A "bed area":
Then, in a room we haven't been introduced to but will soon know and love, Bob shows off his repugnant feet. Every little step, I vomit.
He and Whit freak out to the tune of "Born To Be Wild". And I mean freak out (by the song's end, Whit sounds like she's sporting an electrolarynx). BK is not amused. It strikes me that throughout this show's run, it's taken a lot to flap BK because I've never seen her more mortified. And, in yet another case of princess sympathy, I can't help but feel her embarrassment.
Then, in a moment of pure catharsis, BK starts wailing on Bobby . . .
. . . which turns one of her onlooking friends aghast . . .
Bob has the perfect solution to end the violence: feet!
BK and Whit hate this, but it cracks up another onlooker . . .
Then, two relatives of Whit's drop by, her niece Blair . . .
And her nephew Gary. While a few have hypothesized that Bob and Whit spend so much time in hotels to escape their endzsucking relatives, Whit seems genuinely thrilled to see them. And Jesus Christ, can you blame her?
"Look at my nephew, oh my god!" cackles Whit. Indeed. Look at him. I'm sorry, but not dignity nor homophobia nor a gene pool the size of a puddle could keep my hands offa that beautiful, beautiful slab of man. I mean, Jesus, he's like, the hottest guy I've ever seen . . . on Bravo.
And now we come to yet another exchange that deserves no less than a transcript. It all starts benignly enough with nicotine:
Bobby: You wanna see a terrorist? Here's a terrorist for you. Cigarettes. These cigarettes kill more people everyday than any terrorist I've seen . . . on television.
W: On television? You ain't seen no terrorist on television.
B: Yes I have.
W: Who? You?
B: George Bush.
W: George is protecting the country.
B: He works for this country! He don't protect nobody countryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyygb bbyghbnhgbnhghnhnhg
. . . oh, sorry guys, I got distracted by the reaction shot of Gary that Bravo randomly inserted. I hate to break this exchange up, but he's worth another peak.
Uh, Gary? Do you think I can impregnate you tonight? No? Well, do you think you can impregnate me tonight?
We now resume our regularly scheduled political debate, already in progress:
W: He protectin' yo country ass!
B: He ain't protectin' me, motherfucker. That motherfucker put me in jail!
W: (to someone who isn't Bobby) George did his shit. George put him in jail!
B: What the fuck y'all talkin' 'bout freedom! He go over there and fight for freedom! And we ain't free in this country yet!
W: We gotta live wit SARS. We gotta live wit fuckin' uh– what'sat – Anthrax! Mmm mmm (signifying "no").
B: Aw, you just watch too much TV. I'm a true American! I've been to jail before, that's American!
W: Kiss my ass!
B: All right, that's what I like.
OK, before we freak out about Whit's Bush support, let's remember that the woman is BATSHIT and that if given the option, I'm sure she would have voted Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan!!! into office. But maybe I'm not so riled by her revelation since I don't really care about, y'know, politics. I mean, I can't be bothered to worry about the sad state of any affairs outside the Brown household. So really, all I got out of whole exchange (besides laughter, of course) was that Whit and BK didn't forget Bobby when they visited Von Dutch. Enriching!
Time for more Bobby "at work." He goes to some studio to record, but not before can Bravo reveal its utter coolness . . .
Anyway, recording . . .
Bobby sings "They Say", a paranoid-delusional anthem about stalkerazzi in the grand tradition of "My Prerogative" ("They say I'm crazy . . .") and, uh, "Get Away." "They say I fuss and fight / What they say, it just ain't right," sings Bob. Yeah. If only Get Along Gang weren't taken. We coulda been watching a much more appropriately titled show.
Bob also sings the umpteenth version of what could only be called "Being Bobby Brown." This one has excellent ad-libbing. "Yo! If they ask you what you're doin' say, 'I'm just bein' Bobby / I'm just bein' Bobby / I'm just bein' Brown' / Keep my name out your mouth." How can I do that? I can I tell people I'm being Bobby, being Brown while keeping his name out my mouth? How?
OK, enough of this musical nonsense, back to domestic nonsense. At home, Bobby the maniac dances like he's never danced before . . .
. . . reveals a hidden talent . . .
. . . and promises Whit that she has a fun night ahead of her. "Aw yeah, tonight you're gonna get your ass bitten."
She can't wait!
Then, to bid adieu, Bobby launches into something we'll call "Goodbye Y'all". Instead of an original composition, this seems to be a riff on "Goodbye Girl" by Go West. Go. West. As in try-to-remember-our-actual-hit-"King of Wishful Thinking"-from-the-Pretty Woman-soundtrack-let-alone-"Goodbye Girl"-which-didn't-chart Go West. I can say with confidence, without ever having met the man, that this is the weirdest thing to wash up from the sea of tangents that is Bobby's mind.
Next week (er, uh, this Thursday), we'll see Bravo's version of the show's greatest hits. We'll see if they can get this right or if they krunk it up. A clips show normally wouldn't be exciting, but, y'know, we're talking about the best thing to ever happen to television here. I say, repackage away!
Oh, and while you're at it, give me some previously unseen shit, too . . .
I'm telling you cuz you care about these things: can't wait!!!