Fuller House Episode 15, “Mom Interference”

Hey guys, did you miss me and my half-assed analysis of the madness that is this Netflix Original Program/Exercise in Hideous Nostalgia? Well, strap the fuck in amigo, I’m back and the wild ride continues on. Today, I bring you the second shitty episode of season two.

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We begin our weekly trip to the Full House in the kitchen area of the set. Fernando the Latin Stereotype is cooking in his ex-wife’s robe after a long night of fucking and the other despicable members of the Tanner ensemble are sitting around the kitchen eating breakfast. Jimmy comes in and says some annoying shit and then Dj’s sons come down and give their plot devices for this week. Max has decided to give up eating meat and then immediately fucks it up by eating bacon and the other kid whose name I can’t remember announces he’s joined the school football team. As he has the coordination of me, I give it three episodes till he fucks shit up and is in the hospital with an injury, or teammate rape.

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Down at the Vet Office, DJ has a talk with Matt about whether Jackson (That’s the little buggers name, I knew I would remember it!) should play football. Like anyone tied to the Tanner’s in any way he waffles and doesn’t really take a decisive stand. His girlfriend who I would totally date and ultimately disappoint comes in and all three take a selfie by scene end. Most of this bit was filled with jokes about how alone DJ is, haha her hubby is dead.

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Back at the Full House DJ stops in on Jackson working out (Can I refer to this as working out really? Fuck it I’m going to.) and tells him that he can’t play football and that he has the physique of a little bitch. Instead of lying to his mom like a normal teenager, he gets upset, storms out and decides to take up the totally realistic task of “Never talking to her again!” That’ll show her dude. Because parents totally love talking to their kids right?

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Later that night, every one of the adults in the central cast gather together in the living room for game night. Matt’s girlfriend brings a date for DJ and much to my surprise it turned out to be Alan Thicke. I don’t really have much to say about this scene other than yes it is absurd like the rest of this show and yes, we miss you Alan. Shame this turd had to be one of the last things you did before you were taken in by the trashcan fire that is 2016.

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From there we go to the kitchen for a short and rather unnecessary scene. In short, Max comes in from actually pissing in the yard with his dog and Fernando the Latin Stereotype tries to tempt his vegetarian experiment by offering him a plate of bacon. Max demonstrates a highly unlikely level of self-awareness for a Tanner and calls him shitty. In Season One I fucking hated this kid and his catchphrase, but I am coming around tbh.

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After Jackson comes through the living room and throws some shade at DJ for being a bitch. She and Kimmy head upstairs to convince Lola to tell Jackson that playing football won’t get her all hot and bothered. She goes into his room to tell him and upon hearing it he sort of rolls the fuck over. IDK, I can’t really keep track of any of this shit to be honest.

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Outside in Jimmy’s RV which he somehow has managed to keep parked on the streets of SF without getting a ticket, he and Stephanie bond and decide to take their increasingly strange relationship to the next level. A guy this dumb is likely caked with several STD’s. Be careful Stephanie, he could give you aids or some other nasty shit that causes pain.

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In the final scene of the episode, everyone crowds around as Tommy gets his first haircut and I……..I……you know what, I can’t cover this shit anymore. Normally I have a high tolerance for just about anything, but this show is so sickeningly sweet and wholesome that my teeth rot and I get a stomach ache just from watching it. I’m out. I don’t know how the original creator of this review concept did it. Maybe he’s now totally insane and spends his nights writing lines from Full House in blood on the walls of his SF area home?

Who the fuck knows.

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