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The bouncy boobs out of shirt sex videosfollowing is a spoiler-free review of Shrill Season 2.

In its Season 1 finale, Hulu's Shrilldeclared war.

Annie Easton, played by Aidy Bryant, spent the last scene of her show’s freshman season hurling a potted plant through the window of a truck. With the asshole owner of said truck chasing her down the street, Annie fled triumphant, smiling ear-to-ear as the season’s final words, “fat bitch,” hung in the air.

After just six short episodes, Shrill had crescendoed to its prescient point: The way society treats women, particularly fat women, sucks. It’s hateful discrimination, and if you can’t see that? Have a potted plant. Critics applaudedthe message. Rumors of an Emmy nominationfor Bryant swirled. Shrill was a success.

In Season 2, the series hits its sophomore slump hard— trading that bold feminist stance for eight episodes of very cute, very bland whatever.

The plucky comedy falls into a number of traps, each making our beloved Annie less and less compelling. It’s a disappointing turn that doesn’t make the show unsalvageable, but puts its future in jeopardy.

For starters, Shrill Season 2 ventures into very little (if any) untrod territory. Episodes like the still-perfect and very original “Pool” are a no-show, replaced by tales of job interviews gone wrong and date nights turned sour. Instead of the antics we expected from the unabashed author of “Hello, I’m Fat,” Annie explores plotlines done and redone by countless other shows about privileged, white, millennial women who write on the internet.

Lots of these revolve around[insert long, audible sigh]a guy. Annie’s douchey boyfriend Ryan, who I still can’t believe she didn’t dump in Season 1, is alive, well, and taking up screen time.

To be clear, I adore actor Luka Jones and his chemistry with Bryant is delightful. But this fictitious man baby has no right to the many, many scenes he is gifted in Season 2. Time and time again, we watch him fail to live up to the requirements of adult man let alone significant other. Annie gets mad. They fight. He’s sorry. She forgives him.

Suffice to say, Annie’s journey becomes far less about her, and way more about “them.”

As a consequence, the more interesting aspects of Shrill get sidelined — again. As in Season 1, Annie’s roommate Fran, played by the iridescent Lolly Adefope, doesn’t get enough to do. It’s better than when she was fulfilling the “black best friend” stereotype, but Fran’s emotional arcs remain under baked and Adefope’s talent underutilized. (That said, she does perform a karaoke version of “Shallow” in episode 4 that 100% made me cry.)

John Cameron Mitchell’s snide Gabe, Patti Harrison’s bonkers Ruthie, and Ian Owen’s earnest Amadi are similarly confined. We see good moments from all of them, but they’re limited to whatever time isn’t reserved for Annie’s monotonous backsliding.

Bryant does her best to ring feeling out of the will-they-should-they plotline, but there isn’t much to be done when the explosive scenes we love Annie for never come. Her complicated perspectives on success, talent, relationships, and worth aren’t articulated nearly as well this time around — and as a result, no potted plant moments come.

What’s worse, the essential representation of body diversity on screen is surprisingly limited this season and the conversations around fatphobia are even fewer. Creator Lindy West and Bryant have rightfully made it clearShrill isn’t about weight, but to imply that that conversation is over is foolish.

If Shrill aims to continue dissecting the relationship between modern women and self-actualization, then it will need to take a hard look at its protagonist and what she wants to say about those things. Despite maintaining its snappy dialogue, airy feel, and poppy aesthetic, Shrill doesn’t stay true to its star or its audience — instead bringing only white noise to a screaming match.

ShrillSeason 2 is now streaming on Hulu.