OK, to quote someone much funnier than me: "If Chris Laurita, who has a fully loaded gun closet in his basement, is the voice of reason you know it's fucked up." Yeah, the husbands showed up for this third and final episode of the RHONJ Reunion and, among other things, inarticulate shouting ensued.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Joey "The Ape" Gorga
"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Joe "Snaggletooth" Guidice
"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT MY FUCKING WIFE!" Joey "The Ape" Gorga
"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Joe "Snaggletooth" Guidice
So, yeah; that happened. Oddly arrayed, standing behind their respective wives, the RHONJ husbands looked pretty pissed off that they had to be there. Except for freak of nature Richie Wakile, that is, who just looked like the fish-lipped, dull-eyed douchebag that he is, sporting (again in the words of someone much funnier than me) "those ridiculous big-ass rap mogul glasses" with the tinted lenses that he wears. The stage was set for the final show-down of Strippergate and in order to bring the drahma, Bravo went all out and booked Old Crack Whore Kim D. But before that hag sashayed onto the Borgata stage, we were treated to further sniping from one couch to the other with cross-eyed Andy in between fielding the hate and upping the ante with every baleful glance. Can I just say that, considering that Andy Cohen is the Executive Vice President of Development and Talent at Bravo, basically the network executive responsible for the Housewives franchise, he does a great job making HIMSELF the centerpiece of each Reunion show. Not to mention he's put himself on TV literally every day of the year as the host of his own "Watch What Happens Live", thus making him perhaps the MOST egotistical TV executive alive. Which is saying something.
So, the heat went way up on this, the last reunion EP, with more open-faced lies, more crocodile tears and more shrill accusations of eye shadow theft reaching a fever pitch. At one point, sporting her ugliest fake crying face EVER, Thereser screamed at Melissa? Brother Joey "The Ape"? "I NEVER CALLED YOU A STRIPPER! I NEVER CALLED YOU A STRIPPER!" I'm thinking here that between the table flipping and the near assault and battery of Danielle Staub, the Bravo writing team is given the assignment to construct a high anxiety moment for Thereser to use as her "I'MGONNAGOCRAZEEEEEE" moment at the end of each season. Just sayin'. But you know it's what I tune in for, so...it works. At least for me.
I spent much of this EP wondering who the fuck even gives a shit if Melissa was ever a stripper or bag lady or a fucking secret agent for Lower Slobovia. I mean, to look at these hard-ass bitches, one could safely draw the conclusion that "stripper" might just be the tamest epithet you could lob at them. I'm thinking any one of them (and that includes YOU LAP BAND LAUREN and YOU ROSIEMODO) could easily be charged with anything ranging from kneecapping for the mob to grand theft auto to out-and-out street walking. So, yeah, stripper's pretty fucking tame. Be that as it may, Melissa and all the other HO-Wives were deeply, DEEPLY offended that one of their own was being tagged with such a dirty, sullying charge. For what it's worth, looking at Melissa, I frankly don't know how she could have AVOIDED having been a stripper at some point in her past. Or present. Or future.
The charge of "stripper" was also being slung at Jacqueline, as in "your husband told me that he met you in Vegas and that you were a stripper there." This from Joe "Snaggletooth" about a secret shared with him by Mr. Jacqueline, Chris Laurita. For the record, the corporate line from Mr. and Mrs. Laurita was "we met in Chicago at a trade show". A trade show? What was the trade that was being shown? Stripper poles? Anyway, they both repeated it rotely several times as if to convince themselves along with us: we met in Chicago at a trade show, we met in Chicago at a trade show, we met in...you get the picture. Chris Laurita must have been having second thoughts about lying on national TV because shortly after the Lauritas' mutually-agreed-upon origin story, he asked the assemblage: "even if someone WAS a stripper, what's the big deal?"
Atta boy, Chris; what's the big deal indeed. I also can't forget to mention the requisite "YOU'VE TURNED MOMMY AND DADDY AGAINST ME!!" shouting match that ensued between brother Joey "The Ape" and big sis Thereser, he accusing her of poisoning their parents against him. And, no that Mommy and Daddy was not my editorializing for comic value, those were the terms that THEY used. For the record: past, say, 10 years old, Mommy and Daddy is actually kind of icky. But that's just me and frankly, it's the least of their problems.
After the commercial break Andy announces the arrival of a "special guest" and here comes Old Crack Whore Kim D, she of the no lips and eyemakeup so dark that it looks like she has pupils and only pupils from lash line to lash line. Who knows, maybe she does. Or maybe she has the Black Oil virus from the X-Files. So she sits down and first we see a bizarre kabuki theater apology (I don't think he could have gotten his eyes open any wider) from Joey "The Ape" to Old Crack Whore Kim about how he cussed her out the night of "Operation Humiliate Melissa" on the street in front of Son Cubana. She stiffly accepted his apology, an evil smile on her lipless face. She really doesn't look entirely human.
Anyway, then Andy begins to "grill" her on the details of what exactly went down the night of the Posche fashion show and exactly how much of it Thereser knew in advance. I'm gonna confess right now that at this point the whole "scandal" of Thereser being in on some scheme to out Melissa's dirty past had grown so fucking boring to me that I might have dozed off for a few minutes. What I do know is that Old Crack Whore Kim basically busted Thereser and 'fessed up that, yes, Tre DID know in advance that Kim herself was planning the big "bring Melissa down" action (due to some past perceived slight from Melissa that Old Crack Whore Kim had turned into a grudge) and that it was set to take place at the Posche fashion show. Just like every fucking OTHER Posche fashion show which is where some kind of Bravo-scriped shit goes down and somebody or other gets toasted in public. ZZZZZZ. Plus, Posh spelled Posche is monumentally annoying to me. Camera shot of Melissa and Joey "The Ape" having their "AHA" moment and looking very self-satisfied. No more crying over moving away from evil Tre on this show. Old Crack Whore Kim looked pretty pleased with herself, too and then she was excused to head on back to her street corner and her pipe.
The show closed with Andy asking the RHONJ Grande Dame Caroline (aka The Old Hag) to intone some wise and pithy Bravo-writer-scripted shit about "family and togetherness and how someday we'll all sing Kumbaya and be in our happy place again" and blah, blah, blah. And that was it for this year with the Real Housewives of New Jersey. Next up: The Real Housewives of Atlanta beginning November 4. Amazingly Nene Leakes is still on the show despite being on an ACTUAL scripted TV show called "The New Normal". Don't know why she's bothering with the Atlanta Housewives, but I'm glad she is 'cause I love me some Nene, but I'm totally bummed to see that Sheree is not going to be back. Sheree really brought the crazy, to wit: "Who gonna check me, Boo? YOU?" Head on back over here for those recaps beginning the first week of November. Until then, later gators!
Friday, October 19, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
The Real Housewives of New Jersey Reunion Part Two Recap: Juicy Joe Needs A Red Bull
Well, part two of the RHONJ Reunion brought Juicy Joe "Snaggletooth" Guidice onto the Borgata stage where Andy asked him the question that has been plaguing a nation: "Who do you support in the election, Juicy Joe?" Not really, Andy asked him who was on the infamous call in the California vineyard. Am I the only one that thinks, hey, no way is JJ going to 'fess up about receiving a call from his down-low ho and in fact he did not. Some kind of cock and bull story about it being a friend (male) who then handed the phone to a Spanish-speaking somebody-or-other and JJ had to speak Spanish? Um, OK, JJ, whatever you say, man. Oh, and then he burped Red Bull. On camera. Exsqueeze me, JJ. Straight up classy dude, that Snaggletooth Joe.
Prior to JJ joining the Housewives, "Hey, what am I doing here?" he asks at one point, to no-one in particular. Fulfilling your part of the Bravo contract, JJ; just sit there and STFU. Anyway, prior to JJ joining the Housewives, Rosiemodo makes her presence officially known and joins the Pazzotown Crew on the sofa, alla HER famiglia. A moment before, we're shown the backstage view of last week's tongue-knifing threat session and see that Lauren Manzo, of all people (she of the bellowing "SPELL NAPALM! SPELL NAPALM! SPELL NAPALM!" appearance of last week) is talking Rosiemodo down from her murderous ledge just before she's due to join the ladies on stage, by invoking the respect of Rosie's dead father. Rosie does a verbal genuflect to the memory of her dearly departed Dad and calms down enough to appear on stage.
Where we are treated to a recap of her heartfelt and tear-inducing coming out scene with the Wakile kids. OK, OK...I admit it...even me, THE ABIB, got kinda choked up during that scene. I'm The ABIB ya'll, I'm not made of stone. Back on stage Rosie addresses the difficulties of being gay during her childhood and how she felt alone and that, no, she never thought that Kathy rejected her because she was gay as the evil, scheming Thereser alleged. Cut to Thereser shows the trademark Thereser sidelip lick (so as not to spoil her lipstick) and a "no" shake of the head to signify that Rosie just doesn't remember her own life correctly. What Rosie DOES admit is that Kathy successfully intervened when Rosie was "headed down the wrong path" with some other woman who was going to "ruin her life". So, yeah, Rosie has her sister Kathy to THANK for saving her from the trap of the wrong love (thanks "Moonstruck"). I gotta tell you folks, this whole lovey-dovey scene smacked big time of famiglia wagon-circling to me. I'm thinking that the truth of the Kathy-Rosie relationship is somewhere in the middle of Rosie's "my sister SAVED me" and Thereser's "Kathy was ASHAMED of you which is why she always excluded you" mantras. 'Cause I gotta tell you, I would never put Kathy Wakile and Rosiemodo in a friendly relationship, sisters or no; they literally could not be more different. And once married to that freak of nature Richie Wakile who actually said ON CAMERA that his wife "tasted like fish but gets the job done" (O.M.G.), Kathy was steered even further from her sister's orbit. No matter; Rosie wasn't on the couch long before Andy excused her to return backstage with Lap Band Lauren.
At one point Thereser and Melissa got into it over Melissa's singing because Thereser accused Melissa of lip-synching (which Melissa totally copped to, when, as she said, she was dancing: fair enough). We see footage from the season of the Guidices in some vehicle with their kids, and Tre and Juicy Joe are laughing as their daughters mock Tia Melissa's singing of "On Display". Then Thereser actually bullied Melissa into singing right there on the couch. Awkwaaaaard. Melissa sang a bar or two of her new song but that wasn't enough "proof" for Tre who insisted that she wouldn't be convinced that Melissa could actually sing until she made it through the whole song. Well, Melissa basically told her to go fuck herself (for about the 800th time), so Thereser refocused her attack on the notion that Melissa was always autotuned. Well, shit, Tre if that's all you got you really should dig a little deeper; I mean, EVERYONE is fucking autotuned any more. Leah fucking Michelle is autotuned on Glee for Christ sake. Admit it, Tre, you got nothin'; move on.
Nearing the end of this middle of three hours worth of recappage, Andy tells us that Melissa and Joey "The Ape" Gorga have put their custom-built mansion on the market and are seeking to move. Andy asks Melissa why they want to leave their "dream house" and, after some hesitation (I'm guessing to give herself a couple of moments to think of something sad enough to make herself cry on cue) Melissa tearfully admits that she doesn't want her children to go to school with Thereser's daughters. Um, OK? Is there like one school in this McMansion enclave that EVERY child must attend? Have you ever considered, oh, I don't know, Meliss: private school? No matter; whatever the REAL reason (for the record my guess has something more to do with Joey "The Ape" maybe not doing so well in his BIZNEZ) the Gorgas' story is that they want their kids away from the toxic presence of evil Tia Thereser and her equally evil spawn. Actually Tre's oldest kid ("who is in show business" HAH!) is pretty fucking scary. At one point Thereser gets up and begins to bow repeatedly to the coffee table between the two couches, thanking Jesus for something and I literally cannot recall what. Maybe the fact that ALL the other women have carved her totally out of their lives? That sounds about right.
Also, Caroline Manzo has repeated over the last two hours of this reunion, how much she dislikes herself from this past season and how much she never wants to "be that person ever again". Caroline, I guarantee you, how much you dislike yourself from this season cannot even BEGIN to hold a candle to how fucking annoying I FOUND YOU TO BE EVERY SEASON! Shrill, belligerent, know-it-all who NEVER, EVER, EVER admits when she's wrong. EVER. I'm sure she would not want to consider this but I think the reason she and Tre clash so violently is BECAUSE THEY'RE EXACTLY THE SAME!! Apparently I'm not alone in my distaste for Mrs. Manzo. Throughout the night Andy kept reading emails and Tweets from people blasting Caroline for being a bossy, bullying control freak. A barometer on how much Caroline must be disliked amongst vocal Bravo viewers is the fact that Andy read a few comments where Thereser was cast as Caroline's VICTIM! So, yeah, Caroline; maybe dial it down a notch next time you consider opening your big fucking mouth to tell everyone what the right thing to do is. Oh, and another thing: Caroline crowed with glee that "her numbers are perfect" and that she apparently is NOT in menopause. So the fuck what Caroline; its not like you're NEVER going to go through menopause. It's on its way, hon; trust me. Annoying fucking bitch.
Well, with that ladies and germs, I will conclude this second episode recap and entreat you to return for next week's third installment. In the previews we see that ALL the husbands have now joined their wives and there is, as always, some serious roid-rage throw down set to happen between the two Joes. Caroline, invoking Thereser's funeral service, is once again, attempting to force her take on life on EVERYONE, including sworn enemy Thereser. Should be awesome; join me won't you? Until then, later gators!
Prior to JJ joining the Housewives, "Hey, what am I doing here?" he asks at one point, to no-one in particular. Fulfilling your part of the Bravo contract, JJ; just sit there and STFU. Anyway, prior to JJ joining the Housewives, Rosiemodo makes her presence officially known and joins the Pazzotown Crew on the sofa, alla HER famiglia. A moment before, we're shown the backstage view of last week's tongue-knifing threat session and see that Lauren Manzo, of all people (she of the bellowing "SPELL NAPALM! SPELL NAPALM! SPELL NAPALM!" appearance of last week) is talking Rosiemodo down from her murderous ledge just before she's due to join the ladies on stage, by invoking the respect of Rosie's dead father. Rosie does a verbal genuflect to the memory of her dearly departed Dad and calms down enough to appear on stage.
Where we are treated to a recap of her heartfelt and tear-inducing coming out scene with the Wakile kids. OK, OK...I admit it...even me, THE ABIB, got kinda choked up during that scene. I'm The ABIB ya'll, I'm not made of stone. Back on stage Rosie addresses the difficulties of being gay during her childhood and how she felt alone and that, no, she never thought that Kathy rejected her because she was gay as the evil, scheming Thereser alleged. Cut to Thereser shows the trademark Thereser sidelip lick (so as not to spoil her lipstick) and a "no" shake of the head to signify that Rosie just doesn't remember her own life correctly. What Rosie DOES admit is that Kathy successfully intervened when Rosie was "headed down the wrong path" with some other woman who was going to "ruin her life". So, yeah, Rosie has her sister Kathy to THANK for saving her from the trap of the wrong love (thanks "Moonstruck"). I gotta tell you folks, this whole lovey-dovey scene smacked big time of famiglia wagon-circling to me. I'm thinking that the truth of the Kathy-Rosie relationship is somewhere in the middle of Rosie's "my sister SAVED me" and Thereser's "Kathy was ASHAMED of you which is why she always excluded you" mantras. 'Cause I gotta tell you, I would never put Kathy Wakile and Rosiemodo in a friendly relationship, sisters or no; they literally could not be more different. And once married to that freak of nature Richie Wakile who actually said ON CAMERA that his wife "tasted like fish but gets the job done" (O.M.G.), Kathy was steered even further from her sister's orbit. No matter; Rosie wasn't on the couch long before Andy excused her to return backstage with Lap Band Lauren.
At one point Thereser and Melissa got into it over Melissa's singing because Thereser accused Melissa of lip-synching (which Melissa totally copped to, when, as she said, she was dancing: fair enough). We see footage from the season of the Guidices in some vehicle with their kids, and Tre and Juicy Joe are laughing as their daughters mock Tia Melissa's singing of "On Display". Then Thereser actually bullied Melissa into singing right there on the couch. Awkwaaaaard. Melissa sang a bar or two of her new song but that wasn't enough "proof" for Tre who insisted that she wouldn't be convinced that Melissa could actually sing until she made it through the whole song. Well, Melissa basically told her to go fuck herself (for about the 800th time), so Thereser refocused her attack on the notion that Melissa was always autotuned. Well, shit, Tre if that's all you got you really should dig a little deeper; I mean, EVERYONE is fucking autotuned any more. Leah fucking Michelle is autotuned on Glee for Christ sake. Admit it, Tre, you got nothin'; move on.
Nearing the end of this middle of three hours worth of recappage, Andy tells us that Melissa and Joey "The Ape" Gorga have put their custom-built mansion on the market and are seeking to move. Andy asks Melissa why they want to leave their "dream house" and, after some hesitation (I'm guessing to give herself a couple of moments to think of something sad enough to make herself cry on cue) Melissa tearfully admits that she doesn't want her children to go to school with Thereser's daughters. Um, OK? Is there like one school in this McMansion enclave that EVERY child must attend? Have you ever considered, oh, I don't know, Meliss: private school? No matter; whatever the REAL reason (for the record my guess has something more to do with Joey "The Ape" maybe not doing so well in his BIZNEZ) the Gorgas' story is that they want their kids away from the toxic presence of evil Tia Thereser and her equally evil spawn. Actually Tre's oldest kid ("who is in show business" HAH!) is pretty fucking scary. At one point Thereser gets up and begins to bow repeatedly to the coffee table between the two couches, thanking Jesus for something and I literally cannot recall what. Maybe the fact that ALL the other women have carved her totally out of their lives? That sounds about right.
Also, Caroline Manzo has repeated over the last two hours of this reunion, how much she dislikes herself from this past season and how much she never wants to "be that person ever again". Caroline, I guarantee you, how much you dislike yourself from this season cannot even BEGIN to hold a candle to how fucking annoying I FOUND YOU TO BE EVERY SEASON! Shrill, belligerent, know-it-all who NEVER, EVER, EVER admits when she's wrong. EVER. I'm sure she would not want to consider this but I think the reason she and Tre clash so violently is BECAUSE THEY'RE EXACTLY THE SAME!! Apparently I'm not alone in my distaste for Mrs. Manzo. Throughout the night Andy kept reading emails and Tweets from people blasting Caroline for being a bossy, bullying control freak. A barometer on how much Caroline must be disliked amongst vocal Bravo viewers is the fact that Andy read a few comments where Thereser was cast as Caroline's VICTIM! So, yeah, Caroline; maybe dial it down a notch next time you consider opening your big fucking mouth to tell everyone what the right thing to do is. Oh, and another thing: Caroline crowed with glee that "her numbers are perfect" and that she apparently is NOT in menopause. So the fuck what Caroline; its not like you're NEVER going to go through menopause. It's on its way, hon; trust me. Annoying fucking bitch.
Well, with that ladies and germs, I will conclude this second episode recap and entreat you to return for next week's third installment. In the previews we see that ALL the husbands have now joined their wives and there is, as always, some serious roid-rage throw down set to happen between the two Joes. Caroline, invoking Thereser's funeral service, is once again, attempting to force her take on life on EVERYONE, including sworn enemy Thereser. Should be awesome; join me won't you? Until then, later gators!
Monday, October 1, 2012
The Real Housewives of New Jersey Reunion Recap Part One: Damn the Torpedoes Full Speed Ahead!
OK, what was THAT? Only the most awesome, full-blown THROW DOWN RHONJ Reunion show in...EVER! Amirite? Going full-out gangsta, the Housewives were at their profanity-laden, finger-pointing, bitch-slap-sniping insane best. Can I get an "amen" here, people? Thereser has finally, FINALLY assumed the role to which she is uniquely best suited: dressed in snakelike green shimmery scales, she made Cruella DeVille look like The Tooth Fairy. Her black hair coiled around her head like some kind of fucking Medusa, she was spoiling for a fight the minute Cross-Eyed Andy welcomed us to the Borgata for this little refresher course in why the NJ Housewives are without peer in crazy amongst the Bravo franchise. Oh, I know there are some stand-outs like Ramona in NY and in Atlanta Nene and Sheree are always good for a cray-cray display or two each season, but for straight-up, wholesale, balls-to-the-wall, melt-your-brain NUTS, there's nobody can hold a candle to my goils in Joisey.
So lets start at the beginning, shall we? The girls are arrayed alla famiglia on two couches to either side of CEA, with Thereser, Melissa and Kathy on one couch and Caroline and Jacqueline across from them on the other couch. Melissa was noticeably scrunched to her left, closer to Kathy and farther from the toxic waste dump of a sista-in-law to her right. CEA began the night asking Jacqueline to address, now that we've all seen the evidence, why she didn't make it to LAST season's reunion. It didn't take but two hot seconds before Weepy Jac and Thereser were screaming accusations at each other about who betrayed who and which one of them was guilty of "breaking up da family". Tre: it's a bad sign when your two blood relatives are providing the opposing side with evidence to support THEIR position against you, which is how it went down ASAP. Caroline, unable to contain herself for even 15 seconds, began to bellow over Jacqueline, hurling incoherent accusations at Thereser, who, certainly never, EVER to be outdone by ANYONE in the shouting department, threw them right back at her. At one point Thereser pointed to Caroline's torso, shouting: "You've got three rolls there: blubber, blubber and blubber!" To which Caroline shrieks: "AND I'M PROUD OF EVERY ONE OF THEM!" Uh, really, CM? Is anyone really, truly PROUD of fat rolls? I'm thinking "no" here; just sayin'. Oh, and T called Caroline "an old hag". Love it.
Before we know it, Thereser is aiming at the true trajectory of her vitriol, Melissa "The Stripper". For the record, Melissa is still totes denying ever having been a stripper, K? In one of the most out there hilarious Thereser moments, she proceeds to accuse Melissa of "stealing her sparkly eye shadow look from last year." Uh, what? At first everyone, including CEA, seems to think that T's making some kind of an attempt at humor, which as we all know from her cookbook inscriptions, is something she cultivates like the Juicy Joe homemade sausage (ick) that infuses all of her Skinny Italian recipes. But....NOPE, bitch be serious, ya'll; she wants to know why Melissa stole her eye shadow look from last year's reunion EP. Melissa is unable to reply only stutters out something like: "Uh, yeah, Theresa, I copied your eyeshadow look from last year." Such drollery, such deep subtext from these gals as we begin the descent into sixth grade. Thereser won't let it go, though and I think we were all spared by a commercial break, but even CEA was starting to look annoyed at that point. Can I just say here and now that Thereser's fake boobs looked particularly creepy with that icky gold glitter that her make-up person dusted onto her chest. She ended up looking like Rumplestiltskin from Once Upon A Time which, come to think of it, is pretty much correct!
Commercial break over, we now get the back-back story of what contributed to Jacqueline's breakdown of last season. A little video montage follows as Jacqueline and Caroline (SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY IT'S NOT EVEN YOUR FUCKING KID) clue us all in on Jacqueline's son's diagnosis of autism. I guess this was supposed to explain why Jacqueline was so ragged-out and to clear up any misconceptions that, in fact it WASN'T just Thereser being a total asshat, J was dealing with some real-life drama. OK, trust me I know how heartless this is going to sound but I am, after all, The ABIB, OK? But I had a moment where I felt really bad for J but then I was like: OK, total buzzkill here, folks; can we get back to the reason we actually watch this crazy house of nutjobs? Which we did...finally.
Thereser played sympathetic ex-friend for approximately 10 seconds following the end of the video montage before she directed the focus back to herself by stating that "Audriana lost her boyfriend",intimating that Jacqueline's little boy and her daughter used to be a kid item before J's son's diagnosis. OMG, no she DID NOT just say that. OMG, yes she did. This is when all hell broke loose on the Borgata stage. Everyone and I mean, everyone, started screaming at Thereser and within three seconds she was screaming back in what was immediately total and complete mayhem. More commercials, more boob glitter application and lo and behold who does CEA bring out but THE NEW AND IMPROVED Lauren Manzo! Lauren comes strutting out from backstage looking like a fucking drag queen (who does these bitches' makeup?) and we can all see that she's lost weight, which as we know was ruining her life for the entirety of the season. Can I just say here and now that I can't fucking STAND Lauren Manzo? I find her to be the most insufferable pimple-on-the-ass of humanity I have ever had the misfortune to become acquainted with. Even if it's just through the TV. Whenever she's on screen I truly have to hold back from throwing something at it. Cannot abide the bitch.
So after we have to hear about Lauren's miraculous weight loss (LAP BAND surgery folks and congrats to Bravo for the second successful product placement for a surgical procedure) she has to take questions from the Twitterverse asking her if she's ashamed of herself for taking the "easy way out" to weight loss? Um...I can't stand Lauren Manzo and even I was like, what? What kind of jackass asks a question like that? What's the fucking difference how she lost the fucking weight? She lost the weight, what do you care if she used LAP BAND surgery or magic fat-be-gone crystals? Although I do have to consider that the RHONJ Reunion producer maybe feels about Lauren Manzo like I do which is why she was faced with such a stupid question meant to shame her. HAH! (Again, folks...I AM The ABIB). With Lauren on the couch next to her mother we're now treated to a Manzo assault on Thereser and the incoherent shouting ensues pretty quickly after her slightly-less-fat ass is seated on the couch. It doesn't take long for the rest of the jackals to join in and attempt to bring Thereser down so soon we're listening to a completely unintelligable cacophany of noise until Lauren's foghorn voice rises above all the others with the word: "napalm". Apparently Thereser has a blog that is, according to all the other HWs, ghost written by a professional writer. OK, who does THAT and how do I apply for the fucking job? Tre: I could so kick their asses in print...call me...
So Lauren keeps shouting the word "napalm", challenging Thereser to tell everyone what "napalm" means which apparently appeared in a recent blog post. The baiting reaches a feverish pitch with everyone, but mostly Lauren and Caroline, screeching for Thereser to tell them what "napalm" means, insisting that since she can't define it there's the proof that her blog is not written by her. Uh, Lauren? So the fuck what, bitch? I mean, is that REALLY where you want to draw the line in the sand with Thereser, Lauren? Over intelligence, dipshit? Cause I hate to be the one to break it to you, jackass, but I would strongly advise against. At best, at BEST, you would pull a draw on that little competition. Finally, BLESSEDLY, Lauren Manzo leaves the stage. Feh.
Next, inexplicably, Thereser and Kathy engage in a "whose husband is hotter" throw down. Um, ladies? I can clear this up right quick: both of them are sex kryptonite. They're not just ugly, they're fugly. I mean are you serious? Really? Anyway, at one point Thereser states that Juicy Joe would so beat Richie Wakile in his ability to pick up girls on the street. A thunderclap of silence slams down as the camera pans across the girls, each of whom has a shit eating grin that says: "Um, Tre: careful what you wish for." One of them (pretty sure it was Melissa) actually vocalizes that Thereser walked in on Juicy Joe fucking some ho on the desk of his office. His OFFICE? Is that like when my Dad used to go to take a crap and say he's gonna be in "his office" for awhile? Also, CEA in the preview is pressing JJ for the answer to the question: "who was on the phone?" in the vineyard at Caroline's 50th. Yeah, baby!
The show is reaching it's heady conclusion about now and Kathy is armed for bear and being less like the Kathy we've come to know and more like who you would think would be a blood relative to Thereser. In other words, she be goin' for the jugular. Oh, BTW, I forgot to mention that Kathy's got a new nose and some new lips. The jury's out in my mind on the nose job, probably because I care so little, and as for the lips, I couldn't tell any difference so, yeah. CEA in a funny aside, tells Kathy to "put the yellow light" on "that stuff". In other words: 'nuff with the face fixin', Kath. Agreed, CEA, agreed. So, back to Mean Kathy. She and Thereser begin to exchange words and suddenly Kathy barks out some serious shit about Thereser's MOTHA! What? What? To say "them's fightin' words" does not BEGIN to cover Thereser's reaction to this disrespect. I think Kathy called T's mother a bitch, which is like: whoah, ya'll, Kathy just took it up a notch; things about to get all kinda crazy up in here.
If human heads could literally explode, Thereser's head would have been in smithereens on the lovely brocade walls of the Borgata. She went APESHIT. And as if it wasn't enough, Kathy then starts shouting out some shit about T's FATHER, too. You know those little rubber stress dolls that you can buy that have vaguely humanoid features that, when you squeeze them, the eyes, nose and tongue pop out? That is exactly what happened to Thereser's face when Kathy aimed at T's father. She literally became incoherent with rage. Now seated next to Caroline on the OTHER couch, Thereser just kept repeating how Kathy had said shit about her FATHER! HER FATHER WHO KATHY WORSHIPPED! Then, at that moment my most favorite part of the whole EP went down. Thereser lobbed an insult at Kathy about HER father...her DECEASED father. Oh HELL'S NO, bitch. Now Kathy's eyes were bugged out and we all know how scary that looks considering Kathy's eyes are bugged out normally. Kathy starts to scream at Thereser about how she CANNOT disrespect the DEAD when out of nowhere comes the disembodied voice of Kathy's sister, the gal I like to call Rosiemodo and she is calling for Thereser's BLOOD! At this point even CEA looks like he's about to shit himself 'cause this place is getting all kinds of out of control. All we can hear (and see across the bottom of the screen in subtitles) is Rosiemodo screaming about how she's going to "FUCKING KILL THAT BITCH! SHE BETTER SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I'M GONNA CUT HER FUCKING TONGUE OUT. I DON'T CARE IF I GO TO JAIL I'M GOING TO KILL THAT FUCKING BITCH!" Thereser looks at Kathy with her scrunched up, angry face and says: "Who the fuck is that?" Kathy looks back at Tre with HER angry face and says icily (thanks Danny): "You know who that is."
O.M.G. THIS. IS. AWESOME!!! We never see her except for a shadowy figure running around backstage that I'm guessing was Rosiemodo going bananas while she was screaming for Thereser's tongue. I refuse to wonder why she was miked, but, yeah,let's not spoil the allusion that this ia all somehow unrehearsed and unscripted.
I literally could not have asked for a more kick-ass Reunion Part One especially since there are TWO more Reunion episodes to come and in the previews for next week we see not only a beet-faced Rosiemodo out on the stage but Joey "The Ape" Gorga and Juicy Joe "Snaggletooth" Guidice facing off, shouting threats and obscenities at each other. Dag. Join me, won't you? Tune back here next week for the recap of The Real Housewives of New Jersey Reunion Part Two. Later gators.
So lets start at the beginning, shall we? The girls are arrayed alla famiglia on two couches to either side of CEA, with Thereser, Melissa and Kathy on one couch and Caroline and Jacqueline across from them on the other couch. Melissa was noticeably scrunched to her left, closer to Kathy and farther from the toxic waste dump of a sista-in-law to her right. CEA began the night asking Jacqueline to address, now that we've all seen the evidence, why she didn't make it to LAST season's reunion. It didn't take but two hot seconds before Weepy Jac and Thereser were screaming accusations at each other about who betrayed who and which one of them was guilty of "breaking up da family". Tre: it's a bad sign when your two blood relatives are providing the opposing side with evidence to support THEIR position against you, which is how it went down ASAP. Caroline, unable to contain herself for even 15 seconds, began to bellow over Jacqueline, hurling incoherent accusations at Thereser, who, certainly never, EVER to be outdone by ANYONE in the shouting department, threw them right back at her. At one point Thereser pointed to Caroline's torso, shouting: "You've got three rolls there: blubber, blubber and blubber!" To which Caroline shrieks: "AND I'M PROUD OF EVERY ONE OF THEM!" Uh, really, CM? Is anyone really, truly PROUD of fat rolls? I'm thinking "no" here; just sayin'. Oh, and T called Caroline "an old hag". Love it.
Before we know it, Thereser is aiming at the true trajectory of her vitriol, Melissa "The Stripper". For the record, Melissa is still totes denying ever having been a stripper, K? In one of the most out there hilarious Thereser moments, she proceeds to accuse Melissa of "stealing her sparkly eye shadow look from last year." Uh, what? At first everyone, including CEA, seems to think that T's making some kind of an attempt at humor, which as we all know from her cookbook inscriptions, is something she cultivates like the Juicy Joe homemade sausage (ick) that infuses all of her Skinny Italian recipes. But....NOPE, bitch be serious, ya'll; she wants to know why Melissa stole her eye shadow look from last year's reunion EP. Melissa is unable to reply only stutters out something like: "Uh, yeah, Theresa, I copied your eyeshadow look from last year." Such drollery, such deep subtext from these gals as we begin the descent into sixth grade. Thereser won't let it go, though and I think we were all spared by a commercial break, but even CEA was starting to look annoyed at that point. Can I just say here and now that Thereser's fake boobs looked particularly creepy with that icky gold glitter that her make-up person dusted onto her chest. She ended up looking like Rumplestiltskin from Once Upon A Time which, come to think of it, is pretty much correct!
Commercial break over, we now get the back-back story of what contributed to Jacqueline's breakdown of last season. A little video montage follows as Jacqueline and Caroline (SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY IT'S NOT EVEN YOUR FUCKING KID) clue us all in on Jacqueline's son's diagnosis of autism. I guess this was supposed to explain why Jacqueline was so ragged-out and to clear up any misconceptions that, in fact it WASN'T just Thereser being a total asshat, J was dealing with some real-life drama. OK, trust me I know how heartless this is going to sound but I am, after all, The ABIB, OK? But I had a moment where I felt really bad for J but then I was like: OK, total buzzkill here, folks; can we get back to the reason we actually watch this crazy house of nutjobs? Which we did...finally.
Thereser played sympathetic ex-friend for approximately 10 seconds following the end of the video montage before she directed the focus back to herself by stating that "Audriana lost her boyfriend",intimating that Jacqueline's little boy and her daughter used to be a kid item before J's son's diagnosis. OMG, no she DID NOT just say that. OMG, yes she did. This is when all hell broke loose on the Borgata stage. Everyone and I mean, everyone, started screaming at Thereser and within three seconds she was screaming back in what was immediately total and complete mayhem. More commercials, more boob glitter application and lo and behold who does CEA bring out but THE NEW AND IMPROVED Lauren Manzo! Lauren comes strutting out from backstage looking like a fucking drag queen (who does these bitches' makeup?) and we can all see that she's lost weight, which as we know was ruining her life for the entirety of the season. Can I just say here and now that I can't fucking STAND Lauren Manzo? I find her to be the most insufferable pimple-on-the-ass of humanity I have ever had the misfortune to become acquainted with. Even if it's just through the TV. Whenever she's on screen I truly have to hold back from throwing something at it. Cannot abide the bitch.
So after we have to hear about Lauren's miraculous weight loss (LAP BAND surgery folks and congrats to Bravo for the second successful product placement for a surgical procedure) she has to take questions from the Twitterverse asking her if she's ashamed of herself for taking the "easy way out" to weight loss? Um...I can't stand Lauren Manzo and even I was like, what? What kind of jackass asks a question like that? What's the fucking difference how she lost the fucking weight? She lost the weight, what do you care if she used LAP BAND surgery or magic fat-be-gone crystals? Although I do have to consider that the RHONJ Reunion producer maybe feels about Lauren Manzo like I do which is why she was faced with such a stupid question meant to shame her. HAH! (Again, folks...I AM The ABIB). With Lauren on the couch next to her mother we're now treated to a Manzo assault on Thereser and the incoherent shouting ensues pretty quickly after her slightly-less-fat ass is seated on the couch. It doesn't take long for the rest of the jackals to join in and attempt to bring Thereser down so soon we're listening to a completely unintelligable cacophany of noise until Lauren's foghorn voice rises above all the others with the word: "napalm". Apparently Thereser has a blog that is, according to all the other HWs, ghost written by a professional writer. OK, who does THAT and how do I apply for the fucking job? Tre: I could so kick their asses in print...call me...
So Lauren keeps shouting the word "napalm", challenging Thereser to tell everyone what "napalm" means which apparently appeared in a recent blog post. The baiting reaches a feverish pitch with everyone, but mostly Lauren and Caroline, screeching for Thereser to tell them what "napalm" means, insisting that since she can't define it there's the proof that her blog is not written by her. Uh, Lauren? So the fuck what, bitch? I mean, is that REALLY where you want to draw the line in the sand with Thereser, Lauren? Over intelligence, dipshit? Cause I hate to be the one to break it to you, jackass, but I would strongly advise against. At best, at BEST, you would pull a draw on that little competition. Finally, BLESSEDLY, Lauren Manzo leaves the stage. Feh.
Next, inexplicably, Thereser and Kathy engage in a "whose husband is hotter" throw down. Um, ladies? I can clear this up right quick: both of them are sex kryptonite. They're not just ugly, they're fugly. I mean are you serious? Really? Anyway, at one point Thereser states that Juicy Joe would so beat Richie Wakile in his ability to pick up girls on the street. A thunderclap of silence slams down as the camera pans across the girls, each of whom has a shit eating grin that says: "Um, Tre: careful what you wish for." One of them (pretty sure it was Melissa) actually vocalizes that Thereser walked in on Juicy Joe fucking some ho on the desk of his office. His OFFICE? Is that like when my Dad used to go to take a crap and say he's gonna be in "his office" for awhile? Also, CEA in the preview is pressing JJ for the answer to the question: "who was on the phone?" in the vineyard at Caroline's 50th. Yeah, baby!
The show is reaching it's heady conclusion about now and Kathy is armed for bear and being less like the Kathy we've come to know and more like who you would think would be a blood relative to Thereser. In other words, she be goin' for the jugular. Oh, BTW, I forgot to mention that Kathy's got a new nose and some new lips. The jury's out in my mind on the nose job, probably because I care so little, and as for the lips, I couldn't tell any difference so, yeah. CEA in a funny aside, tells Kathy to "put the yellow light" on "that stuff". In other words: 'nuff with the face fixin', Kath. Agreed, CEA, agreed. So, back to Mean Kathy. She and Thereser begin to exchange words and suddenly Kathy barks out some serious shit about Thereser's MOTHA! What? What? To say "them's fightin' words" does not BEGIN to cover Thereser's reaction to this disrespect. I think Kathy called T's mother a bitch, which is like: whoah, ya'll, Kathy just took it up a notch; things about to get all kinda crazy up in here.
If human heads could literally explode, Thereser's head would have been in smithereens on the lovely brocade walls of the Borgata. She went APESHIT. And as if it wasn't enough, Kathy then starts shouting out some shit about T's FATHER, too. You know those little rubber stress dolls that you can buy that have vaguely humanoid features that, when you squeeze them, the eyes, nose and tongue pop out? That is exactly what happened to Thereser's face when Kathy aimed at T's father. She literally became incoherent with rage. Now seated next to Caroline on the OTHER couch, Thereser just kept repeating how Kathy had said shit about her FATHER! HER FATHER WHO KATHY WORSHIPPED! Then, at that moment my most favorite part of the whole EP went down. Thereser lobbed an insult at Kathy about HER father...her DECEASED father. Oh HELL'S NO, bitch. Now Kathy's eyes were bugged out and we all know how scary that looks considering Kathy's eyes are bugged out normally. Kathy starts to scream at Thereser about how she CANNOT disrespect the DEAD when out of nowhere comes the disembodied voice of Kathy's sister, the gal I like to call Rosiemodo and she is calling for Thereser's BLOOD! At this point even CEA looks like he's about to shit himself 'cause this place is getting all kinds of out of control. All we can hear (and see across the bottom of the screen in subtitles) is Rosiemodo screaming about how she's going to "FUCKING KILL THAT BITCH! SHE BETTER SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I'M GONNA CUT HER FUCKING TONGUE OUT. I DON'T CARE IF I GO TO JAIL I'M GOING TO KILL THAT FUCKING BITCH!" Thereser looks at Kathy with her scrunched up, angry face and says: "Who the fuck is that?" Kathy looks back at Tre with HER angry face and says icily (thanks Danny): "You know who that is."
O.M.G. THIS. IS. AWESOME!!! We never see her except for a shadowy figure running around backstage that I'm guessing was Rosiemodo going bananas while she was screaming for Thereser's tongue. I refuse to wonder why she was miked, but, yeah,let's not spoil the allusion that this ia all somehow unrehearsed and unscripted.
I literally could not have asked for a more kick-ass Reunion Part One especially since there are TWO more Reunion episodes to come and in the previews for next week we see not only a beet-faced Rosiemodo out on the stage but Joey "The Ape" Gorga and Juicy Joe "Snaggletooth" Guidice facing off, shouting threats and obscenities at each other. Dag. Join me, won't you? Tune back here next week for the recap of The Real Housewives of New Jersey Reunion Part Two. Later gators.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Here Comes Honey Boo Boo Season Finale Recap - Uncle Poodle Brings the Sass
Hey ya'll, it looks like HCHBB (or just HBB for short) has been given an extension by TLC, the Victorian freak show network that hosts it. TLC also hosts fan favorites like Hoarders: Buried Alive and Breaking Amish. Anyway, TLC has bought more EPs extending into next year and will be airing spayshals themed around Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Could we be lucky enough to get a "roadkill" Christmas? I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
The EP starts with a family photo shoot which is, like just about every other outdoor activity in HCHBB, sweaty and plagued by trillions of gnats. And sneezing. Mama June is positively unable to stop sneezing in this EP. So, yeah, they hire a pro to take some family photos and everyone, save Mama June, is clamoring over some dirty-ass rocks to get down to the edge of some body of water since the lady with the camera says it's the best backdrop. What seems like two and a half hours later they all get down and cop a squat, each one on their own rock. Except for Mama June who is no way gonna climb down that slope. I'm thinking that's a good call, Mama June. Know thyself, sister, know thyself. So, again, everyone's super hot and sweaty, the bugs are eating them alive and the photographer looks about ready to jump into the nearby body of water because, honestly the look on her face says, "no money's worth this". They finally get some snaps with Smoochie grimacing her way to a "smile" (isn't smiling on cue pretty much the bread and butter of beauty pageant contestants? Just sayin'...) and then, back up the rocky slope, they take a bunch more with Mama June in 'em. So there was that.
One piece of news in this mid-season finale is that the pregnant sister finally had BABY KAITLYN amid much hoohah and drama. She had it pretty fast, though for a first baby. Must be those spayshal biscuits ("they just look like a Hardee's breakfast biscuit") that Mama June and all her girls have. Baby Kaitlyn came out and she's got an extra thumb on one hand so one of her 79 aunties proudly gave her her very first "high six". OK, then. Mama June was quick to turn that could-be lemon into lemonade by unequivocally stating that Baby Kaitlyn was perfect just as she was and then went on to get all philosophical on our asses what with the whole "beauty comes from inside" shtick. Uh, Mama June? You do know that you have immersed your seven-year-old daughter into a world whose sole currency is physical beauty, right? Yeah, well, lets just let that one go. So they brought the baby home and Alana was positively in triple orbit, considering she's usually in some level of orbit just from the residual effects of the Go-Go Juice. What exactly IS the half-life of Red Bull and Mountain Dew in the body of a seven-year-old? Discuss and get back to me.
So the baby's home and everyone's clamoring to feed her and change her and get up in the middle of the night with her. Enjoy it while you can, sister number 79, 'cause pretty soon now the novelty of that shit's gonna wear off and then she's all yours, babe! But now it's time to FOCUS because Mama June has entered HBB in the Miss Sparkle and Shine pageant in just TWO DAYS! So Smoochie's gotta get packed and ready but most importantly she's gotta get herself a routine with which to wow the judge's table. Who better to call in for this SASS emergency than Sugar Bear's youngest brother Lee, who HBB calls "Uncle Poodle". Why does she call him Uncle Poodle? Because Lee is gay and HBB calls all gay men Poodles. Alana fondly tells the camera: Ain't nothin' wrong with being a little gay, everyone's a little gay. And Mama June's blase take on the whole thing: He's got a little fruit in his tank, what can I say? Refreshingly it's a non-issue with Smoochie and the fam.
Uncle Poodle and HBB head on outside to work up some super sassy moves and Uncle Poodle tries to get HBB to add a cartwheel to the mix but HBB just can't manage it. So what we end up seeing is a routine much like all the others in which HBB basically swaggers back and forth shaking her booty, wagging her finger saucily and tilting her head to maximize the sassified quotient. Hell, in the preview we saw one Miss Sparkle and Shine pageanteer contorting into a pretzel and sticking her tongue out at the judges. Shit, Smoochie's tarted up swagger's gotta be better than THAT! Redneckognize!
Next day they all pile into some SUV or other but are delayed while sister 78 scrapes dogshit off her shoe which she stepped in and the cameraman makes sure we see exactly where it still is. Yay! Over at the pageant there's a slight problem when, come to find out, HBB's been chowin' down on too many of them chicken nuggets and now her pageant dress won't close. Uh-oh. We see a frantic search for a "safety pin...a BIG one!" and a closeup of someone lacing HBB into her dress like some kind of little corset. Well...not so little. Finally, laced and pinned and glued into her dress, with her first big-ass wig and her glitzy make-up and her FALSE TEETH, Smoochie's ready to go out there and WIN! Step back with me if you will to the whole FALSE TEETH part. I was like: Oh, hells no; you do NOT make this child wear prosthetic teeth out there! But sho nuff they do. And upon closer inspection it looks like all the little pageant princesses are sportin' major grill work. I know...I know...Hey ABIB: considering there are elementary school girls prancing around in wigs and make-up elaborate enough to make your average drag queen jealous, and who are wearing everything from full-on ball gowns to a mini-Gypsy Rose Lee costume, you draw the line at false teeth? I hear you.
Anyway, finally tressed and fake-tanned and made-up within an inch of her life with her chubby little bod cinched into her pink show gown, Smoochie makes her debut onto the Miss Sparkle and Shine stage. She shakes her booty for all it's worth and all those extra chicken nuggets are forgotten as we watch HBB become...well...Honey Boo Boo. Mama June is trying to keep her vocalizations on the down low at the advice of the LAST pageant judges, but nobody said nothin' about her face. She grimaces and grins and positively mimes for Alana exactly what her own little face is supposed to be doing every moment she's struttin' the stage. Next is the swimsuit portion of the competition (YES! they do have a swimsuit portion of the competition in this CHILD'S beauty pageant). Alana gets to cavort around in her brand new, super sparkly, super blue bathing suit and yet ANOTHER wig from the Tammy Faye Bakker collection, but with the same fake teeth. OK, OK, I'll let the teeth thing go.
The judges seemed entertained by Smoochie but we never really know if that's for the benefit of the TLC cameras that are following her every move or if they really do like our little sparkplug. Finally, after a typically agonizing wait, the Miss Sparkle and Shine crown goes to...someone else! But wait! There's a People's Choice Award yet to be crowned. We'll never know if this People's Choice Award is something that the Miss Sparkle and Shine pageant organizers ginned up at the last minute because, well, it's the season finale pageant and TLC is paying a decent sum of money for this show and Honey Boo Boo has to win SOMETHING, right? Again: ABIB THIS is where you draw the line? Whether or not there's a People's Choice Award in a CHILD'S BEAUTY PAGEANT? I hear you.
HBB is over the moon and Mama June and the 80 sisters rush the stage to congratulate her, but the camera is more interested in what's approaching from the BACK of the room. Sugar Bear and Uncle Poodle are bringing up a "big surprise" for Alana to include in the glow of her win. None other than Glitzy the Pig arrives to share in HBB's glory and everyone is so excited to see Glitzy again! Well, HBB and her 800 family members, that is; everyone else appears to be kind of grossed out, truth be told.
The last few moments of the EP are devoted to everyone rehashing how great the summer's been and recounting all of the wonderful moments that we've shared, from The Redneck Olympics to the big fireworks display to Christmas in July to Glitzy "ooooing herself" on the kitchen table. TLC, I'm seeing this show as super-ripe for a Clorox Wipes endorsement! You don't have to thank me.
Well that's it for this portion of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo! Now that TLC has announced the show's extension, I'll be back recapping as soon as they're back on the air. Until then: you better Redneckognize!
The EP starts with a family photo shoot which is, like just about every other outdoor activity in HCHBB, sweaty and plagued by trillions of gnats. And sneezing. Mama June is positively unable to stop sneezing in this EP. So, yeah, they hire a pro to take some family photos and everyone, save Mama June, is clamoring over some dirty-ass rocks to get down to the edge of some body of water since the lady with the camera says it's the best backdrop. What seems like two and a half hours later they all get down and cop a squat, each one on their own rock. Except for Mama June who is no way gonna climb down that slope. I'm thinking that's a good call, Mama June. Know thyself, sister, know thyself. So, again, everyone's super hot and sweaty, the bugs are eating them alive and the photographer looks about ready to jump into the nearby body of water because, honestly the look on her face says, "no money's worth this". They finally get some snaps with Smoochie grimacing her way to a "smile" (isn't smiling on cue pretty much the bread and butter of beauty pageant contestants? Just sayin'...) and then, back up the rocky slope, they take a bunch more with Mama June in 'em. So there was that.
One piece of news in this mid-season finale is that the pregnant sister finally had BABY KAITLYN amid much hoohah and drama. She had it pretty fast, though for a first baby. Must be those spayshal biscuits ("they just look like a Hardee's breakfast biscuit") that Mama June and all her girls have. Baby Kaitlyn came out and she's got an extra thumb on one hand so one of her 79 aunties proudly gave her her very first "high six". OK, then. Mama June was quick to turn that could-be lemon into lemonade by unequivocally stating that Baby Kaitlyn was perfect just as she was and then went on to get all philosophical on our asses what with the whole "beauty comes from inside" shtick. Uh, Mama June? You do know that you have immersed your seven-year-old daughter into a world whose sole currency is physical beauty, right? Yeah, well, lets just let that one go. So they brought the baby home and Alana was positively in triple orbit, considering she's usually in some level of orbit just from the residual effects of the Go-Go Juice. What exactly IS the half-life of Red Bull and Mountain Dew in the body of a seven-year-old? Discuss and get back to me.
So the baby's home and everyone's clamoring to feed her and change her and get up in the middle of the night with her. Enjoy it while you can, sister number 79, 'cause pretty soon now the novelty of that shit's gonna wear off and then she's all yours, babe! But now it's time to FOCUS because Mama June has entered HBB in the Miss Sparkle and Shine pageant in just TWO DAYS! So Smoochie's gotta get packed and ready but most importantly she's gotta get herself a routine with which to wow the judge's table. Who better to call in for this SASS emergency than Sugar Bear's youngest brother Lee, who HBB calls "Uncle Poodle". Why does she call him Uncle Poodle? Because Lee is gay and HBB calls all gay men Poodles. Alana fondly tells the camera: Ain't nothin' wrong with being a little gay, everyone's a little gay. And Mama June's blase take on the whole thing: He's got a little fruit in his tank, what can I say? Refreshingly it's a non-issue with Smoochie and the fam.
Uncle Poodle and HBB head on outside to work up some super sassy moves and Uncle Poodle tries to get HBB to add a cartwheel to the mix but HBB just can't manage it. So what we end up seeing is a routine much like all the others in which HBB basically swaggers back and forth shaking her booty, wagging her finger saucily and tilting her head to maximize the sassified quotient. Hell, in the preview we saw one Miss Sparkle and Shine pageanteer contorting into a pretzel and sticking her tongue out at the judges. Shit, Smoochie's tarted up swagger's gotta be better than THAT! Redneckognize!
Next day they all pile into some SUV or other but are delayed while sister 78 scrapes dogshit off her shoe which she stepped in and the cameraman makes sure we see exactly where it still is. Yay! Over at the pageant there's a slight problem when, come to find out, HBB's been chowin' down on too many of them chicken nuggets and now her pageant dress won't close. Uh-oh. We see a frantic search for a "safety pin...a BIG one!" and a closeup of someone lacing HBB into her dress like some kind of little corset. Well...not so little. Finally, laced and pinned and glued into her dress, with her first big-ass wig and her glitzy make-up and her FALSE TEETH, Smoochie's ready to go out there and WIN! Step back with me if you will to the whole FALSE TEETH part. I was like: Oh, hells no; you do NOT make this child wear prosthetic teeth out there! But sho nuff they do. And upon closer inspection it looks like all the little pageant princesses are sportin' major grill work. I know...I know...Hey ABIB: considering there are elementary school girls prancing around in wigs and make-up elaborate enough to make your average drag queen jealous, and who are wearing everything from full-on ball gowns to a mini-Gypsy Rose Lee costume, you draw the line at false teeth? I hear you.
Anyway, finally tressed and fake-tanned and made-up within an inch of her life with her chubby little bod cinched into her pink show gown, Smoochie makes her debut onto the Miss Sparkle and Shine stage. She shakes her booty for all it's worth and all those extra chicken nuggets are forgotten as we watch HBB become...well...Honey Boo Boo. Mama June is trying to keep her vocalizations on the down low at the advice of the LAST pageant judges, but nobody said nothin' about her face. She grimaces and grins and positively mimes for Alana exactly what her own little face is supposed to be doing every moment she's struttin' the stage. Next is the swimsuit portion of the competition (YES! they do have a swimsuit portion of the competition in this CHILD'S beauty pageant). Alana gets to cavort around in her brand new, super sparkly, super blue bathing suit and yet ANOTHER wig from the Tammy Faye Bakker collection, but with the same fake teeth. OK, OK, I'll let the teeth thing go.
The judges seemed entertained by Smoochie but we never really know if that's for the benefit of the TLC cameras that are following her every move or if they really do like our little sparkplug. Finally, after a typically agonizing wait, the Miss Sparkle and Shine crown goes to...someone else! But wait! There's a People's Choice Award yet to be crowned. We'll never know if this People's Choice Award is something that the Miss Sparkle and Shine pageant organizers ginned up at the last minute because, well, it's the season finale pageant and TLC is paying a decent sum of money for this show and Honey Boo Boo has to win SOMETHING, right? Again: ABIB THIS is where you draw the line? Whether or not there's a People's Choice Award in a CHILD'S BEAUTY PAGEANT? I hear you.
HBB is over the moon and Mama June and the 80 sisters rush the stage to congratulate her, but the camera is more interested in what's approaching from the BACK of the room. Sugar Bear and Uncle Poodle are bringing up a "big surprise" for Alana to include in the glow of her win. None other than Glitzy the Pig arrives to share in HBB's glory and everyone is so excited to see Glitzy again! Well, HBB and her 800 family members, that is; everyone else appears to be kind of grossed out, truth be told.
The last few moments of the EP are devoted to everyone rehashing how great the summer's been and recounting all of the wonderful moments that we've shared, from The Redneck Olympics to the big fireworks display to Christmas in July to Glitzy "ooooing herself" on the kitchen table. TLC, I'm seeing this show as super-ripe for a Clorox Wipes endorsement! You don't have to thank me.
Well that's it for this portion of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo! Now that TLC has announced the show's extension, I'll be back recapping as soon as they're back on the air. Until then: you better Redneckognize!
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
RHONJ Recap: Bitch Set Me Up
Hilariously lifting from the Marion Barry school of poetic pronouncements, this week's Real Housewives of New Jersey Season Finale went all outraged on us and swapped out a crack pipe for a stripper's pole. Because the whole flap that had played out at LAST season's RHONJ reunion episode was the subject of this week's show. At that lucious scream-fest marshmallow soft Jacquine had taken the vapors and was unable to show up to the reunion taping at all' Instead she relied on Caroline "I shave my face every morning and my husband loves it" (she actually said that in an earlier season EP) to deliver her regrets and explain to cross-eyed Andy exactly why she was unable to be there. And now we know why. Namely that all the housewives and two of the husbands are now convinced that Thereser set up hated sis-in-law Melissa to be outed and subsequently shamed into divorce proceedings from Joey "The Ape" Gorga her supposedly hoodwinked brotha. Thereser at her table-flipping craziest, albeit in the world of internecine mind games rather than the world of macha brute-force intimidation.
We join the housewives and, annoyingly, Lauren "Meg Griffin" Manzo across the river from the Garden State, in New Yahk at some surely mob-owned (judging from the number of no-neck, gigantic black-clad guidos sheparding folks out of the place when the shit went down) eatery/club called Son Cubano. Son Cubano, which a quick Google search reveals as being in "West New York". Um...what?
Anyhoo, we entered the EP already suspicious of Thereser since we saw her in last week's EP being introduced to a friend of frenemy Kim D whose name was Angelo. Angelo needs dental work stat and his bald head gives him a seriously creepy Howie-Mandel-as-a-meth-head vibe. Thereser and Kim D are getting their hair and make-up done presumably for the upcoming Posche fashion show when Angelo lets the polecat out of the bag and tells Thereser that he knows Melissa and that, in fact, she worked at his bar as a dancer. Oh, wait, what I think he said is "she danced for me". Now needing to take a shower after hearing that particular turn of phrase, I watch as the camera pans to Kim D who has a look on her face that says: "I eat puppies, kittens and babies for breakfast". Clearly something is cookin' and I'm totally PSYCHED to find out what.
At the fashion show in West New York (again, what?), the gals are enjoying their dranks and salads at Son Cubano when who should stroll up on cue but Meth Head Howie and with his shit-eating grin he's clearly up to something. What I want to know is how much Thereser had to pay him to provide this service to her. Considering she and Guido Joe are in receivership on everything except their children, I'm guessing it was a lap dance or an "end of year special" coupon for the local Franklin Lakes dental practice. Because, as we learned last season, Thereser has lots of Jewish friends. Not that I'm saying that all dentists are Jewish but...well...that's exactly what I'm saying.
So Meth Head Howie saunters up and says "hello" to everyone but shines a special, icky-teeth-baring smile directly at Melissa, asking her if she remembers him. Melissa, presumably still in the dark about this plan of Thereser's offers him a big, bright smile and says, well, not too much. But she does nod her head in agreement as if to say: "let me pretend to know who this asshat is and maybe he'll just go away." For the record, Kathy Wakile thought he was hitting on Melissa. Poor Kathy. A few minutes later she actually acknowledges how outside of the loop she is concerning why all of her dinner partners are furiously texting each other. "I'll just eat my salad", says poor, un-looped-in Kathy, "its a good salad."
Meth Head Howie has now done his dirty deed, by giving Thereser entree into whisking Melissa to the ladies room, ("Dames" is written on the door which is, for some unfathomable reason of great interest to the camera operator, who keeps returning to the framed shot of the "Dames" door). In the unoccupied ladies room, well, unoccupied save for the lighting guy, the camera man, the sound man, Thereser and Melissa, Thereser proceeds to tell Melissa that her heart is "going 500" again. Even makes Melissa put her hand on her chest to hear the fluttering 500 heart. Melissa, being the good sport, puts her hand on Thereser's chest and then agrees that, yes, she can feel Thereser's heart pounding. Anything to get her to stop with the "my heart's pounding can you feel it? Can you? CAN YOU?".
I gotta be honest with you, here's where the show lost me a little bit. I can't tell if Thereser is just trying to get a rise out of Melissa or if she's trying to get Melissa to actually admit out loud that she was a pole dancer at Meth Head Howie's "gentlemen's club" (his words not mine...ick). Either way, Melissa is having none of it and denies 110% that she ever danced anywhere, least of all at scuzzy Meth Head Howie's strip club. She did cop to being a "bar tender for like a week" and that it wasn't a strip club it was a "bikini bar" where "you serve old men drinks and they give you $100." Um......OK? And anyway, Melissa says, she just doesn't care what this fucker thinks. Thereser keeps pushing, insisting that Melissa HAS TO CARE, that in fact, Melissa has to CONFRONT Meth Head Howie since he's spreading such horrible lies about her. I mean, Thereser is OUTRAGED that this goon is going around telling everyone that Melissa is a putana. Which, oddly, is EXACTLY what Thereser has made her life's work for at least the last two seasons of RHONJ. As Melissa says in her talking head moment: "Something's not adding up." Christ, who writes this drek for these ladies?
Now Melissa is beginning to get really annoyed with Thereser and is waking up to the notion that, well, maybe Thereser herself was a part of this whole "let's expose Melissa for the little ho bag that she is so I can finally rid my life of her copycat, whorish ways once and for all." So what does she do? She calls Joey "The Ape" and whines to him about how some jackass is harassing her and that she doesn't really feel comfortable confronting him since her husband's not with her. OMG, Melissa...really? Now, I realize that none of the ladies on this show, hell none of the PEOPLE on this show are Rhodes scholars but sakes alive Melissa, your husband engaged in a fist fight with a family member at his own kid's christening! Should you really be inciting him to head on down to a BAR to confront some guy who you've just told him is going around calling his wife a stripper? Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, our little pole dancer The Divine Mrs G. She recovers quickly, though, because when Joey "The Ape" announces over the phone that "he's coming right over there", our little stripper has a change of heart as, presumably, she realizes that this might not be the best plan. To no avail she tries mightily to stuff that genie back into that little bottle, but Joey "The Ape" don't hear NOTHIN' when his wife's rep is being drug tru da mud! "You won't even dance for ME!" we hear Joey "The Ape" exclaim.
Well, Thereser gets wind of this development and FREAKS OUT! Holy shit, my crazy-ass roid-case of a brotha is heading over here with the intent to break in half one Meth Head Howie and probably get sent to JAIL...does she finally realize the folly of her meddling ways? Hells to the NO, folks! This is Thereser we're talking about here, she, of course MAKES IT MELISSA'S FAULT! I told her not to call my brotha! She's going to get him sent to JAIL FOR SURE! What a stitch she is, our little simian-browed cookbook magnate. Meanwhile, while all this has been going down in the "Dames" room, the table full of NJ housewives and Lauren "Meg Griffin" have been furiously texting each other and the snitch friend of Jacqueline's who is the anonymous source for all of this drama fuel, having overheard the entire conversation between Meth Head Howie and, um, some other person, about how he's been tagged to "bring Melissa down". Kathy is still blissfully eating her "good salad".
Following the break we find that the action has moved to the street outside of Son Cubano where, lo and behold, who should come down to crash the Posche party but Joey "The Ape" and Kathy's Lebanese husband, who is sporting the biggest, doucheiest Ralph Lauren logo on the front of his polo shirt, that I have ever seen. In so doing he has cemented his place as the number one tool in the veritable sea of tools that populate this show. Joey "The Ape" is wearing a knit cap over his unusually tiny head and is sportin' his guns exposed by the tightest, blackest T-shirt available for purchase in whatever guido/wigger clothing store he clearly frequents. Joey "The Ape" wades into the crowd bellowing to whoever will acknowledge him that he's looking for whatever guy disrespected his wife. Awwww...that's sweet Joey "The Ape", your'e here to beat someone to a bloody pulp just to prove how much you love your wife. Unfortunately Angelo has flown the coop, which Melissa tells her husband as soon as she catches up to him. Yeah, I'm thinking spending a few weeks in traction in the local NJ general hospital wasn't covered by the hit money (again, or lap dance) that Thereser paid him to lower the boom on her arch enemy.
Not that easily thwarted, Joey "The Ape" demands that some guy standing at the entrance to Son Cubano text Meth Head Howie. To do what, exactly, Joey "The Ape"? Alert him that you insist he return to the club so that he can face your righteous, guido anger fueled by the 'roids that you're pumping day and night? Yeah, I'm not seeing that happening. Inexplicably what I AM seeing happening is the cameras returning to Son Cubano's interior so that we can watch Thereser having drinks with her brother-in-law and apparent doppelganger for his brother Joe "Snaggletooth" Guidice. Huh? Bravo: this is connected to tonight's story thread how? They even do a split screen comparison of what appears to be the side shot that's taken as part of a series of angles for your typical mug shot. Long story short, Bravo shows us arrest photos of the Guidice boys to prove that they look exactly alike. Um, not so much. And again, what are we doing back inside Son Cubano when the action is clearly outside?
Once he realized that Meth Head Howie wasn't coming back, Joey "The Ape" just started cussing out people, staring with Kim D, calling her a "drunk fucking whore" and telling her to just "go snort another line". Suddenly the street was filled with people, including the po-po, Thereser was frantically spinning the story to deflect the blame from herself and at one point, actually uttered these words to Jacqueline: "have you ever considered that someone is SETTING ME UP? Maybe it's YOU!" Jacqueline at this point looks like she can no longer recall her own name. Her face is an empty blank and she spends alot of time staring into space. It's actully much like the ploy she tried when Thereser and Caroline were throwing down on the California trip. There she pretended to be asleep with her head in Melissa's lap, (didn't fool anyone ya whiny-ass bitch) but since she's standing on a busy street this time she assumes the demeanor of someone who has been hypnotized to believe that they are a blank sheet of paper.
Names are called! Threats are issued! From the darkened safety of the passenger seat in her husband's giant, black SUV, Melissa coaches Joey "The Ape" on how best to shout out the window and diss his sister as they drive away. For the record it's "say SHAME ON YOU! SHAME!" Uh, OK. We actually hear Caroline announce, from off camera, that she's about to have a heart attack. Miss "life is short I have no time for drama" has inserted herself directly in the middle of this Guidice/Gorga extravaganza of I HATE YOU/I HATE YOU MORE and now appears to be ready to pay for it with an MI. Go home, Caroline, you have more on your plate than this wacko-on-wacko craziness: your daughter is a hopeless loser, your older son can't hold a job (but luckily he CAN hold a man), and your youngest is a full-blown idiot.
The EP ends, as all Housewives season finales do, with a few epilogue style recaps on what's up with the cast. Thereser has published another wildly popular cookbook and everyone hates her; Caroline has not spoken to Thereser since the Son Cubano debacle but on the bright side Lauren "Meg Griffin" has lost 35 pounds thanks to LAP BAND surgery (nice original spin on the product placement, Bravo, you're actually getting paid to shill for a surgical procedure!) and her store "Cafface" is doing well, Albie has broken up with the mute cheerleader (ya think?), and Christopher is...actually not mentioned. Probably for the best; I can't imagine that Chris is doing much of anything other than diddling himself and speaking in tongues. Kathy Wakile's daughter, as predicted in this blog, has decided to stay at Mom and Dad's and attend some kind of "school" in NJ, Kathy achieved her "dream" and is now selling her cannollis at some retail emporium (way to keep the life expectations nice and low, Kath) and Kathy has recently begun to communicate again with Thereser, via text message. Joey "The Ape" and Melissa are trying to sell their house for $3.2M to enable them to move and get away from Thereser, Melissa's song which is called...actually who gives a fuck what it's called, made it to number four on iTunes. Finally, Jacqueline's relationship with Ashley has never been better, likely because Ash lives in LA and they only communicate through text and Skype, also, Jacqueline's still crying on camera, so, yeah, nothing new with her.
Well, that's it for this recap. There will be another one next week after, actually what looks to be a fucking kick-ass RHONJ reunion! The clips show Thereser looking like her head is actually about to spin around and she calls someone (my money's on Caroline) an "old hag"! YEAH! That's the dealy-o, folks; come on back next week for more RHONJ fun, fun, fun!
We join the housewives and, annoyingly, Lauren "Meg Griffin" Manzo across the river from the Garden State, in New Yahk at some surely mob-owned (judging from the number of no-neck, gigantic black-clad guidos sheparding folks out of the place when the shit went down) eatery/club called Son Cubano. Son Cubano, which a quick Google search reveals as being in "West New York". Um...what?
Anyhoo, we entered the EP already suspicious of Thereser since we saw her in last week's EP being introduced to a friend of frenemy Kim D whose name was Angelo. Angelo needs dental work stat and his bald head gives him a seriously creepy Howie-Mandel-as-a-meth-head vibe. Thereser and Kim D are getting their hair and make-up done presumably for the upcoming Posche fashion show when Angelo lets the polecat out of the bag and tells Thereser that he knows Melissa and that, in fact, she worked at his bar as a dancer. Oh, wait, what I think he said is "she danced for me". Now needing to take a shower after hearing that particular turn of phrase, I watch as the camera pans to Kim D who has a look on her face that says: "I eat puppies, kittens and babies for breakfast". Clearly something is cookin' and I'm totally PSYCHED to find out what.
At the fashion show in West New York (again, what?), the gals are enjoying their dranks and salads at Son Cubano when who should stroll up on cue but Meth Head Howie and with his shit-eating grin he's clearly up to something. What I want to know is how much Thereser had to pay him to provide this service to her. Considering she and Guido Joe are in receivership on everything except their children, I'm guessing it was a lap dance or an "end of year special" coupon for the local Franklin Lakes dental practice. Because, as we learned last season, Thereser has lots of Jewish friends. Not that I'm saying that all dentists are Jewish but...well...that's exactly what I'm saying.
So Meth Head Howie saunters up and says "hello" to everyone but shines a special, icky-teeth-baring smile directly at Melissa, asking her if she remembers him. Melissa, presumably still in the dark about this plan of Thereser's offers him a big, bright smile and says, well, not too much. But she does nod her head in agreement as if to say: "let me pretend to know who this asshat is and maybe he'll just go away." For the record, Kathy Wakile thought he was hitting on Melissa. Poor Kathy. A few minutes later she actually acknowledges how outside of the loop she is concerning why all of her dinner partners are furiously texting each other. "I'll just eat my salad", says poor, un-looped-in Kathy, "its a good salad."
Meth Head Howie has now done his dirty deed, by giving Thereser entree into whisking Melissa to the ladies room, ("Dames" is written on the door which is, for some unfathomable reason of great interest to the camera operator, who keeps returning to the framed shot of the "Dames" door). In the unoccupied ladies room, well, unoccupied save for the lighting guy, the camera man, the sound man, Thereser and Melissa, Thereser proceeds to tell Melissa that her heart is "going 500" again. Even makes Melissa put her hand on her chest to hear the fluttering 500 heart. Melissa, being the good sport, puts her hand on Thereser's chest and then agrees that, yes, she can feel Thereser's heart pounding. Anything to get her to stop with the "my heart's pounding can you feel it? Can you? CAN YOU?".
I gotta be honest with you, here's where the show lost me a little bit. I can't tell if Thereser is just trying to get a rise out of Melissa or if she's trying to get Melissa to actually admit out loud that she was a pole dancer at Meth Head Howie's "gentlemen's club" (his words not mine...ick). Either way, Melissa is having none of it and denies 110% that she ever danced anywhere, least of all at scuzzy Meth Head Howie's strip club. She did cop to being a "bar tender for like a week" and that it wasn't a strip club it was a "bikini bar" where "you serve old men drinks and they give you $100." Um......OK? And anyway, Melissa says, she just doesn't care what this fucker thinks. Thereser keeps pushing, insisting that Melissa HAS TO CARE, that in fact, Melissa has to CONFRONT Meth Head Howie since he's spreading such horrible lies about her. I mean, Thereser is OUTRAGED that this goon is going around telling everyone that Melissa is a putana. Which, oddly, is EXACTLY what Thereser has made her life's work for at least the last two seasons of RHONJ. As Melissa says in her talking head moment: "Something's not adding up." Christ, who writes this drek for these ladies?
Now Melissa is beginning to get really annoyed with Thereser and is waking up to the notion that, well, maybe Thereser herself was a part of this whole "let's expose Melissa for the little ho bag that she is so I can finally rid my life of her copycat, whorish ways once and for all." So what does she do? She calls Joey "The Ape" and whines to him about how some jackass is harassing her and that she doesn't really feel comfortable confronting him since her husband's not with her. OMG, Melissa...really? Now, I realize that none of the ladies on this show, hell none of the PEOPLE on this show are Rhodes scholars but sakes alive Melissa, your husband engaged in a fist fight with a family member at his own kid's christening! Should you really be inciting him to head on down to a BAR to confront some guy who you've just told him is going around calling his wife a stripper? Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, our little pole dancer The Divine Mrs G. She recovers quickly, though, because when Joey "The Ape" announces over the phone that "he's coming right over there", our little stripper has a change of heart as, presumably, she realizes that this might not be the best plan. To no avail she tries mightily to stuff that genie back into that little bottle, but Joey "The Ape" don't hear NOTHIN' when his wife's rep is being drug tru da mud! "You won't even dance for ME!" we hear Joey "The Ape" exclaim.
Well, Thereser gets wind of this development and FREAKS OUT! Holy shit, my crazy-ass roid-case of a brotha is heading over here with the intent to break in half one Meth Head Howie and probably get sent to JAIL...does she finally realize the folly of her meddling ways? Hells to the NO, folks! This is Thereser we're talking about here, she, of course MAKES IT MELISSA'S FAULT! I told her not to call my brotha! She's going to get him sent to JAIL FOR SURE! What a stitch she is, our little simian-browed cookbook magnate. Meanwhile, while all this has been going down in the "Dames" room, the table full of NJ housewives and Lauren "Meg Griffin" have been furiously texting each other and the snitch friend of Jacqueline's who is the anonymous source for all of this drama fuel, having overheard the entire conversation between Meth Head Howie and, um, some other person, about how he's been tagged to "bring Melissa down". Kathy is still blissfully eating her "good salad".
Following the break we find that the action has moved to the street outside of Son Cubano where, lo and behold, who should come down to crash the Posche party but Joey "The Ape" and Kathy's Lebanese husband, who is sporting the biggest, doucheiest Ralph Lauren logo on the front of his polo shirt, that I have ever seen. In so doing he has cemented his place as the number one tool in the veritable sea of tools that populate this show. Joey "The Ape" is wearing a knit cap over his unusually tiny head and is sportin' his guns exposed by the tightest, blackest T-shirt available for purchase in whatever guido/wigger clothing store he clearly frequents. Joey "The Ape" wades into the crowd bellowing to whoever will acknowledge him that he's looking for whatever guy disrespected his wife. Awwww...that's sweet Joey "The Ape", your'e here to beat someone to a bloody pulp just to prove how much you love your wife. Unfortunately Angelo has flown the coop, which Melissa tells her husband as soon as she catches up to him. Yeah, I'm thinking spending a few weeks in traction in the local NJ general hospital wasn't covered by the hit money (again, or lap dance) that Thereser paid him to lower the boom on her arch enemy.
Not that easily thwarted, Joey "The Ape" demands that some guy standing at the entrance to Son Cubano text Meth Head Howie. To do what, exactly, Joey "The Ape"? Alert him that you insist he return to the club so that he can face your righteous, guido anger fueled by the 'roids that you're pumping day and night? Yeah, I'm not seeing that happening. Inexplicably what I AM seeing happening is the cameras returning to Son Cubano's interior so that we can watch Thereser having drinks with her brother-in-law and apparent doppelganger for his brother Joe "Snaggletooth" Guidice. Huh? Bravo: this is connected to tonight's story thread how? They even do a split screen comparison of what appears to be the side shot that's taken as part of a series of angles for your typical mug shot. Long story short, Bravo shows us arrest photos of the Guidice boys to prove that they look exactly alike. Um, not so much. And again, what are we doing back inside Son Cubano when the action is clearly outside?
Once he realized that Meth Head Howie wasn't coming back, Joey "The Ape" just started cussing out people, staring with Kim D, calling her a "drunk fucking whore" and telling her to just "go snort another line". Suddenly the street was filled with people, including the po-po, Thereser was frantically spinning the story to deflect the blame from herself and at one point, actually uttered these words to Jacqueline: "have you ever considered that someone is SETTING ME UP? Maybe it's YOU!" Jacqueline at this point looks like she can no longer recall her own name. Her face is an empty blank and she spends alot of time staring into space. It's actully much like the ploy she tried when Thereser and Caroline were throwing down on the California trip. There she pretended to be asleep with her head in Melissa's lap, (didn't fool anyone ya whiny-ass bitch) but since she's standing on a busy street this time she assumes the demeanor of someone who has been hypnotized to believe that they are a blank sheet of paper.
Names are called! Threats are issued! From the darkened safety of the passenger seat in her husband's giant, black SUV, Melissa coaches Joey "The Ape" on how best to shout out the window and diss his sister as they drive away. For the record it's "say SHAME ON YOU! SHAME!" Uh, OK. We actually hear Caroline announce, from off camera, that she's about to have a heart attack. Miss "life is short I have no time for drama" has inserted herself directly in the middle of this Guidice/Gorga extravaganza of I HATE YOU/I HATE YOU MORE and now appears to be ready to pay for it with an MI. Go home, Caroline, you have more on your plate than this wacko-on-wacko craziness: your daughter is a hopeless loser, your older son can't hold a job (but luckily he CAN hold a man), and your youngest is a full-blown idiot.
The EP ends, as all Housewives season finales do, with a few epilogue style recaps on what's up with the cast. Thereser has published another wildly popular cookbook and everyone hates her; Caroline has not spoken to Thereser since the Son Cubano debacle but on the bright side Lauren "Meg Griffin" has lost 35 pounds thanks to LAP BAND surgery (nice original spin on the product placement, Bravo, you're actually getting paid to shill for a surgical procedure!) and her store "Cafface" is doing well, Albie has broken up with the mute cheerleader (ya think?), and Christopher is...actually not mentioned. Probably for the best; I can't imagine that Chris is doing much of anything other than diddling himself and speaking in tongues. Kathy Wakile's daughter, as predicted in this blog, has decided to stay at Mom and Dad's and attend some kind of "school" in NJ, Kathy achieved her "dream" and is now selling her cannollis at some retail emporium (way to keep the life expectations nice and low, Kath) and Kathy has recently begun to communicate again with Thereser, via text message. Joey "The Ape" and Melissa are trying to sell their house for $3.2M to enable them to move and get away from Thereser, Melissa's song which is called...actually who gives a fuck what it's called, made it to number four on iTunes. Finally, Jacqueline's relationship with Ashley has never been better, likely because Ash lives in LA and they only communicate through text and Skype, also, Jacqueline's still crying on camera, so, yeah, nothing new with her.
Well, that's it for this recap. There will be another one next week after, actually what looks to be a fucking kick-ass RHONJ reunion! The clips show Thereser looking like her head is actually about to spin around and she calls someone (my money's on Caroline) an "old hag"! YEAH! That's the dealy-o, folks; come on back next week for more RHONJ fun, fun, fun!
Friday, September 21, 2012
Recap: The Real Housewives of New Jersey
Here's the latest shit going down on RHONJ:
Thereser is still yapping about "moving forward" with her brother, the little monkey aka Joe Gorga. I'd put money down on one of Thereser and Joe's parents being an ape. She's clearly got the simian hairline as evidence and Joe Gorga actually IS an ape for real. They've done a good job teaching him to talk, though. Some day, if he practices really hard, he might be able to talk as good as Koko. He's still got a problem with exposing his genitals in public but at least he's stopped throwing his own feces.
Anyhooooo....Joe Guidice, Thereser's "husband" is still skulking around their foreclosed McMansion, alternately phone-fucking his mistress while on vacation with his wife and an entire Bravo TV film crew and ironing his own guido silk shirts in his upstairs bedroom. Also doing drunken somersaults on their marble floor and cracking one of his fucking teeth off. Of course, Thereser's response to catching him outright mid-phone fuck is to Hop On Pop right there in the grape arbor. Again, while on vacation with the 300 others that trail around after them 24/7. As Sheree would say: "Classy."
Speaking of Joey the Ape Gorga, his wife and Thereser's hated sis-in-law Melissa is hot on the heels of a fabulous career as a lip-synching poser. And for a former pole dancer from South Jersey that's pretty good. I love how these Bravo shows dig up some obscure "celebrity" personalities and trot them out as if we won't notice and say: "the fuck?" Case in point: Melissa Gorga's singing impresario and voice coach, some guy who has his own music promotion/production gig called "Soul Diggaz". Again, the fuck? I'm thinking that this schmo and his "Soul Diggaz" beats were emptying ashtrays and scrubbing out the portable toilets on some D lister's used-ass tour bus. Like Boyz 2 Men circa 1998's luggage dude. Anyway, he's now got a deal with Bravo to act the part of Melissa's promoter and be in the direct glare of Joey the Ape's stink eye every time he arrives at Castle Gorga for a music session. Hey Soul Diggaz: 1999 called, it wants its hip hop slang back.
Speaking of Melissa Gorga, I've considered the possibility that she and Thereser, like the evil turban-wearing dude in the first Harry Potter movie, actually share a head with each of them getting to look out of one side. Case in point: Thereser's hairline nearly touches the bridge of her nose, while Melissa's is waaaaayyy back near the top of her big ass ears. So I'm thinking that when it's Thereser's turn to have the head she shimmies the hairline down too far so that when she turns around and we see Melissa, too much forehead is exposed. Just a thought...discuss amongst yourselves.
Moving on to the Manzo/Laurita households. Caroline, whose tagline is "life is short, I have no time for drama", continues to stir the pot feverishly, getting everyone, but mostly herself, in a state of perpetual agitation about Thereser's bitchy zingers in her latest cookbook while using all of her talking head opportunities to bitch out Thereser with every epithet short of calling her the anti-Christ. Caroline, you have no time for anything BUT drama, my darling. Speaking of drama: can we PUHLEEEEZE be done with the Albie/Christopher/Lauren "Meg Griffin" Manzo filler shit? Every time one of Caroline's kids is on the screen I want to throw my TV out the window. WHO GIVES A FUCK!? Albie is making headway in his career with BLK (he and his Uncle Chris have decided to market black water...yes, you read that right: black water, which they call BLK, tagline: BLK is the new Black) and now the dead-eyed, non-speaking cheerleader girlfriend is going to get him all fahrklempt and make him forget his career and Lauren is getting fatter and fatter and trying the raw egg diet and throwing shit fits and slamming doors and crying when her brothers and her mother laugh their asses off about what an annoying fattie she is...and Gregg Bennett the gay roommate who is Albie's ACTUAL love interest so Mama Caroline: stop worrying your dyed red head about the beard "girlfriend" derailing your genius' career, he's doing fine, thank you very much with Gregg and his pink tutu-clad teacup Yorkie living large in Hoboken, NJ. Did I get it all with the Manzo kids? Because I'm fucking SICK of them and their boring little non-HOUSEWIFE lives! Sheesh...where's some crazy Danielle when we need her?
Kathy Wakile and her Lebanese, gas station mogul husband are touring college campuses with their daughter who wants to go to...drumroll, please...the University of Maryland at College Park! So there was a little hometown shout-out in the last EP where we were treated to some footage of the UMD campus and their tiny dorms and Kathy's freakishly huge eyes getting all glassy at the thought of her baby moving so far away. I wanted to tell her: not to worry, Kath...there's no way your kid is getting into UMD, at least not the one we've been watching on RHONJ this season. Relax, she'll be lucky to get into the local community college so you'll have her safe and sound in her giant, professionally decorated bedroom for years to come. And this week again I breathe a sigh of relief that we had another RHONJ EP without an appearance by Kathy's bizarro sister Quasimodo. Whew!
Chris and Jacqueline Laurita update: Jacqueline is still crying. About everything. Nuff said and zzzzzzzzzzzz. In the run-up to the season finale (a season which seems to have gone on for eight years) we see Thereser hyperventilating when she hears the news that her sis-in-law used to be an exotic dancer at some guy's club who her evil frenemy Kim G or D or Z...I can't remember except that she owns a store that she named Posche, as in Posh but with a "c" and an "e"....introduced her to. Thereser telling everyone that she can't talk about her FAMILY! That she doesn't want to hear bad things about her FAMILY! That her heart is pounding at the thought of hearing bad things about her FAMILY! All lies, BTW. Thereser positively LIVES to get this kind of juicy dirt on the evil little whore who stole her ape brother from her. Stay tuned, kiddies; it's about to get all kinds of pazzesco up in here.
Thereser is still yapping about "moving forward" with her brother, the little monkey aka Joe Gorga. I'd put money down on one of Thereser and Joe's parents being an ape. She's clearly got the simian hairline as evidence and Joe Gorga actually IS an ape for real. They've done a good job teaching him to talk, though. Some day, if he practices really hard, he might be able to talk as good as Koko. He's still got a problem with exposing his genitals in public but at least he's stopped throwing his own feces.
Anyhooooo....Joe Guidice, Thereser's "husband" is still skulking around their foreclosed McMansion, alternately phone-fucking his mistress while on vacation with his wife and an entire Bravo TV film crew and ironing his own guido silk shirts in his upstairs bedroom. Also doing drunken somersaults on their marble floor and cracking one of his fucking teeth off. Of course, Thereser's response to catching him outright mid-phone fuck is to Hop On Pop right there in the grape arbor. Again, while on vacation with the 300 others that trail around after them 24/7. As Sheree would say: "Classy."
Speaking of Joey the Ape Gorga, his wife and Thereser's hated sis-in-law Melissa is hot on the heels of a fabulous career as a lip-synching poser. And for a former pole dancer from South Jersey that's pretty good. I love how these Bravo shows dig up some obscure "celebrity" personalities and trot them out as if we won't notice and say: "the fuck?" Case in point: Melissa Gorga's singing impresario and voice coach, some guy who has his own music promotion/production gig called "Soul Diggaz". Again, the fuck? I'm thinking that this schmo and his "Soul Diggaz" beats were emptying ashtrays and scrubbing out the portable toilets on some D lister's used-ass tour bus. Like Boyz 2 Men circa 1998's luggage dude. Anyway, he's now got a deal with Bravo to act the part of Melissa's promoter and be in the direct glare of Joey the Ape's stink eye every time he arrives at Castle Gorga for a music session. Hey Soul Diggaz: 1999 called, it wants its hip hop slang back.
Speaking of Melissa Gorga, I've considered the possibility that she and Thereser, like the evil turban-wearing dude in the first Harry Potter movie, actually share a head with each of them getting to look out of one side. Case in point: Thereser's hairline nearly touches the bridge of her nose, while Melissa's is waaaaayyy back near the top of her big ass ears. So I'm thinking that when it's Thereser's turn to have the head she shimmies the hairline down too far so that when she turns around and we see Melissa, too much forehead is exposed. Just a thought...discuss amongst yourselves.
Moving on to the Manzo/Laurita households. Caroline, whose tagline is "life is short, I have no time for drama", continues to stir the pot feverishly, getting everyone, but mostly herself, in a state of perpetual agitation about Thereser's bitchy zingers in her latest cookbook while using all of her talking head opportunities to bitch out Thereser with every epithet short of calling her the anti-Christ. Caroline, you have no time for anything BUT drama, my darling. Speaking of drama: can we PUHLEEEEZE be done with the Albie/Christopher/Lauren "Meg Griffin" Manzo filler shit? Every time one of Caroline's kids is on the screen I want to throw my TV out the window. WHO GIVES A FUCK!? Albie is making headway in his career with BLK (he and his Uncle Chris have decided to market black water...yes, you read that right: black water, which they call BLK, tagline: BLK is the new Black) and now the dead-eyed, non-speaking cheerleader girlfriend is going to get him all fahrklempt and make him forget his career and Lauren is getting fatter and fatter and trying the raw egg diet and throwing shit fits and slamming doors and crying when her brothers and her mother laugh their asses off about what an annoying fattie she is...and Gregg Bennett the gay roommate who is Albie's ACTUAL love interest so Mama Caroline: stop worrying your dyed red head about the beard "girlfriend" derailing your genius' career, he's doing fine, thank you very much with Gregg and his pink tutu-clad teacup Yorkie living large in Hoboken, NJ. Did I get it all with the Manzo kids? Because I'm fucking SICK of them and their boring little non-HOUSEWIFE lives! Sheesh...where's some crazy Danielle when we need her?
Kathy Wakile and her Lebanese, gas station mogul husband are touring college campuses with their daughter who wants to go to...drumroll, please...the University of Maryland at College Park! So there was a little hometown shout-out in the last EP where we were treated to some footage of the UMD campus and their tiny dorms and Kathy's freakishly huge eyes getting all glassy at the thought of her baby moving so far away. I wanted to tell her: not to worry, Kath...there's no way your kid is getting into UMD, at least not the one we've been watching on RHONJ this season. Relax, she'll be lucky to get into the local community college so you'll have her safe and sound in her giant, professionally decorated bedroom for years to come. And this week again I breathe a sigh of relief that we had another RHONJ EP without an appearance by Kathy's bizarro sister Quasimodo. Whew!
Chris and Jacqueline Laurita update: Jacqueline is still crying. About everything. Nuff said and zzzzzzzzzzzz. In the run-up to the season finale (a season which seems to have gone on for eight years) we see Thereser hyperventilating when she hears the news that her sis-in-law used to be an exotic dancer at some guy's club who her evil frenemy Kim G or D or Z...I can't remember except that she owns a store that she named Posche, as in Posh but with a "c" and an "e"....introduced her to. Thereser telling everyone that she can't talk about her FAMILY! That she doesn't want to hear bad things about her FAMILY! That her heart is pounding at the thought of hearing bad things about her FAMILY! All lies, BTW. Thereser positively LIVES to get this kind of juicy dirt on the evil little whore who stole her ape brother from her. Stay tuned, kiddies; it's about to get all kinds of pazzesco up in here.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Recap In A Flash X Two
Here's what you missed on "Mama June and Everyone Else" last Wednesday:
Mama June is a great cook according to Sugar Bear and on the show last week we got definitive proof that Sugar Bear is not fucking kidding, folks. Here's the 411 on MJ's mad magic skillz in the kitchen:
Mama June's Secret Family Recipe for Sketti
Put some pink slime-looking "meat" of some kind in a skillet.
Appear to fry pink slime-looking "meat".
Cook some sketti.
Throw some of that sketti at the wall to make sure it's done...throw as much as you want, in fact, just because it's fun to throw food.
Leave it there.
Remove double coupon-special size Country Crock margarine from fridge.
Scoop out approximately two heaping cups of Country Crock margarine and put it in a vaguely microwave safe looking container.
Remove double coupon-special size generic ketchup (likely catsup, actually) from fridge.
Squirt approximately two heaping cups of ketchup/catsup into the microwave safe container. On top of the Country Crock margarine. Stick container in microwave and turn it on.
Dump out cooked sketti into colander in sink; leave it there. Wait for microwave to ding.
Upon hearing microwave ding remove microwave container and stir together the now melted/separated/heated up Country Crock margarine/ketchup/catsup "sauce". Try your best to minimize the level of oil/solids separation that you'll encounter in the microwaved Country Crock margarine. Because it's...margarine.
Scream for the fam and let 'em serve themselves directly from the colander of sketti and, now I see it, old Country Crock container of Mama June's Secret Family Sauce.
Ignore the pink slime "meat" that had been frying in the skillet as it was clearly edited out of the EP.
Praise to the skies Sugar Bear's ability to shut out any prior experience of food that he has eaten as you watch him, and Honey Boo Boo and her 80 sisters scarf down something that most of us wouldn't feed to a homeless person.
It's Country Crock margarine and KETCHUP, people!
Here's what you missed on "Mama June and Everyone Else" yesterday:
Mama June decides to try to put on Honey Boo Boo's pageant make up but does a crappy job because she "can't see too good". Which makes me try to recall if I've ever seen Mama June drive on the show. Hmmm...TLC: the network that brings you vehicular homicide. Because Hoarders: Buried Alive is just not edgy enough.
Next we see that Miss Georgia 2011 is not too proud to appear with Honey Boo Boo and Mama June in a random boutique, appear to shop and watch HBB crash around the store and blow on things. Then sit down to a plate of several pieces of what? Cake? Anyway, one with pineapple. HBB doesn't like pineapple apparently so she takes it out of her mouth and puts it back on an uneaten piece of cake. Which will now remain uneaten, although, wait, Mama June is there so, maybe not. And then comment on Honey Boo Boo's poor table manners evidenced by HBB copping to a fart at the table. Of course, in her talking head segment Miss Georgia 2011 can't stop laughing about HBB's fart, proving that even prissy-ass Miss America contestants from Georgia are gross-out humor hicks at heart who "can't believe that I said fart on TV". Bitch, please.
Mama June takes the girls to the local Bingo parlor/old folks home for some of what she calls her favorite "sport", next to extreme couponing: a thrilling night of Bingo! There appear to be approximately eight other people at Bingo night which bodes well for Mama June's assertion that she's going to win the cool grand in the weekly Bingo jackpot. Because the "big pageant is next week" and they don't have enough money. Because, Mama June tells us, "pageants are expensive". Except it takes her a few tries to get it out. Whatevs. MJ and the girls play what looks to be about 30 Bingo cards and they still don't win. What's worse, the old lady way in the back who DOES win is declared by Honey Boo Boo to be a cheater. "She CHEATED Mama! She's a CHEATER!" Alrighty then!
At Honey Boo Boo's seventh birthday party extravaganza Mama June can't climb up a Slip N Slide because she "has no upper body strength". Huh. Sugar Bear thinks it's because she's scared. One of the 80 sisters thinks it's because of her forklift foot. That and gravity. That one gets my vote. Anyway, it drives poor Mama June directly back to the Sno Cone truck where she drowns her shame in another Coconut/Almond Sno Cone swearing that it's her last one and that she won't bother the anonymous Sno Cone vendor anymore that day. Girl I so get that. Can I just say again that I love me some Mama June? The 80 sisters raid Mama June's apocalypse bunker of foodstuffs to get some free shit for HBB's birthday gift because none of them have any money. So they wrap up what appears to be a five gallon plastic bottle of hot sauce and some fuzzed out stuff that looks vaguely like a Pop Tarts box. And liquid soap.
Finally Honey Boo Boo sneezes out two huge boogers, one from each nostril and appears to begin to dispose of them in a way that even I couldn't bear to watch but probably was right up there with Mama June's sketti recipe on the appetizing scale.
Ladies and gents, that's The ABIB's recap for this week. Tune back here next week for the recap of the Season One Finale of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo! Redneckognize!
Mama June is a great cook according to Sugar Bear and on the show last week we got definitive proof that Sugar Bear is not fucking kidding, folks. Here's the 411 on MJ's mad magic skillz in the kitchen:
Mama June's Secret Family Recipe for Sketti
Put some pink slime-looking "meat" of some kind in a skillet.
Appear to fry pink slime-looking "meat".
Cook some sketti.
Throw some of that sketti at the wall to make sure it's done...throw as much as you want, in fact, just because it's fun to throw food.
Leave it there.
Remove double coupon-special size Country Crock margarine from fridge.
Scoop out approximately two heaping cups of Country Crock margarine and put it in a vaguely microwave safe looking container.
Remove double coupon-special size generic ketchup (likely catsup, actually) from fridge.
Squirt approximately two heaping cups of ketchup/catsup into the microwave safe container. On top of the Country Crock margarine. Stick container in microwave and turn it on.
Dump out cooked sketti into colander in sink; leave it there. Wait for microwave to ding.
Upon hearing microwave ding remove microwave container and stir together the now melted/separated/heated up Country Crock margarine/ketchup/catsup "sauce". Try your best to minimize the level of oil/solids separation that you'll encounter in the microwaved Country Crock margarine. Because it's...margarine.
Scream for the fam and let 'em serve themselves directly from the colander of sketti and, now I see it, old Country Crock container of Mama June's Secret Family Sauce.
Ignore the pink slime "meat" that had been frying in the skillet as it was clearly edited out of the EP.
Praise to the skies Sugar Bear's ability to shut out any prior experience of food that he has eaten as you watch him, and Honey Boo Boo and her 80 sisters scarf down something that most of us wouldn't feed to a homeless person.
It's Country Crock margarine and KETCHUP, people!
Here's what you missed on "Mama June and Everyone Else" yesterday:
Mama June decides to try to put on Honey Boo Boo's pageant make up but does a crappy job because she "can't see too good". Which makes me try to recall if I've ever seen Mama June drive on the show. Hmmm...TLC: the network that brings you vehicular homicide. Because Hoarders: Buried Alive is just not edgy enough.
Next we see that Miss Georgia 2011 is not too proud to appear with Honey Boo Boo and Mama June in a random boutique, appear to shop and watch HBB crash around the store and blow on things. Then sit down to a plate of several pieces of what? Cake? Anyway, one with pineapple. HBB doesn't like pineapple apparently so she takes it out of her mouth and puts it back on an uneaten piece of cake. Which will now remain uneaten, although, wait, Mama June is there so, maybe not. And then comment on Honey Boo Boo's poor table manners evidenced by HBB copping to a fart at the table. Of course, in her talking head segment Miss Georgia 2011 can't stop laughing about HBB's fart, proving that even prissy-ass Miss America contestants from Georgia are gross-out humor hicks at heart who "can't believe that I said fart on TV". Bitch, please.
Mama June takes the girls to the local Bingo parlor/old folks home for some of what she calls her favorite "sport", next to extreme couponing: a thrilling night of Bingo! There appear to be approximately eight other people at Bingo night which bodes well for Mama June's assertion that she's going to win the cool grand in the weekly Bingo jackpot. Because the "big pageant is next week" and they don't have enough money. Because, Mama June tells us, "pageants are expensive". Except it takes her a few tries to get it out. Whatevs. MJ and the girls play what looks to be about 30 Bingo cards and they still don't win. What's worse, the old lady way in the back who DOES win is declared by Honey Boo Boo to be a cheater. "She CHEATED Mama! She's a CHEATER!" Alrighty then!
At Honey Boo Boo's seventh birthday party extravaganza Mama June can't climb up a Slip N Slide because she "has no upper body strength". Huh. Sugar Bear thinks it's because she's scared. One of the 80 sisters thinks it's because of her forklift foot. That and gravity. That one gets my vote. Anyway, it drives poor Mama June directly back to the Sno Cone truck where she drowns her shame in another Coconut/Almond Sno Cone swearing that it's her last one and that she won't bother the anonymous Sno Cone vendor anymore that day. Girl I so get that. Can I just say again that I love me some Mama June? The 80 sisters raid Mama June's apocalypse bunker of foodstuffs to get some free shit for HBB's birthday gift because none of them have any money. So they wrap up what appears to be a five gallon plastic bottle of hot sauce and some fuzzed out stuff that looks vaguely like a Pop Tarts box. And liquid soap.
Finally Honey Boo Boo sneezes out two huge boogers, one from each nostril and appears to begin to dispose of them in a way that even I couldn't bear to watch but probably was right up there with Mama June's sketti recipe on the appetizing scale.
Ladies and gents, that's The ABIB's recap for this week. Tune back here next week for the recap of the Season One Finale of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo! Redneckognize!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
ABIB's New Reality TV Recap Bonus Feature!
Hello to my three readers! Just a heads-up that I will now be adding a weekly Reality TV Recap feature to this blog because, well...because I WANT TO. Right now I figure I'll be recapping the two shows I already watch on a regular (read: every episode, and no, I'm not proud) basis: The Real Housewives of New Jersey and Here Comes Honey Boo Boo!. Considering that both of these are minimally at mid-season by now (is reality TV seasonal like regular TV?) I'll likely be expanding to include whatever drek I choose to watch in replacement of these two. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Proof That The USPS Needs to Go Under Already (based on a true story, just like all of The ABIB's other rants but I wanted to point this one out special-like)
OK, this one's short. The following conversation should serve as further proof (did we need any?) that the US Postal Service, the once proud conveyor of this nation's daily correspondence has sunk to a new low. Sorry in advance to my wonderful postal carrier who I love and who I'm pretty much 100% sure does NOT read this blog. Anyway, here's how it went down out at a US Post Office in Chicago a couple of days ago:
Customer: Hi, I'd like to purchase a US Postal Service Money Order please?
USPS Desk Clerk: Oh, we don't have any of those. You might try the Jewell-Osco but they're gonna need cash.
Customer: Oh, uh, OK well thanks anyway.
Exit Customer, Stage Left.
So, to recap, just in case it's necessary, a person went into a US POST OFFICE wanting to purchase a US POSTAL SERVICE MONEY ORDER and was told by a US POSTAL EMPLOYEE that 1) they didn't have any, and 2) to head on down the street to a Chicago supermarket chain to buy, again...A US POSTAL SERVICE MONEY ORDER! Am I the only one who sees the amazing level of ridiculous in this scenario? Which by the way, as noted in the title, actually happened. I mean can you imagine having this kind of conversation at a FedEx or UPS office? No, I didn't think so; me either. And to my technologically savvy readers, I can hear what you're thinking:
"Hey ABIB, why is anyone still using paper to conduct payment transactions in this day and age? Why not just pay using Paypal, for example?"
To all of you I say: I hear you loud and clear and could not agree more. But when one is forced to deal with a landlady who is firmly rooted in approximately 1911, and one has not yet received one's personal checks in the mail, one is faced with having the conversation I've recapped above. So, to return to my USPS rant, just today this (briefly excerpted) article appeared in the news:
WASHINGTON (CNNMoney) -- Without last-minute help from Congress, the U.S. Postal Service is likely to default on a big bill due Wednesday to the federal government -- $5.5 billion to prepay health care benefits for retirees.
I say, pay the retirees, write off the loss and call it a day. We could always go back to the pony express to deliver things that, for whatever Luddite-based reasoning can't be digitally transacted, and all the package deliveries from here on out get split between FedEx and UPS. I mean, how hard is it to reprint those troublesome money orders to say: FedEx Money Order? If they do, I guarantee that the above conversation would never be heard again. And in case you're reading this, wonderful postal carrier, which I'm sure you're not, FedEx and UPS would have a bidding war over your services.
Customer: Hi, I'd like to purchase a US Postal Service Money Order please?
USPS Desk Clerk: Oh, we don't have any of those. You might try the Jewell-Osco but they're gonna need cash.
Customer: Oh, uh, OK well thanks anyway.
Exit Customer, Stage Left.
So, to recap, just in case it's necessary, a person went into a US POST OFFICE wanting to purchase a US POSTAL SERVICE MONEY ORDER and was told by a US POSTAL EMPLOYEE that 1) they didn't have any, and 2) to head on down the street to a Chicago supermarket chain to buy, again...A US POSTAL SERVICE MONEY ORDER! Am I the only one who sees the amazing level of ridiculous in this scenario? Which by the way, as noted in the title, actually happened. I mean can you imagine having this kind of conversation at a FedEx or UPS office? No, I didn't think so; me either. And to my technologically savvy readers, I can hear what you're thinking:
"Hey ABIB, why is anyone still using paper to conduct payment transactions in this day and age? Why not just pay using Paypal, for example?"
To all of you I say: I hear you loud and clear and could not agree more. But when one is forced to deal with a landlady who is firmly rooted in approximately 1911, and one has not yet received one's personal checks in the mail, one is faced with having the conversation I've recapped above. So, to return to my USPS rant, just today this (briefly excerpted) article appeared in the news:
WASHINGTON (CNNMoney) -- Without last-minute help from Congress, the U.S. Postal Service is likely to default on a big bill due Wednesday to the federal government -- $5.5 billion to prepay health care benefits for retirees.
I say, pay the retirees, write off the loss and call it a day. We could always go back to the pony express to deliver things that, for whatever Luddite-based reasoning can't be digitally transacted, and all the package deliveries from here on out get split between FedEx and UPS. I mean, how hard is it to reprint those troublesome money orders to say: FedEx Money Order? If they do, I guarantee that the above conversation would never be heard again. And in case you're reading this, wonderful postal carrier, which I'm sure you're not, FedEx and UPS would have a bidding war over your services.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Fellow Boomer Feminists, What Have We Created?
What we've created, ladies, is an entire generation of Frankengrrrrrrrls. Yes, you read that right: Frankengrrrrrls. What I'm referring to is the wholesale slaughter of normal, female friendships by our "self-actualized", twenty-something daughters and their pathological need to SHOW THE WORLD JUST HOW DEEP AND MEANINGFUL THEIR FEELINGS ARE and as a subtext to that, JUST HOW IMPORTANT THEIR GIRLFRIENDS ARE TO THE CREATION OF THOSE DEEP, MEANINGFUL FEELINGS! I know what you're thinking: ABIB how sexist of you; why single out young women? My answer is that in my observation this is pretty much exclusively a girl thing that I'm about to rant about. Just sayin'. So, having said that, anyone who is on Facebook and has anyone in their friends list who is female and under the age of 28, when they appear to blessedly begin to age out of the phase, knows what I'm talking about. To wit:
Kaitlyn Rogers
I would crumble and disintegrate under the weight of the world but Alexandra you make me be able to be the kind of person I always dreamed of and I don't know what I would do if you were not in my life.
Alexandra Wilson
Awwwwwwwwwww...love you!!
OK, so after I cleaned up the puke I gagged out at this shameless display of overwrought fawning, fake "love" (should we call it flove?), I saw to my horror that eight, that is EIGHT fucking people gave it the little Facebook thumbs-up. We likey! WHAT THE FUCK? Who are these people and what is wrong with them? And before someone suggests that perhaps the status update was actually a message from one partner to another, let me just say that each of the girls upon whom these pseudonyms is based has a male significant other so its not a couple. I'm all about the gays, and this is NOT a gay thang. So, back to the purple prose declaration of devotion: first of all, nobody and I mean NOBODY actually has those feelings. EVER. Second of all, where did these little bitches get the idea that people actually give a crap that they're apparently sharing the most pure and ideal of all friendships? I mean, what's the deal with the almost fetishistic need of these young women to have others publicly witness and acknowledge the earth-spinning depth of their devotion to one another? I see it literally every day on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and probably Pinterest but I'm not a member of that little world-within-a-world and, friends, if I ever "Pin" to something, please alert my family that I've lost it. So, here I am daily bombarded with the literal definition of fake feelings and I find myself wondering just how these little empty-headed ninnies got this way. That's when I realized: US! Their mothers and aunts and cousins and dentist office Ms. Magazines and all the other well-meaning older women in their lives have successfully crammed their skulls full of the critical importance of women respecting and valuing each other. Then the little Frankengrrrrls went all Emeril on our asses: they took it up a notch. I mean, when I was younger it was considered a hostile act of aggression to cancel plans with a girlfriend to, say, go out on a date with a guy. It was clear to all of us from where that thinking arose: our mothers had spent too much of their lives in competition with their "sisters" for attention and validation from men. We boomers were more enlightened, we knew the power, the value, the ESSENTIAL NATURE of female bonds. Uh, yeah; well, guess what? Our little girls got born into that self-aware world and they listened. They really, really listened.
Fast forward to now: they're 16, 18, 25 year old girls who've grown up knowing that female relationships should be founded in loyalty, cooperation and the glow of the shared struggle and that expressing the daily realization of that is what makes life worth living. Add to that the Gen Y need to be seen and acknowledged BY EVERYONE ON EARTH and add to that the somewhat natural state of young women this age to be very, very drahmahtic about EVERYTHING, and finally add to THAT the 24/7 public floor show that is the Internet. Shake well and allow to leaven and what do you get? Thank heaven for little girls WHO NEVER, EVER FUCKING SHUT UP ABOUT WHAT THEY'RE DOING, FEELING, and THINKING. To quote them: O.M.G.
Who are all these little drama queens who need that continuous, electronic stroking to validate their existence? They went shopping, we get to see an entire gallery of the Old Navy drek they brought home. They went out to eat: we get to see an entire gallery of the food they're about to chew, swallow and eventually crap out. They're out with friends: we get to see an entire gallery of their drunk asses posing for everyone's cell phone camera. And just in case we forget for a nanosecond who the fuck they are they're tagged in every. single. last. picture. Fellow boomers we've raised an entire generation of desperate exhibitionists who have the world at their 1024X768-resolutioned screens. Unless they're in HD; even better. Yay.
So what do we do? ABIB, you say, this is not a problem, this is simply a manifestation of our culture evolving, an expression of how youth molds and is molded by it's environment, get with the new, let go of the old, quit bitching already. And my answer to that is: uh, no. Do I need to remind you that "bitch" is in my name?
In the movie "The Truman Show" Jim Carrey stars as a man who has unwittingly spent his entire life as the star of a reality show that has followed him since birth. In the pivotal scene near the end of the film, as Truman is coming to realize exactly what his life has been about there is an exchange between him and Cristof, the man who has produced the show since it's first airing.
Truman: (addressing an unseen Cristof who is off screen in the show's control room): Who are you?
Cristof: I am the Creator - of a television show that gives hope and joy and inspiration to millions.
Truman: Then who am I?
Cristof: You're the star.
Maybe all these girls want to hear is their Cristof telling them: You're the star. Well, guess what? WE are their Cristof and we didn't even interview for the job. Thumbs up if you like this.
Kaitlyn Rogers
I would crumble and disintegrate under the weight of the world but Alexandra you make me be able to be the kind of person I always dreamed of and I don't know what I would do if you were not in my life.
Alexandra Wilson
Awwwwwwwwwww...love you!!
OK, so after I cleaned up the puke I gagged out at this shameless display of overwrought fawning, fake "love" (should we call it flove?), I saw to my horror that eight, that is EIGHT fucking people gave it the little Facebook thumbs-up. We likey! WHAT THE FUCK? Who are these people and what is wrong with them? And before someone suggests that perhaps the status update was actually a message from one partner to another, let me just say that each of the girls upon whom these pseudonyms is based has a male significant other so its not a couple. I'm all about the gays, and this is NOT a gay thang. So, back to the purple prose declaration of devotion: first of all, nobody and I mean NOBODY actually has those feelings. EVER. Second of all, where did these little bitches get the idea that people actually give a crap that they're apparently sharing the most pure and ideal of all friendships? I mean, what's the deal with the almost fetishistic need of these young women to have others publicly witness and acknowledge the earth-spinning depth of their devotion to one another? I see it literally every day on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and probably Pinterest but I'm not a member of that little world-within-a-world and, friends, if I ever "Pin" to something, please alert my family that I've lost it. So, here I am daily bombarded with the literal definition of fake feelings and I find myself wondering just how these little empty-headed ninnies got this way. That's when I realized: US! Their mothers and aunts and cousins and dentist office Ms. Magazines and all the other well-meaning older women in their lives have successfully crammed their skulls full of the critical importance of women respecting and valuing each other. Then the little Frankengrrrrls went all Emeril on our asses: they took it up a notch. I mean, when I was younger it was considered a hostile act of aggression to cancel plans with a girlfriend to, say, go out on a date with a guy. It was clear to all of us from where that thinking arose: our mothers had spent too much of their lives in competition with their "sisters" for attention and validation from men. We boomers were more enlightened, we knew the power, the value, the ESSENTIAL NATURE of female bonds. Uh, yeah; well, guess what? Our little girls got born into that self-aware world and they listened. They really, really listened.
Fast forward to now: they're 16, 18, 25 year old girls who've grown up knowing that female relationships should be founded in loyalty, cooperation and the glow of the shared struggle and that expressing the daily realization of that is what makes life worth living. Add to that the Gen Y need to be seen and acknowledged BY EVERYONE ON EARTH and add to that the somewhat natural state of young women this age to be very, very drahmahtic about EVERYTHING, and finally add to THAT the 24/7 public floor show that is the Internet. Shake well and allow to leaven and what do you get? Thank heaven for little girls WHO NEVER, EVER FUCKING SHUT UP ABOUT WHAT THEY'RE DOING, FEELING, and THINKING. To quote them: O.M.G.
Who are all these little drama queens who need that continuous, electronic stroking to validate their existence? They went shopping, we get to see an entire gallery of the Old Navy drek they brought home. They went out to eat: we get to see an entire gallery of the food they're about to chew, swallow and eventually crap out. They're out with friends: we get to see an entire gallery of their drunk asses posing for everyone's cell phone camera. And just in case we forget for a nanosecond who the fuck they are they're tagged in every. single. last. picture. Fellow boomers we've raised an entire generation of desperate exhibitionists who have the world at their 1024X768-resolutioned screens. Unless they're in HD; even better. Yay.
So what do we do? ABIB, you say, this is not a problem, this is simply a manifestation of our culture evolving, an expression of how youth molds and is molded by it's environment, get with the new, let go of the old, quit bitching already. And my answer to that is: uh, no. Do I need to remind you that "bitch" is in my name?
In the movie "The Truman Show" Jim Carrey stars as a man who has unwittingly spent his entire life as the star of a reality show that has followed him since birth. In the pivotal scene near the end of the film, as Truman is coming to realize exactly what his life has been about there is an exchange between him and Cristof, the man who has produced the show since it's first airing.
Truman: (addressing an unseen Cristof who is off screen in the show's control room): Who are you?
Cristof: I am the Creator - of a television show that gives hope and joy and inspiration to millions.
Truman: Then who am I?
Cristof: You're the star.
Maybe all these girls want to hear is their Cristof telling them: You're the star. Well, guess what? WE are their Cristof and we didn't even interview for the job. Thumbs up if you like this.
Friday, June 1, 2012
"Please Listen Carefully..
as our menu options have changed." Hmmmm...where have I heard THAT request before? Oh, yeah! On every annoying outgoing message on every automated IVR (interactive voice response) system EVER! When, in reality, did most of these incredibly dynamic, ever-changing environments actually change? Roughly 1998. Sometimes they try and fuck with us a little by adding the doubtful word "recently", as in "...as our menu options have recently changed." Then they hook your ass into listening to the entire, fucking list even though you know...you KNOW that nothing has changed in this telephonic wasteland since, as I already said, roughly 1998. I can usually imagine the digital tumbleweeds rolling along the fiber optic cable between me and whatever purveyor of whatever I happen to need right then.
Me? I don't care if all I need to do is check a balance, as soon as I hear that fucking, old-ass trope I immediately press 0 for all it's worth. Even if 0 means that I'm lining up to hear the selections in Croatian, I don't care because usually it means I get to speak to a person. I know, I know exactly what you're thinking right now: ABIB what are you, like 80? Isn't that the Number One complaint of the pre-Boomer generation aside from the loss of daily home milk delivery? No matter; I refuse to be mentally manipulated by a recorded voice who lies about something as easy to identify as how recently an automated menu has been all changed up. What? I wanted to talk to someone about purchasing a subscription! Fifty seconds ago that was number three but now it's number five and three minutes before that it was number eight! Holy crap! Thank goodness for this recorded warning or I would have gotten all kinds of hosed up in this impossible-to-decipher labyrinth of numeric choices. Depending on the relative sophistication of the ever-changing menu system, I'll get asked a couple of times if I'm sure that I want to go ahead and select 0, don't I instead, maybe want to listen to the menu choices and let the IVR lead me to a more specific, a more direct, a more personalized menu option? Uh, no, asshole. I want option 0.
So then, once it's realized that it's electronic entreaties to me to be more sheeplike have fallen on deaf ears (on a phone, hah!) the IVR is programmed to punish you. OK, asshole, it thinks, now you find out just how sinister and repetitive I can be.
Please enter your 10-digit telephone number now!
Hmmm....I just did that like 30 seconds ago when I first began this relationship. So I enter my 10-digit telephone number like a good little consumer.
OK, so I'm sure that I'm sending you to the right department, please enter your 14 digit account number now.
Hey, wait a minute! I did THAT just after I entered my 10-digit telephone number...for the first time! But I know she'll never let me get to the Holy Grail of the actual human behind door number zero unless I jump through her automated little hoops. So now I enter my incredibly laborious 14-digit account number and I have to do it at least twice because the first time I forgot where I was in the string of numbers and then the second and third times I fat-fingered the wrong entry on number 12 and had to go back to the beginning.
OK, whew, 10-digit phone number: done! Fourteen digit account number: done!
Just another moment and I'll connect you...
The fuck?
Please enter your zip code now! Your nine-digit zip code!
At this point, with the sweat beading on my forehead, I swear I can faintly hear the staccato of her automated, electronic chuckle and it sounds so very, very...evil. Man (or in this case, woman) against the machine. My human resolve is being tested; I know that I cannot falter or show weakness because she'll know and then I'll never, ever, ever get out of this electronic maze of digital choices constructed to keep humans confused and subservient and so very...grateful...when we finally reach the correct end point. Bring it bitch.
Slowy, with the careful dexterity of a bomb disposal expert, I enter my full, nine-digit zip code. There is a moment of silence, which I choose to construe as stunned, as she realizes that she is beaten but no, there's one more test in this battle of wills. In a cheery chirp that is nothing if not a thinly veiled warning she delivers the coup de grace.
Almost done! Using the letters on your telephone's numeric keypad, please enter your mother's maiden name followed by her place of birth. And the name of the hospital in which she was born. And the name of the attending physician.
Oh, how I hate you with your perky vacuousness, your perfectly enunciated, non-regional diction, the sound of the bitter smile pouring through your words. The final gauntlet has been thrown down; this is the defining moment, human versus machine. Will I make it to the other actual human voice waiting at the end of this electronic tunnel of the test of my resolve? You bet your fucking non-corporeal ass I will.
Mother's maiden name: check. Place of birth: check. Name of hospital and attending physician: after a two-hour search through Mom's strongbox for her birth certificate and an examination through a magnifying glass of the 87 year-old, smudged, hand-written entries: check. Take that you electronic harpy from Hell!
Th-thank you for choosing Best Buy. I'll connect you now. Have a NICE day! Call again REAL soon!
The feeling of complete satisfaction, complete vindication, complete victory is a physical sensation! I WON! I WON! I WON! I...
Hello, this is Christina how may I help you?
A real human voice!
Hi! I'm interested in your gaming subscription services.
Oh, well this is car audio installation. Let me put you back to our automated menu to get you to the right person. Have a great day and thank you for calling Best Buy!
Wait! Wait! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Me? I don't care if all I need to do is check a balance, as soon as I hear that fucking, old-ass trope I immediately press 0 for all it's worth. Even if 0 means that I'm lining up to hear the selections in Croatian, I don't care because usually it means I get to speak to a person. I know, I know exactly what you're thinking right now: ABIB what are you, like 80? Isn't that the Number One complaint of the pre-Boomer generation aside from the loss of daily home milk delivery? No matter; I refuse to be mentally manipulated by a recorded voice who lies about something as easy to identify as how recently an automated menu has been all changed up. What? I wanted to talk to someone about purchasing a subscription! Fifty seconds ago that was number three but now it's number five and three minutes before that it was number eight! Holy crap! Thank goodness for this recorded warning or I would have gotten all kinds of hosed up in this impossible-to-decipher labyrinth of numeric choices. Depending on the relative sophistication of the ever-changing menu system, I'll get asked a couple of times if I'm sure that I want to go ahead and select 0, don't I instead, maybe want to listen to the menu choices and let the IVR lead me to a more specific, a more direct, a more personalized menu option? Uh, no, asshole. I want option 0.
So then, once it's realized that it's electronic entreaties to me to be more sheeplike have fallen on deaf ears (on a phone, hah!) the IVR is programmed to punish you. OK, asshole, it thinks, now you find out just how sinister and repetitive I can be.
Please enter your 10-digit telephone number now!
Hmmm....I just did that like 30 seconds ago when I first began this relationship. So I enter my 10-digit telephone number like a good little consumer.
OK, so I'm sure that I'm sending you to the right department, please enter your 14 digit account number now.
Hey, wait a minute! I did THAT just after I entered my 10-digit telephone number...for the first time! But I know she'll never let me get to the Holy Grail of the actual human behind door number zero unless I jump through her automated little hoops. So now I enter my incredibly laborious 14-digit account number and I have to do it at least twice because the first time I forgot where I was in the string of numbers and then the second and third times I fat-fingered the wrong entry on number 12 and had to go back to the beginning.
OK, whew, 10-digit phone number: done! Fourteen digit account number: done!
Just another moment and I'll connect you...
The fuck?
Please enter your zip code now! Your nine-digit zip code!
At this point, with the sweat beading on my forehead, I swear I can faintly hear the staccato of her automated, electronic chuckle and it sounds so very, very...evil. Man (or in this case, woman) against the machine. My human resolve is being tested; I know that I cannot falter or show weakness because she'll know and then I'll never, ever, ever get out of this electronic maze of digital choices constructed to keep humans confused and subservient and so very...grateful...when we finally reach the correct end point. Bring it bitch.
Slowy, with the careful dexterity of a bomb disposal expert, I enter my full, nine-digit zip code. There is a moment of silence, which I choose to construe as stunned, as she realizes that she is beaten but no, there's one more test in this battle of wills. In a cheery chirp that is nothing if not a thinly veiled warning she delivers the coup de grace.
Almost done! Using the letters on your telephone's numeric keypad, please enter your mother's maiden name followed by her place of birth. And the name of the hospital in which she was born. And the name of the attending physician.
Oh, how I hate you with your perky vacuousness, your perfectly enunciated, non-regional diction, the sound of the bitter smile pouring through your words. The final gauntlet has been thrown down; this is the defining moment, human versus machine. Will I make it to the other actual human voice waiting at the end of this electronic tunnel of the test of my resolve? You bet your fucking non-corporeal ass I will.
Mother's maiden name: check. Place of birth: check. Name of hospital and attending physician: after a two-hour search through Mom's strongbox for her birth certificate and an examination through a magnifying glass of the 87 year-old, smudged, hand-written entries: check. Take that you electronic harpy from Hell!
Th-thank you for choosing Best Buy. I'll connect you now. Have a NICE day! Call again REAL soon!
The feeling of complete satisfaction, complete vindication, complete victory is a physical sensation! I WON! I WON! I WON! I...
Hello, this is Christina how may I help you?
A real human voice!
Hi! I'm interested in your gaming subscription services.
Oh, well this is car audio installation. Let me put you back to our automated menu to get you to the right person. Have a great day and thank you for calling Best Buy!
Wait! Wait! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Food Zombie Alert!
I'm pretty sure that Food Network self-proclaimed "Barefoot Contessa" aka Ina Garten is a zombie. No, but really she's an insufferable, pretentious annoyance who inexplicably has her own cooking show wherein she regales her viewers with barely audible brags about her wealth, her incredibly well-heeled friends and her vast past experience running her chi-chi patisserie. In the fucking Hamptons. Someone is always stopping by to eat with her big ass and gush to her about her amazing cooking. She makes constant reference to her Republican operative husband who supposedly adores her big ass in spite of well, her big ass, and is fan numero uno of whatever special crap she chooses to whip up in her kitchen. In the fucking Hamptons.
Anyone who refers to themselves as "Contessa" shod or not is a grade A douchebag. It's not bad enough that you dub yourself a Countess but then you have to make it the Italian Contessa for good measure. What a tool. And the way she talks so quietly as if she's sharing a delicious little, well-bred secret with us. Except that we're sitting in our rowhome living room in Baltimore and she's...say it with me now: in the fucking Hamptons. And that stupid, nervous giggle that punctuates every third word and tells me that she thinks of herself as some coquettish little minx. Even though she's gotta be past the halfway point between birth and 100. It makes me want to hurl my perfectly buttery, homemade pie crust at her self-important, piggy little face. So, ABIB, you must be thinking about now, why not rouse yourself from that well-described TV stupor of yours, fumble for the remote and press the button whereby the channel gets changed and you no longer have to watch Ina Myna Moooo? Why not indeed reader? Well, considering I am The ABIB, I watch insufferable prigs like Ina Garten that I clearly despise because, well, as The ABIB all that resentment and bitterness are manna from The ABIB heaven, the food that fuels the righteous ABIB anger, to stay on point of today's rant. I love hating Ina Garten just like I genuinely LOVE loving Paula Deen my Redneck Queen of the Screaming Arteries. You see, Paula is the anti-Ina. Paula is the celebrity chef equivalent of chewing tobacco, PBR and Slim Jims, she's the reason I tune to the Food Network as often as I do. Her and "Down Home With The Neelys". OK, OK and Sandra Lee. I mean when your signature recipe is The Lady's Brunch Burger and it consists of fried burgers topped with bacon and fried eggs all served between two halves of a Krispy Kreme doughnut, you're a special kinda crazy. Ina's signature recipe is...yawn...Roasted Pepper and Goat Cheese sandwich. I love me some Paula. Not that I would actually ever cook and EAT any of the poisonous slop she prepares, I'm not NUTS ya'll. I watch Paula and Sandra and the Neelys because, well, they're fucking funny to me, being the ironic, snark meister that I am. But I digress.
Let me just conclude this evening's rant with this: Ina Garten is a self-important, pampered one-percenter who needs to come on down to Paula's place in Georgia for a week to get some deep fryer spray in that $500 haircut of hers. And let the Redneck Queen show her how the other half lives. The half that's not WHERE? In the fucking Hamptons! Food Network, it's your move.
Anyone who refers to themselves as "Contessa" shod or not is a grade A douchebag. It's not bad enough that you dub yourself a Countess but then you have to make it the Italian Contessa for good measure. What a tool. And the way she talks so quietly as if she's sharing a delicious little, well-bred secret with us. Except that we're sitting in our rowhome living room in Baltimore and she's...say it with me now: in the fucking Hamptons. And that stupid, nervous giggle that punctuates every third word and tells me that she thinks of herself as some coquettish little minx. Even though she's gotta be past the halfway point between birth and 100. It makes me want to hurl my perfectly buttery, homemade pie crust at her self-important, piggy little face. So, ABIB, you must be thinking about now, why not rouse yourself from that well-described TV stupor of yours, fumble for the remote and press the button whereby the channel gets changed and you no longer have to watch Ina Myna Moooo? Why not indeed reader? Well, considering I am The ABIB, I watch insufferable prigs like Ina Garten that I clearly despise because, well, as The ABIB all that resentment and bitterness are manna from The ABIB heaven, the food that fuels the righteous ABIB anger, to stay on point of today's rant. I love hating Ina Garten just like I genuinely LOVE loving Paula Deen my Redneck Queen of the Screaming Arteries. You see, Paula is the anti-Ina. Paula is the celebrity chef equivalent of chewing tobacco, PBR and Slim Jims, she's the reason I tune to the Food Network as often as I do. Her and "Down Home With The Neelys". OK, OK and Sandra Lee. I mean when your signature recipe is The Lady's Brunch Burger and it consists of fried burgers topped with bacon and fried eggs all served between two halves of a Krispy Kreme doughnut, you're a special kinda crazy. Ina's signature recipe is...yawn...Roasted Pepper and Goat Cheese sandwich. I love me some Paula. Not that I would actually ever cook and EAT any of the poisonous slop she prepares, I'm not NUTS ya'll. I watch Paula and Sandra and the Neelys because, well, they're fucking funny to me, being the ironic, snark meister that I am. But I digress.
Let me just conclude this evening's rant with this: Ina Garten is a self-important, pampered one-percenter who needs to come on down to Paula's place in Georgia for a week to get some deep fryer spray in that $500 haircut of hers. And let the Redneck Queen show her how the other half lives. The half that's not WHERE? In the fucking Hamptons! Food Network, it's your move.
Featured on CNN.com
This evening under the Featured videos:
Got a Question for Amanda Beard?
Yeah. Who the fuck are you?
Bada Bing! Don't forget to tip your waitstaff folks!
Got a Question for Amanda Beard?
Yeah. Who the fuck are you?
Bada Bing! Don't forget to tip your waitstaff folks!
Monday, January 2, 2012
Smartphones: Taking Over Human Interactions One Byte At A Time
Happy New Year kiddies! Being the curmudgeon that she is, The ABIB is always glad when the holidays are approaching and then even gladder when they are done. Although I do love our sparkly, perfectly-shaped Christmas tree! Anyhoo, been closely monitoring the alien takeover of our species and I'm here to give you an update, folks.
Smartphones: those amazing gadgets that can do everything from the mundanity of making a call (YAWN) to helping you to propagate the species (Hey, Siri, where's the closest sperm bank?). Yes, they have invaded our lives to the point where I have to speak out, to issue in the strongest terms a dire warning: THEY ARE HERE TO ENSLAVE HUMANITY! Yes, folks, it's true, smartphones have been sent by...who knows but my bets are on the Thetans (more on that later), to take over our lives and they're doing it with our enthusiastic, nay, sycophantic complicity. It has reached the point where, if you don't have a smartphone you are considered to be either, a: sadly unhip/downright hayseed-y, and/or b: a fucking cheapskate. See, they have cleverly begun the tide whereby they turn us against each other with themselves as the point of belonging. I know what you're thinking: Hey, ABIB, what's your fucking problem? Are you one of those sadly, self-deluded "superior" types who resist the inevitable, technological move forward? Are you still laughably reading paper books and printed magazines? Are your feet hopelessly stuck in the mud of pathetically outdated Luddite landscapes that keep you vainly rooted to the past? Fair questions, my friends to which I say: FUCK NO! Hey, I have a cellphone (of the non-smart variety...does that make it a "dumbphone"?), I have FIOS, I have Facebook, I Google stuff! No, this is not about The ABIB being a bitter crank (which of course, she is), it is about humans being drawn inexorably into the Android, iPhone, whatever-other-world-construction of our own doom. Can anyone say "The Matrix"?
To wit: I was at the movies the other day and as I was making my way to the restroom, witnessed another theater in the vast multiplex emptying at the conclusion of a movie. Now, generally people go to the movies with at least one, but sometimes several, companions. Ostensibly they do this in order to share the experience, to have another PERSON to talk with about the movie, to be coupled in the same human frame, if you will, namely ENJOYING A MOVIE! So, there I was making my way to the can and was suddenly surrounded by a sea of people WHO HAD JUST SEEN A MOVIE! To my horrified amazement, one by one, immediately upon exiting the auditorium, they whipped out their smartphones and began to slavishly tap things into them. Now, I have to believe that at least TWO of those fuckers were together but I'm guessing the tally is much higher and rather than, oh, I don't know: ACTUALLY SPEAKING TO THE PERSON(S) WHO HAD ACCOMPANIED THEM TO THE MOVIE AND WHO HAD ALSO JUST VIEWED IT, they chose instead to begin communicating with their smartphones. Do you see where I'm going with this people? Where is the logic in actually being in physical proximity to a companion and, rather than engage that OTHER HUMAN in a conversation, instead you choose to communicate electronically with someone at a distance, or perhaps, in a more sinister vein, directly with your phone. This shit is FUCKING CREEPY, PEOPLE! I watched in amazement as they drifted by, unaware of others around them, mesmerized by whatever was being sent to them through the tiny screens in their palms. I tell you, if Rod Serling were still alive this would make the grand daddy of all Twilight Zone episodes.
One need only turn on the TV (see last post on THIS sorry subject) to find oneself lost in a morass of weirdly passive humans all willingly giving up their autonomy to their beloved smartphones. Two commercials in particular come to mind because as I watched them I found myself wondering: who the fuck wants to be like this? The first takes place outside a Verizon wireless store, it's a snowy, pre-holiday night and people are milling around (outside?) when one-by-one Verizon employees begin to activate electronic, smartphone screen-driven versions of things previously available only in the natural world. They "light up" an electronic version of a roaring fire, they activate an electronic tree of smartphone screens that make it "snow". The humans, rather than being horrified at the wholesale robbery of basic reality (FIRE AND SNOW? ANYONE?) are instead mesmerized, awestruck, their blank, shining eyes glazed over with what can only be described as hypnotized emptiness. FLEE MOTHERFUCKERS!! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!!
OK, so the second piece of TV commercial evidence I present to you is one for AT&T and their new 4G network, whatever that means. Two lazy-ass motherfuckers are sitting inches apart in lawn chairs, clearly at a football game tailgate party, they are, of course, not speaking to each other or anyone else, rather they are slavishly "interacting" with their AT&T smartphones on the "blazingly fast" 4G network. Three different humans approach them with "news", the first being about ticket availability, he's excited, animated, this is, after all, GOOD news! They slowly raise their deadened eyes and in the MOST INSUFFERABLE manner possible, display their smartphones to him in unison, with proof that, not only do they already know about the available tickets, these two horse's asses have already BOUGHT them and they are waiting at Will Call. The refrain they offer to their HUMAN FRIEND who brought them this information? A superciliously superior snark of "so 27 seconds ago." The message of course being: resistance is futile, asshole; we will always win! This scenario is played out two more times, with the exact same trope: a friend approaches with what is "news" only to be shot down by these two motherfuckers who, in the same shitty way let them know that information gathered in the real world can't hold a candle to their 4G network-powered smartphone reality. And their lazy, fucking asses have never left their lawn chairs. "So 27 seconds ago". This commercial actually makes me want to hurl my television off of the highest building and see it smash into tiny smithereens on the concrete below. "So 27 seconds ago". I saw this commercial for the first time and I found myself wondering WHO WANTS TO BE LIKE THIS? Who indeed...my friends...who indeed. Well, if our smartphone alien oppressors have their way: ALL OF US!
But you don't have to give in! Resist! Buy a cheap-o dumbphone on eBay and use it for calls and (OK, OK) the occasional text! Fight the power! Risk ridicule and the marginalizingly withering bon-mots of your friends as they ironically try to shame you into joining up with the undead. Keep texting on your sadly ancient numbered keyboard, ignore the jibes of "why don't you get a REAL phone?" I have endured all of these and more in the name of the survival of our species' ability to think for itself and not rely on "Siri" (the same name as Tom Cruise's Scientology spawn? Coincidence? Thetans? Hey I watched the South Park episode, I know the deal!) to answer all of your questions. Get a fucking MAP for Christ sake! Wake UP! Think for yourself before it's too late! Don't make me go all Morpheus on your asses, because I would NOT look good in those pince nez sunglasses, people!
Smartphones: those amazing gadgets that can do everything from the mundanity of making a call (YAWN) to helping you to propagate the species (Hey, Siri, where's the closest sperm bank?). Yes, they have invaded our lives to the point where I have to speak out, to issue in the strongest terms a dire warning: THEY ARE HERE TO ENSLAVE HUMANITY! Yes, folks, it's true, smartphones have been sent by...who knows but my bets are on the Thetans (more on that later), to take over our lives and they're doing it with our enthusiastic, nay, sycophantic complicity. It has reached the point where, if you don't have a smartphone you are considered to be either, a: sadly unhip/downright hayseed-y, and/or b: a fucking cheapskate. See, they have cleverly begun the tide whereby they turn us against each other with themselves as the point of belonging. I know what you're thinking: Hey, ABIB, what's your fucking problem? Are you one of those sadly, self-deluded "superior" types who resist the inevitable, technological move forward? Are you still laughably reading paper books and printed magazines? Are your feet hopelessly stuck in the mud of pathetically outdated Luddite landscapes that keep you vainly rooted to the past? Fair questions, my friends to which I say: FUCK NO! Hey, I have a cellphone (of the non-smart variety...does that make it a "dumbphone"?), I have FIOS, I have Facebook, I Google stuff! No, this is not about The ABIB being a bitter crank (which of course, she is), it is about humans being drawn inexorably into the Android, iPhone, whatever-other-world-construction of our own doom. Can anyone say "The Matrix"?
To wit: I was at the movies the other day and as I was making my way to the restroom, witnessed another theater in the vast multiplex emptying at the conclusion of a movie. Now, generally people go to the movies with at least one, but sometimes several, companions. Ostensibly they do this in order to share the experience, to have another PERSON to talk with about the movie, to be coupled in the same human frame, if you will, namely ENJOYING A MOVIE! So, there I was making my way to the can and was suddenly surrounded by a sea of people WHO HAD JUST SEEN A MOVIE! To my horrified amazement, one by one, immediately upon exiting the auditorium, they whipped out their smartphones and began to slavishly tap things into them. Now, I have to believe that at least TWO of those fuckers were together but I'm guessing the tally is much higher and rather than, oh, I don't know: ACTUALLY SPEAKING TO THE PERSON(S) WHO HAD ACCOMPANIED THEM TO THE MOVIE AND WHO HAD ALSO JUST VIEWED IT, they chose instead to begin communicating with their smartphones. Do you see where I'm going with this people? Where is the logic in actually being in physical proximity to a companion and, rather than engage that OTHER HUMAN in a conversation, instead you choose to communicate electronically with someone at a distance, or perhaps, in a more sinister vein, directly with your phone. This shit is FUCKING CREEPY, PEOPLE! I watched in amazement as they drifted by, unaware of others around them, mesmerized by whatever was being sent to them through the tiny screens in their palms. I tell you, if Rod Serling were still alive this would make the grand daddy of all Twilight Zone episodes.
One need only turn on the TV (see last post on THIS sorry subject) to find oneself lost in a morass of weirdly passive humans all willingly giving up their autonomy to their beloved smartphones. Two commercials in particular come to mind because as I watched them I found myself wondering: who the fuck wants to be like this? The first takes place outside a Verizon wireless store, it's a snowy, pre-holiday night and people are milling around (outside?) when one-by-one Verizon employees begin to activate electronic, smartphone screen-driven versions of things previously available only in the natural world. They "light up" an electronic version of a roaring fire, they activate an electronic tree of smartphone screens that make it "snow". The humans, rather than being horrified at the wholesale robbery of basic reality (FIRE AND SNOW? ANYONE?) are instead mesmerized, awestruck, their blank, shining eyes glazed over with what can only be described as hypnotized emptiness. FLEE MOTHERFUCKERS!! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!!
OK, so the second piece of TV commercial evidence I present to you is one for AT&T and their new 4G network, whatever that means. Two lazy-ass motherfuckers are sitting inches apart in lawn chairs, clearly at a football game tailgate party, they are, of course, not speaking to each other or anyone else, rather they are slavishly "interacting" with their AT&T smartphones on the "blazingly fast" 4G network. Three different humans approach them with "news", the first being about ticket availability, he's excited, animated, this is, after all, GOOD news! They slowly raise their deadened eyes and in the MOST INSUFFERABLE manner possible, display their smartphones to him in unison, with proof that, not only do they already know about the available tickets, these two horse's asses have already BOUGHT them and they are waiting at Will Call. The refrain they offer to their HUMAN FRIEND who brought them this information? A superciliously superior snark of "so 27 seconds ago." The message of course being: resistance is futile, asshole; we will always win! This scenario is played out two more times, with the exact same trope: a friend approaches with what is "news" only to be shot down by these two motherfuckers who, in the same shitty way let them know that information gathered in the real world can't hold a candle to their 4G network-powered smartphone reality. And their lazy, fucking asses have never left their lawn chairs. "So 27 seconds ago". This commercial actually makes me want to hurl my television off of the highest building and see it smash into tiny smithereens on the concrete below. "So 27 seconds ago". I saw this commercial for the first time and I found myself wondering WHO WANTS TO BE LIKE THIS? Who indeed...my friends...who indeed. Well, if our smartphone alien oppressors have their way: ALL OF US!
But you don't have to give in! Resist! Buy a cheap-o dumbphone on eBay and use it for calls and (OK, OK) the occasional text! Fight the power! Risk ridicule and the marginalizingly withering bon-mots of your friends as they ironically try to shame you into joining up with the undead. Keep texting on your sadly ancient numbered keyboard, ignore the jibes of "why don't you get a REAL phone?" I have endured all of these and more in the name of the survival of our species' ability to think for itself and not rely on "Siri" (the same name as Tom Cruise's Scientology spawn? Coincidence? Thetans? Hey I watched the South Park episode, I know the deal!) to answer all of your questions. Get a fucking MAP for Christ sake! Wake UP! Think for yourself before it's too late! Don't make me go all Morpheus on your asses, because I would NOT look good in those pince nez sunglasses, people!
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