Football Betting in Nigeria has a long history that can be traced to colonial times, when pool betting was popular, especially among older adults. Since then, younger people have taken up betting on the results of football matches, including European league football.
The country has many betting outlets where populace can place a bet physically. They can also open an account online with a betting company, using a debit card, and place bets on the website or app.
Two factors are accountable for increasing football betting among youth in Nigeria. One is the increase in poverty and unemployment. Among Nigeria’s estimated population of around 200 million, around eighty seven million are said to be tremendously poor.
According to the National Bureau of Statistics, 29.7% of youths between the ages of fifteen and thirty-four were unemployed at the third quarter of 2018. Betting may appear to be a method to make rapid money, either as a betting operative or as a gambler.
The second factor driving and enabling football betting in Nigeria is the growing use of the internet plus smart mobile phones. In 2017, eighty-four percent of Nigerians had mobile phones. The number of internet users in Nigeria is one hundred twenty two million based on figures from the Nigerian Communication Commission. This is more than half of Nigeria’s estimated inhabitants. The increase in internet users in Nigeria can be attributed to affordability of internet admission with less than 100 (less than US$1), internet connectivity is guaranteed. It is easy as well as convenient for people to place bets online utilizing their phones.

Is everyone properly positioned in a fortress of toilet paper and hand sanitizer for nearly 90 minutes of hollow romance? Fuck yeah, quarantine!
As always, I’ll neglect to comment on 90DF’s hazmat-demanding human plague, other than to note that nipple tattoos are a sign of full-body asshole infection. It’s also my latest entry in the Douchepedia, right between ‘Naming Your Comb Because That’s Normal’ and ‘Not a Reason to Be Jealous, But I Planned This’.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Surface Hell, Nigeria, Lisa wakes up next to her ‘destiny’ after a long night of penis gobbling. She smashes her face into Usman’s, while he insists he wants to sleep until this isn’t a nightmare. But Lisa has jet lag, so he’s going to have to rise and start getting used to his world revolving around her. The afterglow couldn’t be dimmer.
Lisa summons her inner Laura, and says that sex is different in Nigeria, and she was shocked to discover an unexpected resistance to going truffle hunting in her 19-hour jeans-baked travel clam. Usman described the encounter as “70% good of what I expected, and that’s enough.” This gives her a low C for people who haven’t been in school for awhile, and 30% of Usman definitely needs to talk to someone.
While pawing through the drugstore she packed in her suitcase, Lisa unearths condoms for slut people, and they chuckle over the possibility of using them, because the best way to ward of STIs is to openly mock them. Lisa then asks how his first bareback ride went, and Usman’s face suggests he’s been to many, many rodeos, and Lisa was just his first old town road.
The doomed duo then ventures out to meet the yahoo boys for breakfast, and they mention Usman’s mom doesn’t like white folks, and thinks Lisa’s trying to make Usman her slave, because she is. Lisa is baffled to learn that Africans are distrustful of white folks; I mean, things got weird like 400 years ago, and since then Obama was elected and Miley Cyrus twerked without an ass, so isn’t there equality now? Lisa should be able to convince his mom of her pure intentions by either bullying or gloating, which are her only two routes of operation, and if those don’t work, she’ll remind us he’s a celebrity.
When Lisa insists they’ll be married with or without approval, Usman’s yahoo boys look at him in yahoo horror, and Usman walks it back to a decision that will arrive with a spontaneous fit of wisdom, that will just coincidentally be whatever his mom suggests. Nice. I’m using this. Usman confesses to the producers that he lied about being indifferent to his mom’s approval, or maybe wasn’t banking on it until he was feeling D+ devoted. Lisa flounces away, because she still hasn’t noticed she’s in a different country with different cultural norms, and that her yahoo boy is not flouncing after her. This is very on-brand for someone baffled that their likeness wasn’t projected onto the moon for Usman’s video shoot.
Back at the hotel Lisa is packing her hodgepodge suitcase of brown shoes and mullet dresses to travel to Usman’s modest apartment. As they get in the car his phone vibrates away, while Lisa furiously pets her teddy bear gift in hopes of rubbing it to life so she can stuff it with dynamite and send it on a suicide mission to destroy Usman’s female fans. “He has too many followers,” she tells the bear, newly named InstaGrammie. “His career will be a lot more successful if no one is listening to his music. I know things, InstaGrammie. I know.”
Finally they arrive at Usman’s Yahoo Hut of two rooms and a bucket shower, which is luxury to Nigerian bachelors and anyone working in San Francisco. Lisa is shocked to discover those 22K instagram followers didn’t heart-button a mansion into existence, and this is not what she expects from a celebrity trolling online communities for a middle-aged woman. “Thank God we’re staying at a hotel,” Lisa declares, since she’s used to living the high life of body waxing, sugary drinks, and last gasp suitcases. Meanwhile, Usman expresses his discomfort to his friends, and says that she’s even more controlling in person, and doesn’t seem likely to respect his career, which greatly decreases the likelihood of him convincing his mom she’s not looking for a slave.
If we’re going to go Paul, I don’t want Paul Lite, I want Paul 151, because he’s the only one who can be calmer than you are at the reunion after running into the jungle in flip flops with hair in his pocket and a producer hot on his trail. Instead, we’ve got Big Ed, aka Little Paul, prepping for the romantic interrogation of his dearly beloved. He asks for two beds in the hotel room so their genitals can be separated by space, time, logic, and a fortress of condoms and contraceptive foam. Sadly, this has nothing to do with respect; it’s about plans to humiliate her with an on-camera STI test, because he “wants to know he can trust her,” and chlamydia is a sign of betrayal, I guess. If I hadn’t had sex in 28 years, my concern would be whether I was capable of rocking out with my cock out now that the energy and libido of being 22 are but a distant memory, but Ed probably sees sex like a White Snake video, where he’s the car and Rose is the writhing redhead, who remains enthusiastic despite the fact that the engine isn’t even on.
Anyway, Rose mentions that she doesn’t speak English that well, but Ed keeps talking to her, and there’s only so many times she can smile and tilt her head, and wonder if he’s ever going to ask her any questions about herself that don’t sound like accusations. Spoiler alert: he’s not. Ed gives her a San Diego T-shirt to sleep in, and feels bad that she didn’t bring pajamas, and never thinks for a second that this is because she wasn’t anticipating staying at a hotel. Again: that requires asking questions.
Ed brushes his teeth, and opts to prolong his last mayo application by not showering. Apparently me, Jasmin, and Avery are the only people who want to break open a fire hydrant or walk through a human car wash after getting off the sky bullet of stank. Rose tells the producers she’s going to pretend to be asleep so Big Ed can fuck right off, and when he says “goodnight my queen” she responds with: “This is a snore.” Aced it.
The next day Ed wakes up and makes gerbil noises on Rose’s neck, before ordering room service and listening to Rose’s complaints that the room is too cold. I’m on Ed’s side here. Rose is wrong. Then Rose and Ed’s anxiety get into a taxi and head to a market, where Ed declares his intention to take her shopping, but not before he asks if she’s excited he’s in the “Phil-A-PEEEEENS!” This is officially a realistic first date.
At the market he spots some pajamas, and announces his presence to shop-owners with the official 90DF greeting: “Does anyone here speak English?” Rose takes it upon herself to pull the appropriate bills from Ed’s open wallet, likely in response to him saying, “I don’t even know how much that is.” Instead of seeing this as a speedy response to articulated confusion in an environment where a gaping wallet is a bad idea, he takes offense. After a few more purchases and a thoroughly soaked sweaty shirt, Ed whines that he’s hot and needs to be back in air conditioning.
“Have you considered an ice pack vest,” Paul interjects. “And yes, I have an entire basement full of TP in preparation for coronavirus. I’m not going to tell you how many weapons I have, because that could make me a target. In fact, this isn’t Paul. This camouflage means you can’t see me. What’s that over there?” (Running sound.)
Meanwhile, Avery has deplaned and is ready to meet single-ladies trafficker Ash, and she’s nervous about being a stinky hag for their intro. Lucky for her, I can smell the sandalwood on Ash through the tv screen, so between that and her aura of honeycomb and stardust they should be fine. They happily greet each other and declare their initial physical interaction “natural” (not gonna lie, it made me smile).
They head to their AirBnB, and in the car Ash reports that her hands are so “nurturing” which prompts a giggle from Avery, before she retorts that his hands are soft, and he says it’s because all he does it wack it and dunk it in the ocean. She laughs at this, but Ash presents no indication that he’s joking unless the punchline is his pants. Is this what she means by Ash knowing the right things to say? Because he’s at the front of my Douchepedia, under ‘Cult Leader for Vagina’.
Ash shares an apartment with his brother, but said brother doesn’t want Avery to stay there, because she might trip over Ash’s other girlfriends. This makes Avery reasonably suspicious, so she says the bed large enough for her to starfish is hers, and Ash can shove those two twin beds together and fuck the slot in between, until their spirits agree with their genitals. I’m really starting to like Avery. Ash is disappointed in this, but recovers immediately, because as a relationship coach he knows that women are all the same, and will fuck him eventually.
The long box he snagged from his favorite florist to have beers with contains long-stemmed black roses, which she loves because they remind her of how dead inside 90DF viewers are (so?), and he chases this with a fond token commemorating that time she ghosted him. Apparently he posted his-and-her ‘Avery Loves Ash’ bracelets on THE GRAM, and Avery thought that was so cringe that she grabbed Lisa’s InstaGrammie bear and screamed into its stomach. I’d have a similar reaction, but my concept of romance is my boyfriend rubbing a potato on my back to banish a lung disease, so yeah, I‘d better sit this one out. They talk about this, and how she wasn’t ready “accept his love,” but she’s seriously considering it now that she’s on a TV show.
Finally we meet MMmmMmmmmmMM David, the glorious human I’ve been eagerly anticipating since the first preview. David is on the brink of retiring after a successful tech career, and is RV shopping so he can travel the country with his kitty copilot, Mothra. He has to sell a lot of stuff to accommodate a nomadic existence, but intends to cling tightly to his collection of unicycles. Can this guy be my uncle? David, you’re my uncle now. Also, I’m setting you up with Yolanda, if I can recover her from Manchester, ASP.
The Ukrainian woman conning him is Lana, whom you might remember from the time she went by Maria, and they’ve been chatting online up to four hours a day for seven years. She’s stood him for every one of their in-person meetings, because like a lot of people on this show, emergencies and illnesses happen right before air travel. David explains that he’s had a Slavic-lady fetish since his prepubescent wanking to Boris and Natasha, and is okay with spending $100K talking to a fantasy online through an expensive translation site, because he doesn’t feel lonely, and that makes him think it’s a good investment. This might be the most honest answer in the history of this show.
He meets up with friends Dave and Victoria, who confirm David’s wealth by how they carry themselves and the way they express concern for his emotional well-being, but not his finances. Victoria is also Ukrainian, and met Dave on a dating site, but Victoria says that she paid for this herself, and that women over 25 still looking for a man in the Ukraine are hunting for suckers. David is not persuaded by this argument, and his bank account just doesn’t care, and I’m fully on board with David’s comfortable dismissal of logic and evidence.
The site and chat service he uses to communicate with Lana doesn’t allow video interaction unless he’s willing to surrender additional cash, at which point they’ll dust off Maria and have her smile and call him husband. He takes his laptop to a park to chat with her, and get the details of their upcoming meeting in Odessa. He asks how he’ll be able to identify her, and she says she’ll be wearing a blue dress, and hiding under her invisible train ticket. If David smells a rat he doesn’t much care, and is pleased when she sends him a devilish emoji, which he explains is code for THE SEX, a subject that often comes up when he wonders about train tickets. “And I responded MmmmMMmmMMM,” he narrates, and my favorite character since Jihoon has been Frankenstein’d to life.
Later he calls his friend Anya in Ukraine. He met her during his last round of perusing a Ukrainian wifey, and she was a little too shy for David, but they’ve remained good friends…and yet the reason he hasn’t met Lana is that she’s “too shy” for the airport? Okay then. Instead of seeing this as Cesar part 2, I’m going to craft a storyline where Anya is actually Lana, drawing David into a polyamory plot with her current husband. Instead, Anya think he’s naïve for thinking someone who refuses to meet with him after seven years is a solid romantic prospect, and our best bet is the potential for Anya to introduce him to a female friend in fleshy form.
In Yonkers, Stephanie arranges her dogs on her bed to call Erica and her lip injections. She confesses to Erica that she described her as a friend to her family, and Erica goes quiet but doesn’t question it. Erica reports Friday night plans to watch the football final, and Stephanie is jealous because she has no plans, except eating some cheese and watching a movie. This doesn’t inspire giggles or affirmation that this is a solid COVID-19 plan, and that bright light on the horizon is The Doom.
Later, Stephanie packs up, and shows her friend Heather the gifts she got Erica. Stephanie’s gift game is solid, and she reveals a pricey purse she scored that matches Erica’s style so well that I’ll refrain from predictable pumpkin spice commentary. Heather is concerned that Stephanie is all-in already, and Erica won’t be able to drop everything to accommodate Stephanie’s limited lifestyle. She suspects that Stephanie’s eagerness has to do with her mortality awareness, which is underscored by the pharmacy she’s cramming into a suitcase.
Once at the airport, Stephanie reveals that she’ll have to wear a mask to protect herself, and pulls out this sad, scratchy paper mask that she doesn’t really wear in the airport, or on the plane. I have questions, and want to send her a Vogmask as soon as they’re back in production so she can be on trend. Then she can look more like she got lost on the way to the rave, and less like a biohazard waiting to spill onto the runway.
Speaking of biohazards, Darcey, Stacey, and Raina all head to the spa, because that’s what the Kardashians would do. Darcey doesn’t know what the status of her relationship is, because Tom has expressed total indifference, but she hasn’t received any notarized paperwork in triplicate, so it’s all up in the air for Darcey. She calls Tom’s escort a “Darcey lookalike,” and oh honey, no. Instead of addressing the new hand-holster being paraded on THE GRAM directly, she lets all his messages go unanswered, because she needs that scene in New York to happen. Raina chimes in that this relationship is “fucking crazy” and something tells me she says that 30 times a day, and it usually has something to do with Darcey.
Next week Steph meets Erica, MayoMan asks for an STI test, a convicted felon pretends to not be collecting foreign-born spouses to beat, Yolanda wastes our time, Avery meets Ash’s strangely suspicious brother, who looks like a smoking hot villain, Lisa’s campaign of delusion reaches a music video apex, and David happily greets Anya at the airport (and we’re teased that this is Lana).
Thank you, generous Patreon supporters!

Is everyone properly positioned in a fortress of toilet paper and hand sanitizer for nearly 90 minutes of hollow romance? Fuck yeah, quarantine!
As always, I’ll neglect to comment on 90DF’s hazmat-demanding human plague, other than to note that nipple tattoos are a sign of full-body asshole infection. It’s also my latest entry in the Douchepedia, right between ‘Naming Your Comb Because That’s Normal’ and ‘Not a Reason to Be Jealous, But I Planned This’.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Surface Hell, Nigeria, Lisa wakes up next to her ‘destiny’ after a long night of penis gobbling. She smashes her face into Usman’s, while he insists he wants to sleep until this isn’t a nightmare. But Lisa has jet lag, so he’s going to have to rise and start getting used to his world revolving around her. The afterglow couldn’t be dimmer.
Lisa summons her inner Laura, and says that sex is different in Nigeria, and she was shocked to discover an unexpected resistance to going truffle hunting in her 19-hour jeans-baked travel clam. Usman described the encounter as “70% good of what I expected, and that’s enough.” This gives her a low C for people who haven’t been in school for awhile, and 30% of Usman definitely needs to talk to someone.
While pawing through the drugstore she packed in her suitcase, Lisa unearths condoms for slut people, and they chuckle over the possibility of using them, because the best way to ward of STIs is to openly mock them. Lisa then asks how his first bareback ride went, and Usman’s face suggests he’s been to many, many rodeos, and Lisa was just his first old town road.
The doomed duo then ventures out to meet the yahoo boys for breakfast, and they mention Usman’s mom doesn’t like white folks, and thinks Lisa’s trying to make Usman her slave, because she is. Lisa is baffled to learn that Africans are distrustful of white folks; I mean, things got weird like 400 years ago, and since then Obama was elected and Miley Cyrus twerked without an ass, so isn’t there equality now? Lisa should be able to convince his mom of her pure intentions by either bullying or gloating, which are her only two routes of operation, and if those don’t work, she’ll remind us he’s a celebrity.
When Lisa insists they’ll be married with or without approval, Usman’s yahoo boys look at him in yahoo horror, and Usman walks it back to a decision that will arrive with a spontaneous fit of wisdom, that will just coincidentally be whatever his mom suggests. Nice. I’m using this. Usman confesses to the producers that he lied about being indifferent to his mom’s approval, or maybe wasn’t banking on it until he was feeling D+ devoted. Lisa flounces away, because she still hasn’t noticed she’s in a different country with different cultural norms, and that her yahoo boy is not flouncing after her. This is very on-brand for someone baffled that their likeness wasn’t projected onto the moon for Usman’s video shoot.
Back at the hotel Lisa is packing her hodgepodge suitcase of brown shoes and mullet dresses to travel to Usman’s modest apartment. As they get in the car his phone vibrates away, while Lisa furiously pets her teddy bear gift in hopes of rubbing it to life so she can stuff it with dynamite and send it on a suicide mission to destroy Usman’s female fans. “He has too many followers,” she tells the bear, newly named InstaGrammie. “His career will be a lot more successful if no one is listening to his music. I know things, InstaGrammie. I know.”
Finally they arrive at Usman’s Yahoo Hut of two rooms and a bucket shower, which is luxury to Nigerian bachelors and anyone working in San Francisco. Lisa is shocked to discover those 22K instagram followers didn’t heart-button a mansion into existence, and this is not what she expects from a celebrity trolling online communities for a middle-aged woman. “Thank God we’re staying at a hotel,” Lisa declares, since she’s used to living the high life of body waxing, sugary drinks, and last gasp suitcases. Meanwhile, Usman expresses his discomfort to his friends, and says that she’s even more controlling in person, and doesn’t seem likely to respect his career, which greatly decreases the likelihood of him convincing his mom she’s not looking for a slave.
If we’re going to go Paul, I don’t want Paul Lite, I want Paul 151, because he’s the only one who can be calmer than you are at the reunion after running into the jungle in flip flops with hair in his pocket and a producer hot on his trail. Instead, we’ve got Big Ed, aka Little Paul, prepping for the romantic interrogation of his dearly beloved. He asks for two beds in the hotel room so their genitals can be separated by space, time, logic, and a fortress of condoms and contraceptive foam. Sadly, this has nothing to do with respect; it’s about plans to humiliate her with an on-camera STI test, because he “wants to know he can trust her,” and chlamydia is a sign of betrayal, I guess. If I hadn’t had sex in 28 years, my concern would be whether I was capable of rocking out with my cock out now that the energy and libido of being 22 are but a distant memory, but Ed probably sees sex like a White Snake video, where he’s the car and Rose is the writhing redhead, who remains enthusiastic despite the fact that the engine isn’t even on.
Anyway, Rose mentions that she doesn’t speak English that well, but Ed keeps talking to her, and there’s only so many times she can smile and tilt her head, and wonder if he’s ever going to ask her any questions about herself that don’t sound like accusations. Spoiler alert: he’s not. Ed gives her a San Diego T-shirt to sleep in, and feels bad that she didn’t bring pajamas, and never thinks for a second that this is because she wasn’t anticipating staying at a hotel. Again: that requires asking questions.
Ed brushes his teeth, and opts to prolong his last mayo application by not showering. Apparently me, Jasmin, and Avery are the only people who want to break open a fire hydrant or walk through a human car wash after getting off the sky bullet of stank. Rose tells the producers she’s going to pretend to be asleep so Big Ed can fuck right off, and when he says “goodnight my queen” she responds with: “This is a snore.” Aced it.
The next day Ed wakes up and makes gerbil noises on Rose’s neck, before ordering room service and listening to Rose’s complaints that the room is too cold. I’m on Ed’s side here. Rose is wrong. Then Rose and Ed’s anxiety get into a taxi and head to a market, where Ed declares his intention to take her shopping, but not before he asks if she’s excited he’s in the “Phil-A-PEEEEENS!” This is officially a realistic first date.
At the market he spots some pajamas, and announces his presence to shop-owners with the official 90DF greeting: “Does anyone here speak English?” Rose takes it upon herself to pull the appropriate bills from Ed’s open wallet, likely in response to him saying, “I don’t even know how much that is.” Instead of seeing this as a speedy response to articulated confusion in an environment where a gaping wallet is a bad idea, he takes offense. After a few more purchases and a thoroughly soaked sweaty shirt, Ed whines that he’s hot and needs to be back in air conditioning.
“Have you considered an ice pack vest,” Paul interjects. “And yes, I have an entire basement full of TP in preparation for coronavirus. I’m not going to tell you how many weapons I have, because that could make me a target. In fact, this isn’t Paul. This camouflage means you can’t see me. What’s that over there?” (Running sound.)
Meanwhile, Avery has deplaned and is ready to meet single-ladies trafficker Ash, and she’s nervous about being a stinky hag for their intro. Lucky for her, I can smell the sandalwood on Ash through the tv screen, so between that and her aura of honeycomb and stardust they should be fine. They happily greet each other and declare their initial physical interaction “natural” (not gonna lie, it made me smile).
They head to their AirBnB, and in the car Ash reports that her hands are so “nurturing” which prompts a giggle from Avery, before she retorts that his hands are soft, and he says it’s because all he does it wack it and dunk it in the ocean. She laughs at this, but Ash presents no indication that he’s joking unless the punchline is his pants. Is this what she means by Ash knowing the right things to say? Because he’s at the front of my Douchepedia, under ‘Cult Leader for Vagina’.
Ash shares an apartment with his brother, but said brother doesn’t want Avery to stay there, because she might trip over Ash’s other girlfriends. This makes Avery reasonably suspicious, so she says the bed large enough for her to starfish is hers, and Ash can shove those two twin beds together and fuck the slot in between, until their spirits agree with their genitals. I’m really starting to like Avery. Ash is disappointed in this, but recovers immediately, because as a relationship coach he knows that women are all the same, and will fuck him eventually.
The long box he snagged from his favorite florist to have beers with contains long-stemmed black roses, which she loves because they remind her of how dead inside 90DF viewers are (so?), and he chases this with a fond token commemorating that time she ghosted him. Apparently he posted his-and-her ‘Avery Loves Ash’ bracelets on THE GRAM, and Avery thought that was so cringe that she grabbed Lisa’s InstaGrammie bear and screamed into its stomach. I’d have a similar reaction, but my concept of romance is my boyfriend rubbing a potato on my back to banish a lung disease, so yeah, I‘d better sit this one out. They talk about this, and how she wasn’t ready “accept his love,” but she’s seriously considering it now that she’s on a TV show.
Finally we meet MMmmMmmmmmMM David, the glorious human I’ve been eagerly anticipating since the first preview. David is on the brink of retiring after a successful tech career, and is RV shopping so he can travel the country with his kitty copilot, Mothra. He has to sell a lot of stuff to accommodate a nomadic existence, but intends to cling tightly to his collection of unicycles. Can this guy be my uncle? David, you’re my uncle now. Also, I’m setting you up with Yolanda, if I can recover her from Manchester, ASP.
The Ukrainian woman conning him is Lana, whom you might remember from the time she went by Maria, and they’ve been chatting online up to four hours a day for seven years. She’s stood him for every one of their in-person meetings, because like a lot of people on this show, emergencies and illnesses happen right before air travel. David explains that he’s had a Slavic-lady fetish since his prepubescent wanking to Boris and Natasha, and is okay with spending $100K talking to a fantasy online through an expensive translation site, because he doesn’t feel lonely, and that makes him think it’s a good investment. This might be the most honest answer in the history of this show.
He meets up with friends Dave and Victoria, who confirm David’s wealth by how they carry themselves and the way they express concern for his emotional well-being, but not his finances. Victoria is also Ukrainian, and met Dave on a dating site, but Victoria says that she paid for this herself, and that women over 25 still looking for a man in the Ukraine are hunting for suckers. David is not persuaded by this argument, and his bank account just doesn’t care, and I’m fully on board with David’s comfortable dismissal of logic and evidence.
The site and chat service he uses to communicate with Lana doesn’t allow video interaction unless he’s willing to surrender additional cash, at which point they’ll dust off Maria and have her smile and call him husband. He takes his laptop to a park to chat with her, and get the details of their upcoming meeting in Odessa. He asks how he’ll be able to identify her, and she says she’ll be wearing a blue dress, and hiding under her invisible train ticket. If David smells a rat he doesn’t much care, and is pleased when she sends him a devilish emoji, which he explains is code for THE SEX, a subject that often comes up when he wonders about train tickets. “And I responded MmmmMMmmMMM,” he narrates, and my favorite character since Jihoon has been Frankenstein’d to life.
Later he calls his friend Anya in Ukraine. He met her during his last round of perusing a Ukrainian wifey, and she was a little too shy for David, but they’ve remained good friends…and yet the reason he hasn’t met Lana is that she’s “too shy” for the airport? Okay then. Instead of seeing this as Cesar part 2, I’m going to craft a storyline where Anya is actually Lana, drawing David into a polyamory plot with her current husband. Instead, Anya think he’s naïve for thinking someone who refuses to meet with him after seven years is a solid romantic prospect, and our best bet is the potential for Anya to introduce him to a female friend in fleshy form.
In Yonkers, Stephanie arranges her dogs on her bed to call Erica and her lip injections. She confesses to Erica that she described her as a friend to her family, and Erica goes quiet but doesn’t question it. Erica reports Friday night plans to watch the football final, and Stephanie is jealous because she has no plans, except eating some cheese and watching a movie. This doesn’t inspire giggles or affirmation that this is a solid COVID-19 plan, and that bright light on the horizon is The Doom.
Later, Stephanie packs up, and shows her friend Heather the gifts she got Erica. Stephanie’s gift game is solid, and she reveals a pricey purse she scored that matches Erica’s style so well that I’ll refrain from predictable pumpkin spice commentary. Heather is concerned that Stephanie is all-in already, and Erica won’t be able to drop everything to accommodate Stephanie’s limited lifestyle. She suspects that Stephanie’s eagerness has to do with her mortality awareness, which is underscored by the pharmacy she’s cramming into a suitcase.
Once at the airport, Stephanie reveals that she’ll have to wear a mask to protect herself, and pulls out this sad, scratchy paper mask that she doesn’t really wear in the airport, or on the plane. I have questions, and want to send her a Vogmask as soon as they’re back in production so she can be on trend. Then she can look more like she got lost on the way to the rave, and less like a biohazard waiting to spill onto the runway.
Speaking of biohazards, Darcey, Stacey, and Raina all head to the spa, because that’s what the Kardashians would do. Darcey doesn’t know what the status of her relationship is, because Tom has expressed total indifference, but she hasn’t received any notarized paperwork in triplicate, so it’s all up in the air for Darcey. She calls Tom’s escort a “Darcey lookalike,” and oh honey, no. Instead of addressing the new hand-holster being paraded on THE GRAM directly, she lets all his messages go unanswered, because she needs that scene in New York to happen. Raina chimes in that this relationship is “fucking crazy” and something tells me she says that 30 times a day, and it usually has something to do with Darcey.
Next week Steph meets Erica, MayoMan asks for an STI test, a convicted felon pretends to not be collecting foreign-born spouses to beat, Yolanda wastes our time, Avery meets Ash’s strangely suspicious brother, who looks like a smoking hot villain, Lisa’s campaign of delusion reaches a music video apex, and David happily greets Anya at the airport (and we’re teased that this is Lana).
Thank you, generous Patreon supporters!