Friends, it’s been over two weeks since I last wrote anything about General Hospital. I think that’s a new record? It’s not that I haven’t been watching. It’s just that the days have all blended together in a big boring haze of Franco and Carly bellowing, FauxLuke being gross with Kiki, pre-teen love triangles, and Sabrina and Patrick making doe eyes at each other.
(I mean sure, occasionally AJ’s ghost shows up to troll Sonny. But a girl’s attention cannot be held by ghost trolling alone, magnificent though it may be.)
Thankfully, Friday’s episode was so hilariously bad that I at least feel invested enough to mock again. It’s the little things, you know? Everything was so terrible, I almost don’t know where to start — except, no, that’s a lie: let’s start with the SEX GUITAR that played over Ava and Sonny LITERALLY BONING ON AJ’s GRAVE. Because that was amazing.
WHAT? WHY? WHAT?
I wanted to insert a rant about how predictable and tiresome Sonny and Ava’s inevitable hook up was, but that god awful music blaring every time the scene cut from Olivia’s sad martyr face back to Sonny cheating on her was so perfect and terrible and I can’t stop laughing about it, even two days later.
Kudos, music editor. You really nailed (pun intended!) the right tone for Sonny banging one son’s current lover/ex-mother-in-law in the family crypt of his other son.
Not much could top that whole spectacle of badness. But then Morgan stumbled in with his apparently impeccable sex-radar, and — I kid you not — this is the actual face that Sonny made while screaming at his son that he did, indeed, just bone his girlfriend in a mausoleum:
FATHER OF THE YEAR
I’m not sure what my favorite part of the ensuing temper tantrum was — Morgan indignantly yelling “YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE HER!” or Sonny’s face when he brought up Jax. But I legit cracked up through the whole thing.
(I cannot wait for Michael and Morgan to team up as President and Treasurer of the We Hate Sonny Club when the truth about AJ finally comes out. It’s going to be the best, you guys!)
Meanwhile, Britt delivered Sabrina’s baby on the side of the road while the latter huffed and puffed and went into awkwardly acted histrionics all over the place.
(And of course, Britt is a suspect in the hit and run and OF COURSE no one at the PCPD is going to bother actually, you know, checking her car for signs of a collision. Forensic evidence is for losers! Real cops investigate crimes by accusing people based on zero evidence and then walking away in frustration when they don’t just confess!)
All of this does beg the question, though: if FauxLuke is cool with putting out a hit on Emma, than why wouldn’t he have just had Spencer taken care of directly? (I’m also having an increasingly hard time taking him seriously as a threat when he’s continuously jeopardizing his entire diabolical scheme to hit on anything that moves, but that is another issue.)
At least we’ve got Ned to make the whole mess somewhat bearable:
YUP, STILL HANDSOME
His delightfully meta explanation of Luke’s sordid past was almost worth my irritation that Wally Kurth’s extremely limited time was being squandered on scenes with effing Kiki and Morgan instead of — OH, I DON’T KNOW — Alexis?
(Almost.) (But no, not really. Seriously, go see Alexis, Ned.)