If your jones for C-grade tube has driven you to certain depths, Spelling might be familiar to you. He has his father's sharp, almond-shaped eyes. He has his sister's soft, almost malleable-looking nose and chin. For the better part of the nineties, he made appearances on some of his father's shows—90210 and another teen soap, Malibu Shores—and later, in 7th Heaven. Since then, he's been trapped in the limited-release bin, costarring with Simon Rex and Paris Hilton (Pledge This!) and, worse, in a crime caper with Carmen Electra and Jason Priestly (Hot Tamale).

Today, at 28, Spelling is doing something his sister's doing with surprising success and something his dad never quite wrapped his head around: trotting out his surname for a shot at reality-TV infamy. "My dad never really understood reality television," he says, pulling into a Shell station for gas and a bottled Frappucino. "It was hard to explain. He was always like, 'When do you shoot? Do you have to go out of town?'"

The premise of Sons of Hollywood goes something like this: Spelling, Sean Stewart (son of Rod), and Weintraub, their diminutive agent-slash-manager (who was actually raised by his psychotherapist mom) high-five their way up and down the Sunset Strip, overusing words like parrrrr-teeee and bro. Gasp as they play pool while ignoring a waiting limo! Marvel as Randy and Sean have a cotton-candy fight at the Palms in Vegas! Stewart gambles, trashes hotel rooms, and gets in fights when he doesn't understand words like impeccable. Spelling thanks the help. He praises the waitstaff at the middling Las Vegas restaurant N9ne for "the best meal he's ever had." In the end, the show makes two things painfully clear: Rod Stewart should have had a vasectomy, and Randy Spelling is way too nice to be on a reality show. He is genetically incapable of pulling off the "Hey, look at me, I'm a rich fucktard" approach that worked for moneyed brats like Brody Jenner and Brittny Gastineau. But he's going to try anyway. He's a Spelling. "[My dad] was an amazing, phenomenal man, and that comes with tremendous pressure," he says. "It can be really tough on one's psyche." Spelling stops pecking at the PDA and looks up for a second. "Like, I wonder what my dad was doing at my age."

Shortly after David Weintraub wedges himself into the table at Dominick's and orders what he calls his patented drink (Ketel One, soda, splash of pineapple), a casting director whom Spelling recently read for and who has yet to glance in his direction marches across the room bringing a cloud of air hugs and kisses.

"Yo, bro, how you like that billboard on top of Privilege?" Weintraub says to Spelling, with the casting director still within earshot. "You ever seen yourself 20-by-60? That shit is off the chain, man!"