LET us go to the Peach Pit After Dark then, you and I,
Where Steve Sanders' country club afro makes the girls press up against his thighs
As if etherised by his steel blue yet vacuous eyes;
Let us go, through certain ethnic streets,
The smell of poor people retreats
After restless days at West Beverly High
And the Peach Pit diner with that douchebag Nat:
Streets that follow like a tedious episode about Andrea Zuckerman
Of insipid plot lines
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “Is Steve Sanders racist?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the show where black people dare not go
90210.
The teenage issues that are resolved within a three act story arc,
Oh dang remember that episode when Brenda pretended to be French
it was resolved within a three act story arc
And that time those two hot girls stole Steve's car,
But there were serious things too like drugs and fires and cults,
But that shit only ever happened to Kelly,
And the one cowboy kid who accidentally shot himself
He was no Steve Sanders, that's for sure,
Head blown off once about the house, that kid was boring.
And indeed there will be time
For other teen issues like abortion, alcoholism, and AIDS
Rubbing their backs upon the West Beverly crew
There will be time, there will be time
To sleep with Kelly and Valerie and Brenda and Gina and Clare;
But probably not Donna because she's saving herself for Ray Pruitt,
And time for the Peach Pitt After Dark with all those awesome bands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for Dylan to turn 33 while he's still in high school;
And time yet for an episode about Dylan's dad getting blown up,
And for Brandon to bone up,
Before the taking of Emily Valentine.
In the show where black people dare not go
90210.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “What's up with Steve's hair?” and, “No, really, what's up with Steve's hair?”
Time to push Donna down the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of Dylan's hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
Brandon's morning sports jacket, collar popped, goatee on the chin,
Mullet hair rich and modest, but asserted by pretty sweet sideburns—
[They will say: “But how the plot of this show is thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
To whack one out to thoughts of Kelly's mom, is that perverse?
For I have beaten off to the others already, beaten off to them all:—
Have beaten off in the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my jizz with coffee spoons;
I know nude pictures of Tiffany Amber-Thiesen that I will take to my tomb
Beneath the moon and stars I will place a baby in her womb.
Another hyphen I presume?
And I have known the guys already, known them all
The guys each one I went through a phase,
And when I formulated a mullet, I was Brandon,
When I was Dylan I pinned a girl wriggling on the wall,
Then who should I be?
To spit out all the douchebags of 90210?
And why should I be so annoyed by Joe E. Tata?
And I have known the moms and dads already, known them all—
Parents that are nice or drunk or blown up
[But in the lamplight, I could totally imagine doing Cindy Walsh!]
It is her permed hair
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then beat off?
And how should I imagine doing it to her?
Shall I say, I have watched every single god-damned episode
And watched the stink that rises from the plotlines
Of douchey men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of convertibles?
I shouldn't have been so into it I guess
but it beats the crap out of Melrose or Models, Inc.
And towards the end, like in season 9 or 10 or whatever, they should have ended it all a little earlier, right?
I still watched 'cause of Donna and David,
But … WTF … with Noah and Janet ... malingerers,
Stretching out the story lines, nobody cared about Noah or Janet.
Should I, after after all those awesome seasons (and after my favourite Emily Valentine),
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and wanked, wept and called Steve Sanders an asshole,
Though I have seen Steve Sanders' head [always with that hair] blown up like a fart,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great art;
I have seen the moment of 90210's greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Noah and especially Janet hog the screen, and annoy,
And in short, I was bored.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the Brandons, the Donnas, the Brendas,
Among the important issues, like when Brenda took that call from a date-rape victim,
Would it have been worth while,
To have ended the show after eight seasons,
Or is it okay to have squeezed the show into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I guess I was pretty into Gina towards the end”
If one, beating it into a pillow with his hand,
Should say: “Tiffany Amber-Thiessen had awesome tits but Gina whatsername was still pretty fit.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the Davids and Steves and even the James fucking Eckhouses,
After the coke, after the alcohol, after we finally got rid of Andrea Zuckerman's boring ass—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while,
To have ended the show after eight seasons,
Or is it okay to have squeezed the show into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I guess I was pretty into Gina towards the end”
If one, beating it into a pillow with his hand,
Should say: “Tiffany Amber-Thiessen had awesome tits but Gina whatsername was still pretty fit.”
No! I am not Brandon, nor was meant to be;
Am a bit like David I guess, one that will be a dick sometimes but generally pretty awesome
God I wish I was actually in that show, start a scene or two,
Advise Steve Sanders; no doubt, that he is a racist asshole bastard,
Deferential to the rest, glad to be just in the mix,
Social politics, love triangles, and domestic abuse (Ray Pruitt!);
West Beverly High was but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
But it never grew old … until about season nine I guess …
I still watch the re-runs and the DVDs sometimes.
Shall I perm my hair like Steve Sanders? Do I dare to ride a motorbike?
In my dreams I shall wear white flannel trousers, and work at the Beverly Hills Beach Club.
I have heard the Brenda and Kelly singing, each to each.
But I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them totally hot for old man Dylan
and dozens of other guys
hahaha oh shit I just remembered when Brandon hooked up with that racist girl. He should have passed her on to Steve Sanders.
We have lingered in the lockers of West Beverly
By school-girls dripping with venereal diseases
Till David and Donna got married, and Steve Sanders ended up with boring face Janet. hahaha ahah ahaha hah aha hahfuck you Steve!
And that time those two hot girls stole Steve's car,
But there were serious things too like drugs and fires and cults,
But that shit only ever happened to Kelly,
And the one cowboy kid who accidentally shot himself
He was no Steve Sanders, that's for sure,
Head blown off once about the house, that kid was boring.
And indeed there will be time
For other teen issues like abortion, alcoholism, and AIDS
Rubbing their backs upon the West Beverly crew
There will be time, there will be time
To sleep with Kelly and Valerie and Brenda and Gina and Clare;
But probably not Donna because she's saving herself for Ray Pruitt,
And time for the Peach Pitt After Dark with all those awesome bands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for Dylan to turn 33 while he's still in high school;
And time yet for an episode about Dylan's dad getting blown up,
And for Brandon to bone up,
Before the taking of Emily Valentine.
In the show where black people dare not go
90210.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “What's up with Steve's hair?” and, “No, really, what's up with Steve's hair?”
Time to push Donna down the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of Dylan's hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
Brandon's morning sports jacket, collar popped, goatee on the chin,
Mullet hair rich and modest, but asserted by pretty sweet sideburns—
[They will say: “But how the plot of this show is thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
To whack one out to thoughts of Kelly's mom, is that perverse?
For I have beaten off to the others already, beaten off to them all:—
Have beaten off in the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my jizz with coffee spoons;
I know nude pictures of Tiffany Amber-Thiesen that I will take to my tomb
Beneath the moon and stars I will place a baby in her womb.
Another hyphen I presume?
And I have known the guys already, known them all
The guys each one I went through a phase,
And when I formulated a mullet, I was Brandon,
When I was Dylan I pinned a girl wriggling on the wall,
Then who should I be?
To spit out all the douchebags of 90210?
And why should I be so annoyed by Joe E. Tata?
And I have known the moms and dads already, known them all—
Parents that are nice or drunk or blown up
[But in the lamplight, I could totally imagine doing Cindy Walsh!]
It is her permed hair
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then beat off?
And how should I imagine doing it to her?
Shall I say, I have watched every single god-damned episode
And watched the stink that rises from the plotlines
Of douchey men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of convertibles?
I shouldn't have been so into it I guess
but it beats the crap out of Melrose or Models, Inc.
And towards the end, like in season 9 or 10 or whatever, they should have ended it all a little earlier, right?
I still watched 'cause of Donna and David,
But … WTF … with Noah and Janet ... malingerers,
Stretching out the story lines, nobody cared about Noah or Janet.
Should I, after after all those awesome seasons (and after my favourite Emily Valentine),
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and wanked, wept and called Steve Sanders an asshole,
Though I have seen Steve Sanders' head [always with that hair] blown up like a fart,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great art;
I have seen the moment of 90210's greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Noah and especially Janet hog the screen, and annoy,
And in short, I was bored.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the Brandons, the Donnas, the Brendas,
Among the important issues, like when Brenda took that call from a date-rape victim,
Would it have been worth while,
To have ended the show after eight seasons,
Or is it okay to have squeezed the show into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I guess I was pretty into Gina towards the end”
If one, beating it into a pillow with his hand,
Should say: “Tiffany Amber-Thiessen had awesome tits but Gina whatsername was still pretty fit.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the Davids and Steves and even the James fucking Eckhouses,
After the coke, after the alcohol, after we finally got rid of Andrea Zuckerman's boring ass—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while,
To have ended the show after eight seasons,
Or is it okay to have squeezed the show into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I guess I was pretty into Gina towards the end”
If one, beating it into a pillow with his hand,
Should say: “Tiffany Amber-Thiessen had awesome tits but Gina whatsername was still pretty fit.”
No! I am not Brandon, nor was meant to be;
Am a bit like David I guess, one that will be a dick sometimes but generally pretty awesome
God I wish I was actually in that show, start a scene or two,
Advise Steve Sanders; no doubt, that he is a racist asshole bastard,
Deferential to the rest, glad to be just in the mix,
Social politics, love triangles, and domestic abuse (Ray Pruitt!);
West Beverly High was but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
But it never grew old … until about season nine I guess …
I still watch the re-runs and the DVDs sometimes.
Shall I perm my hair like Steve Sanders? Do I dare to ride a motorbike?
In my dreams I shall wear white flannel trousers, and work at the Beverly Hills Beach Club.
I have heard the Brenda and Kelly singing, each to each.
But I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them totally hot for old man Dylan
and dozens of other guys
hahaha oh shit I just remembered when Brandon hooked up with that racist girl. He should have passed her on to Steve Sanders.
We have lingered in the lockers of West Beverly
By school-girls dripping with venereal diseases
Till David and Donna got married, and Steve Sanders ended up with boring face Janet. hahaha ahah ahaha hah aha hahfuck you Steve!
