MIC LA 3 : The Gang Go To Nevada, The Bois Make Nas’ Relationship Harder, And Mark Francis Probably Doesn’t Keep Ice Cream In His Larder…
The Debrief: Vegas! Vegas! We know that’s where we’re going because Jamie Biscuits, with his talent for identifying places and events, will not stop screaming it into the brim of everyone’s special ‘We’re going on a cool trip!’ hats
Vegas! Vegas! We know that’s where we’re going because Jamie Biscuits, with his talent for identifying places and events, will not stop screaming it into the brim of everyone’s special ‘We’re going on a cool trip!’ hats. Although Biscuits sometimes changes it up to say the city’s name in full - Vegas Baby! That’s what he thinks it’s called.
Jess is super sad that she can’t go - at 20, she can’t booze, gamble or get a stripper named Sven to use his oiled bumhole to model her a miniature balloon poodle. JP is legally allowed to do all of these things but can’t be Binky’s friend and flirting partner, according to the bois. ‘I just enjoy girls’ company as much as I enjoy men’s!’ he wails, creepily. It’s ironic that JP doesn’t know any men, only ladsladslads. If the male cast members of MIC were to form their own R&B group, it would definitely be called MenIIBoiz.
Lucy is excited because James is coming, and I can’t pay attention to their Skype chat because Lucy has left her shoes all over the table, which is so crazily unlucky that she might as well have a date with James under a ladder, at a salt spilling competition, where the winner gets a bed full of hats. Steph rolls in and Lucy asks her how she’s doing, post Josh. ‘If you’d asked me a couple of days ago, I’d have said, crying, only stopping crying to be sick…’ she starts. Yes, Steph. That’s probably why Lucy didn’t ask you a couple of days ago. You don’t get to backdate your whining.
Mark Francis and Toff are attempting some Kundalini yoga. Mark attempts to chant in vowels so round that Rubens could have painted them, and Toff ups the ante by becoming hysterical when she learns that yoga was invented by a Yogi. ‘That’s such a coincidence!’ she gurgles, while their instructor looks like she might be about to turn quite namaste. Presumably they get thrown out, and join Jess at the ice cream parlour to complain about the fact that everyone else in the world is gambling in Nevada. Mark Francis declines the offer of a spoonful of sundae like a man whose ancestors were murdered by whipped cream topping. He gets up and is gone for quite some time. While he has a shit (we assume), model boy Noah rolls over turns up and puts the moves on the two of them. Jess responds like a tampon that’s just been dunked in special blue liquid for an advert.
Back in Vegas, some of the girls are hanging out in a room that looks suspiciously like the No.1 Lounge in the South Terminal at Gatwick, Lucy does some sexy disco dancing - like she’s trapped in a box and she’s making the best of things, and using her boobs to polish it for the next occupant - and Mytton is doing some amateur psychology. Seeing him think with his brain makes me miss the days when he only thought with his dick. ‘Jamie is a people pleaser,’ he warns a paranoid Nas, while JP adds to the sense of menace and impending a doom, by wearing the sort of hat that gambling characters wear in GTA. Everyone is delighted by the city - ‘I’ve seen it on all these films!’ cries Binky. ‘What films?’ asks Steph, puzzled. ‘The Hangover!’ By sheer coincidence, if you download The Hangover, everyone working on MIC gets 20 pee. Don’t bother with Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas or Leaving Las Vegas - they’re rubbish and might have Nicholas Cage in them.
Mytton stops trying to wreck Biscuits’ love life by slagging him off, and hits on a much more practical solution - getting married to Biscuits, using the services of an Elvis impersonator. He’s just agreed to be Biscuit’s ‘hunk o’ hunk o’ burning love’ (predictably Biscuits is Priscilla) before Nas storms in, and she wants a word. She was a manic pixie dream girl with pool access - and after three minutes with the boys of Chelsea, she’s a broken, neurotic wreck who’s wondering whether it’s worth learning how to hack an iphone passcode. (It isn’t, love, they’re all contractually obliged to use a Sony Experia.) Helpfully, Biscuits tells her she’s being ‘unchilled’ - for that non-word, Biscuits, we hope your leccy breaks and your fridge becomes unchilled and your milk goes off forever.
He goes off to play American Football, dressed as a sexy beekeeper, while James turns up to much whooping and vegetable chopping. Binks offers Mark a sausage, he shudders and mutters about salmonella and she looks horribly hurt for three seconds before blinking brightly and tending to the peppers. Mummy Felstead, you taught her well. He then complains about the hypothetical horror of having ‘ugly friends’, glancing meaningfully at Jess who has forgotten her John Frieda. Someone take the girl to CVS, you can’t leave her hanging until she can get to the airport Superdrug. Jess’s hair hasn’t stopped her from winning the affections of Noah, who has arranged a skate date in order to facilitate a lot of ‘accidental’ bum touching. It’s a squeezing, pleasing end to the episode.
Hero of the week - Toff’s yoga teacher
THAT is patience expressed in its most perfect human form. Anyone else would have rolled Toff up into her own yoga mat and thrown her into the sea. If this woman can stay calm in the face of such extreme provocation, she’s the best advert for yoga that we’ve ever seen.
Villain of the week - The Elvis Impersonator marry-er
Biscuits and Mytton has to be the most unholy union going since body glitter met the shagpile carpet. Bringing those two together puts blood on your hands. Wise men say only fools rush in - and when two fools rush into your wedding chapel, you don’t take your money. You put the ‘closed’ sign on the door.
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