Season 3, Episode 7, 'Strange Bedfellows'; The gals do politics, Blanche does the politician, maybe?
We’re all talking about this circus that is the 2016 presidential elections. How did our democracy’s most important feature turn into such a farce? Well, I’ll tell you, things are not like they were in 1986. And the most important races? Local city council races. That’s where the real work gets done. Street permits. Garbage collection. At the heart of it all, lots of paperwork to keep them busy from the new world order that’s forming.
BURN!
Gil Kessler is running for city councilman of Miami. The whole city? I suppose. A white man to represent Miami males a lot of sense. Of course, the gals are involved in the campaign, because there’s not a banquet, charity, or girl scout troupe to keep themselves busy with. Why, do you ask, should they support Kessler? They don’t say. Maybe he wants to make the boardwalk at the beach better, and not just use a cardboard background. Sophia can’t express her concern that there aren’t enough senile old black men for her to befriend, because the gals made her say in her room. “Who am I, Alf?” he quips, in a very time-specific joke.
There’s a meeting at the wicker-adorned living room that gave jobs to many many extras “of a certain age.” Kissy Kessler, as he will later be known, forgets some papers at their house to Blanche runs off to get them to him. If only fax machines were all the rage at this time!
Then, the papers (the Miami Herald?) report a woman sneaking into Kessler’s house late at night. Blanche is glad it’s her, and wouldn’t you know it, the girls accuse her of giving Kessler the ol’ Deverau vag. Blanche protests, but don’t you know, slut shaming was all the rage in that day, right along with Jazzercise and a rape-free Cosby. Turns out that Kessler, nay, Gil- he’s a human he deserves a first name- just said that to hide some other secret. He thought if the media thought he was given’ the ol’s stuffin’ to Blanche they wouldn’t find out his…awful secret. So awful that American television makes it the butt of a joke.
See, he holds a press conference (seriously, who gives a fuck? There’s so many people there.) to announce his big secret: he was born a housewife with an Italian name, but now he had a sex change to who he is now.
Well, mind you, there’s so many jokes after this, it’s like dominoes being set up and pushed down ninety miles per hour. “See?” says Sophia. “I knew he was a Italian!”
Oh, they’re not done.
“What do they do with the parts? Do they test them out?”
“NO MA!”
“What are they made of?” - Rose asking a somewhat fair question, maybe not in that context.
“Silly putty, Rose!” bellows Dorothy, berating the only people that will ever love her.
The gals eventually apologize to Blanche, who tells them stretching the truth is a Southern tradition, like sweet tea and slavery. She claims to stretch the truth about the men she has been with, but, crosses her fingers behind her back, because…OH YEAAAAA she really is down with nonstop dick.
What did we learn about politics? Nothing. Have a fundraiser and press conference. Or something.
