Saved by the Bell Ruined My Life Part V

Holy shit, guys. We've hit the Roman Numeral V. That's the fifth deadly sin, wrath, which is interesting, because this whole extended catharsis has basically been me targeting my wrath at this show. V was also a miniseries on NBC in the eighties and a show that ran for two years on ABC. I've never seen either, but in the show on ABC, there was an androgynously attractive woman with a short haircut that caught my eye once or twice.

I digress. You're not here to read about my attraction to short-haired gals. You're here for one of two reasons: you liked the show when you were a kid and you get nostalgic reading about it, or you clicked on the link from one of my social media pages because I harassed you. I'll take either one, really, because eyes are eyes and my mom always told me that any time anyone looks at you or your work, regardless of how they view it, it's a good thing because at least they're paying attention to you. My mom never told me that. That sounds like a total Kardashian thing for someone to say. It sounds like something someone would say after convincing her daughter to release a sex tape and then ride that windfall to ninety separate television shows on E! and have millions of people inexplicably follow the family's hollow, selfish, shallow existence through babies being born, a step-father being Botoxed to shit, a "fat" daughter who marries a good basketball player who becomes a bad basketball player for being married to the "fat" daughter, and a daughter who released a sex tape with Ray J getting married to a crappy basketball player then subsequently divorcing said basketball player thirty-seven hours later only to have said basketball player become good at basketball because of it. I can't believe I live in this world.

I digress. Before I get into this next episode, which is a real whopper (I've just always wanted to say that), I want to take a moment to say that I'm proud of myself for making it five episodes into this thing. That's an accomplishment. I never stick with anything for longer than sixteen minutes. I collected pogs for a minute in 1995. I tried being a yo-yo master for a month in seventh grade. I spent an afternoon once trying to skateboard and quit because it made me feel like an asshole. It's just pretty darn amazing that I've found the fortitude to stick this out, and to find that I continually have something new to say about Zack Morris and his merry band of jack-offs. You should be proud of me, too. I'm like your surrogate son, after all. And if I ever make a penny off of any of my writing, remember that I said this (take a screen-cap if you can because I'll vehemently deny that I know you) because if I find any amount of success in the writing world, I'm starting anew with a new name, new friends, new family history, new everything. It'll be like I had amnesia, but I didn't, I just won't want to give you any of my new things. I've never had hangers-on before, and as much as I think I might enjoy it, I'd probably just get angry and plot my own fake death. So this is your one chance to not only make a personal record of my acknowledging you, but also a chance to endear yourself to me, and if you can endear yourself to me, maybe I'll take you on my whirlwind trip of the cocaine-addled journey of a semi-successful writer. The smart money says that I'll probably force you to fight a spider monkey for my affection, but you never know.

Everyone is very concerned about the duck.
Except Slater. He's checking out Jessie's ass.
And he looks disgusted.

The next episode up is "Pipe Dreams," the episode that everyone fondly remembers because Zack sprays an oil baron with oil. So, let's cut the chit-chat and get right into it, shall we? The gang - minus Zack - is in biology class and they are learning about pond animals. There's no way this will have any impact on the rest of the episode, right? Zack comes in carrying a duck and apologizes for being late. He was playing baseball in gym class and hit a home run over the fence (because he's Zack Fucking Morris, and he only hits home runs) and found the ball next to a duck. He assumes he hit the duck in the head so he brought it to his teacher. Jessie gets indignant about man encroaching on nature. Zack is really concerned about the duck's safety (which is odd, because everyone knows Zack don't give no shits about no animals or nothing other than himself) and he wants to take the duck home for the weekend. The teacher thinks it's a "good idea," which it's not. Zack lacks even the most basic comprehension of responsibility and there's a great chance of him accidentally stepping on the duck's neck and killing it. Whatever. Zack's a duck-lover now.

I'd kill for the chance to have a shared daydream
with Kelly Kapowski and Jessie Spano. Kill for it.

Zack and Screech run into Belding in the hallway and Belding reveals that the duck's name is Becky. Belding grew up on a farm (in Los Angeles?) so he loves ducks. The gang takes Becky to The Max (of course) and Slater shows up in his football gear to inform everyone that, while putting up the new goal post, they struck an oil pipeline. This means that everyone daydreams about being the richest school in the world. According to Zack and the gang, being rich has its advantages, chiefly that you are awarded a shitty British accent and you aren't required to learn anything ever. Being a student at a rich school means that you don't have to learn, the mall comes to you, there's a place for hounds (I don't get this at all), and the women showing clothes off for the rich black girl will fuck you because you say so. I'm not rich, never have been, and probably never will be, but if rich school is anything like this, I'm jealous. I am a proponent of education for everyone, regardless of ethnicity, creed, social status, gender, anything. But if I'm given the option to learn or indulge in some sexual liasons with high-priced call girls instead of geometry, I'm taking the high-priced call girls ten times out of fucking ten. Take that to the bank. Zack's fantasy is to fuck call girls instead of learning, Slater's fantasy is to observe canines and fuck call girls, Lisa's fantasy is to shop, Jessie's fantasy is to physically torture anti-environmentalists, and Kelly's fantasy is to be a waitress. Stupid poor girl can't even fantasize properly! Ha! In this world, Kelly is married to Screech, who has oddly turned into an Arabian. I don't get it.

Dan Grayson, Evil Oil Baron, LLC.
It's hard to hate a guy who wears a bolo.

After the dream is over, Screech shows up to tell everyone that they didn't hit a pipeline; they struck oil! and are now going to be rich as shit. Jessie asks the Oil Baron why they don't pursue alternative fuel sources and the Oil Baron basically makes fun of her and does everything but twirl his evil mustache and dump scalding hot oil on Jessie as he smokes a cigar. He's an asshole and I actually side with Jessie on this, and it's amazing that twenty years ago, this chick was on the cutting edge of seeking alternative fuel sources. Oil isn't evil, I'll give Evil Oil Baron that, but Evil Oil Barons are. This guy doesn't give a shit about the world. He gives a shit about lining his pockets. With money. From extracting oil. And killing helpless creatures. And polluting the Earth. He's not a nice guy.

Meanwhile, back at Zack's place, Jessie shows up and asks Zack to sign a petition to block the Evil Oil Baron from drilling for oil. Zack says no because he's a fucking dickhead and would rather enjoy new computers and "visual aids" (I'm assuming that it is, indeed, aids that use visuals and not people with AIDS who are visible, but I can't be sure). Zack tells Jessie he'll read the petition but he makes no promises in signing it. The next day at school, Jessie tries to defend her stance as an environmentalist and nobody gives a shit. Slater says oil runs cars and heats homes so she can stuff it (slight paraphrasing) while Kelly likes the idea of saving the environment, but her own comfort (a hot tub in every classroom) is more important.

Franklin, you brilliant bastard.

Later on that day, Kelly, Jessie, and some dork named Franklin are tied up in the hallways chanting to stop drilling for oil. It's inspiring. Turns out that Franklin isn't an environmentalist, he's just a pervert who wants to S&M Jessie and Kelly by any means necessary. Zack is upset because Jessie is being rational and not agreeing with him. I don't know why Kelly suddenly is on board with stopping the drilling, but whatever.

Unfortunately, Jessie was right about oil and there's a spill that kills all the wildlife in the pond. The gang had just deposited Becky the duck and several other animals like frogs, turtles, and crabs back to their natural habitat, and then moments later, the oil sprayed everywhere, killing the poor animals. When Zack comes to terms with the fact that his duck done died, he admits that Jessie was right (holy shit, right?) and Screech tells Zack that Becky's where the oil can't hurt her now (unintentionally hilarious). Zack is a mess. More of a mess than when he found out Chief Henry died, even. Now, this tells us something important about Zack - either he's a real animal lover or he hates Native Americans. I don't know. I don't want to speculate, but I'll tell you this: the way Zack Morris handled Becky the Duck's death makes me wonder just what the hell was going on at their little sleepovers.

Zack has a sudden change of heart and tries to convince Belding to stop the oil drilling. Belding is a dickhead, though, and he's not having any of it. The next day, there's a meeting with the Evil Oil Baron and he explains that in order for a new football field, they're going to have to get rid of the pond. Everyone's upset because the pond is a part of the school, although they never mentioned it before this episode, nor do they do so even in passing in subsequent episodes. The pond is important, though. Some nitwit asks how much the school will cost in taxes and the Evil Oil Baron explains that it won't cost anyone anything. Zack is in full-on lawyer mode now and takes over the stage. He lays it down nice and quick for everyone - if they all want a school with an Olympic-sized pool, a brand-spankin' new football field, and air conditioned classrooms, well, there are going to be comically oversized oil rigs all over the place. And in a moment of deft brilliance, Zack pulls out a can of oil and starts squirting it everywhere until Evil Oil Baron says something along the lines, "Hey, now, wait just a minute, there!" and Zack sprays him with oil, giving him a nonsexual money shot all over his rich, Texan chest.

Oil, or alien semen? You decide.

In one of my favorite moments in the entire show's fabled history, Evil Oil Baron disgustedly exclaims, "Ah'm covered in oi-yul!" He behaves as though he's never seen this gross black substance before. I mean, when he sees his bolo has a splash of oil on it, he loses his shit. It's really the small things if life that count, ya know? Kelly wisely reminds him that at least he will be alive when he washes it off, unlike those animals that suffocated from oil. The school board, Mr. Belding, and the greater Los Angeles area all switch their allegiance away from oil and, I guess, to alternative energy sources (although it's never mentioned again). I guess they just like ducks more than they like oil. Hey, a win is a win, right? The episode ends in a cheesy group high-five, and I only say 'cheesy' because I'm jealous and I've always wanted to be part of a group high five like that.

I don't want to make this into a political issue, so I'll avoid it. Let's just say that this is, believe it or not, one of the most sensible episodes in Saved by the Bell history. It's not particularly balanced, but it's at least informative. Kind of. Not really. Whatever. It's fine. It would have been super, though, if all of a sudden Zack and the gang turned into hippies or environmentalists or something and just spent the rest of their time at Bayside protesting shit. Really, for all of Zack's clout, can you imagine if he just put it to good use? The motherfucker could be the emperor of the galaxy within a week. Instead he focuses his vast resources on screwing brunettes and scamming people out of chump change. Zack is a street-smart mother-shut-your-mouth, but he doesn't realize that he could be frying much bigger fish if he put his mind to it (and just went for it; heck, Zack, get down and break a sweat).

Bolos are scientifically proven to increase your odds
of a tri-racial threesome by 237%.

Listen, here's something you probably don't know about me: I fucking love bolo ties. I do. No foolin'. Now, I would never be so brazen as to believe that I could actually pull off wearing a bolo tie, but you should know that I like them. A lot. It's kind of unhealthy. My friend's dad has a bolo with a scorpion trapped in fucking amber for the centerpiece. Do you know what the scientific name of a man who wears a scorpion bolo is? It's This Guy Fucks Anything He Wants. Moving on. Nothing says "Unfuckwithable" like a man wearing a turquoise or metal trinket around his neck with two accompanying strands of leather. I don't know anything of the history of bolos, but there's something interesting about the fact that something like ninety percent (I have no sources to back this claim up) of all bolos in circulation involve turquoise. That's something, isn't it? What does it mean? Do you even care? How can you not? And while we're on the subject of bolos, is it just me, or was there an all-too-quick moment there in the nineties when the bolo eclipsed the monocle as the accessory du jour of all villains? I miss that.

So that's the end of that. I'm sorry. This what a bit of a shitty recap/vivisection/whatever-you-want-to-call-it. It was probably the most personal of them all so far, which means it's probably the least-interesting. If you don't like it, you can tell me that you're not interested in my love for novelty neckties, my past failures in coming up with a suitable hobby, of my attraction to short-haired women (some, not all). I'm having a lot of fun writing this stuff, and it comes quite easy, but I'd appreciate a bit more feedback from my audience. I have a special thing where I can see how many people have viewed my articles, and I've cracked fifty, like, once, and that's cool. But hey, if half of you people commented on various sites that I pimp this stuff out at, who knows what may come of it? Maybe you'll meet your future spouse. Maybe you'll reconnect with a friend who you are still mad at because he/she stole/sexed your ex or something. Maybe you'll befriend a duck and that duck with get gruesomely killed by greedy oil barons and you'll reanalyze your stance on fossil fuels. The point I'm trying to make here is if you comment on this, good things will happen. And at the end of the day, isn't that what it's all about? Or is that the Hokey-Pokey? I don't know. See you next time.

Slater's pants. Jesus.