The Real Housewives of New Jersey Recap Episode Six: Bitchy, Fake Friends Lie! The Guidices Make Sausage! Dirty C Contemplates Life As A Widow!

Opening thoughts i have to get out:

Rosie just called the Adirondack Mountains the Adirondyke Mount-ins. Unironically. I had to rewind and check. Yep, Adirondyke. Mount-ins. Moron.

Thereser's friend Jennifer looks frighteningly like a cat-monkey, some kind of freaky human/cat/monkey hybrid with the most pronounced underbite I've ever seen.

Here's what happened this week:

Al Sr and Dirty C went out to dinner and he bitched about their "retreat" being a few blocks from their kids. Which is not, in his mind, a retreat at all. Inexplicably Dirty C turned the rest of the conversation to discussing how much she does not want to be a widow. Yikes. Watch your, back, Al Sr; bitch be crazy!

Jacqueline despises Thereser and every convo between them becomes a shrill fifth grade playground name calling scream-a-thon. Monumentally boring. They're both fucking crazy. But we already knew that.

Melissa has lunch with her "best friends" Jan and some other boring person, and spends the whole time bragging about her book deal and how she's going to help other wives to super-please their husbands like she does. The friends spend the lunch exchanging evil glances that say: this pain in the ass is an insufferable boor who needs to be taken down a few pegs. And we're the ones to do it.

Melissa and JSTA writhe around each other at some pole dancing/striptease class. Jeez, for someone who spent the entirety of last season screaming in righteous indignation about how she had NEVER BEEN A STRIPPER, Melissa sure knows her way around a pole. These two really are disgusting. They try and wrangle Kathy and King Douchebag to join in but King Douchebag only has horny eyes for Melissa. And tells her so. In front of his wife. Week after week King Douchebag earns his name.

Thereser calls JSTA to convince him to come to the Lake George castle retreat while he's angrily whacking golf balls at the driving range. He agrees but only for the sake of their fucking sainted father. Speaking of whom, he and the other grandparents show up to Thereser and JJs house to make 80 pounds of homemade sausage. Yes, its exactly as disgusting to witness as it sounds.

Finally Jennifer the Realtor and escapee from The Island of Dr Moreau invites Melissa to lunch to rat out Melissa's supposed bestie Jan - she of the exchange of evil looks - who, at the instigation of Crack Hoe Kim D, has shared that Melissa has been giving blow jobs to her (Melissa's) ex boyfriend, thereby cheating on JSTA. Thereser is there listening but says nothing. Silence is concurrence, T, silence is concurrence. Melissa is devastated to hear of this betrayal and, with JSTA, confronts Crack Hoe Kim at a bar basically by macking on JSTA to the point of just about fucking him in public to demonstrate just how solid and un-cheatworthy their marriage is. All of these people are developmentally arrested at age 15. Crack Hoe Kim D tells Melissa that according to Jan, she (Jan) doesn't like Melissa anymore. Which explains the "Melissa is blowing her ex boyfriend" vicious rumor that she's spreading. Melissa keeps reminding us that Jan was in her wedding, which is, I guess, the ultimate deep bond in this three ring circus of bimbos and mimbos. So, at this point I'm thinking Melissa kinda does need to get over herself.

Nothing else happened because this week was just filler lead-up to the Wrassle At The Castle (made that one up myself; pretty good, amiright?), which starts NEXT WEEK! The crazies head up to Lake George in the Adirondyke Mount-ins, to some holistic retreat in a castle, and straight off we see in the preview that JSTA is calling Thereser "scum" and then he and JJ start pounding each other as a result. with Thereser offscreen doing her best Thereser screech. Schweet.

The Real Housewives of New Jersey Recap Episode Five: Thereser Calls For Holistic Healing...No, Really!

We rejoin the RHONJ first with Melissa, who is folding laundry and working on her book, which is a cross between a memoir and a how-to guide for keeping a husband happy. Unlike her father, who, she tells us, used to leave the house to get milk and be gone for two days. Alrighty, then. Melissa is giving her daughter the Cliff's Notes version of what's going to be packed inside of this almighty tome when we see JSTA's big, black SUV pulling into the driveway and we hear him barking out the word "bitch" over and over again. It becomes clear that he's talking to himself and decompressing from the water-thrown-in-his-face encounter he just had with his big sis Thereser at the ever popular, generic neighborhood gym. He finds his wife and daughter upstairs and summarily dismisses the girl so that he can talk plainly to her mutha. At this point Melissa gets up off the bed where she was laundry folding/writing her memoirs, and we see that, not only is she wearing black stretch pants to fold laundry, she's also wearing black stilettos. WTF? Anyway, JSTA gets to bitching about the encounter with T and it comes out that T's accusation, some trifle about Melissa tweeting that she (Melisa) owns, doesn't rent, her Chanel bag, because she's not the one declaring bankruptcy. Hoo boy! When JSTA learns from Melissa that she did, in fact, tweet such, he gets all kinda cranked up at her and goes on a mini-rampage about how T is still his sister and YOU CAN'T SAY STUFF LIKE THAT! I'M YOUR HUSBAND AND I'M GONNA TEACH YOU RIGHT FROM WRONG and other such bullshit crap. Melissa looks kinda surprised, truth be told, cause she's not used to JSTA taking his sister's side on anything. Also, note to Bravo producers: find some other kind of shirt for these ladies to wear that doesn't so clearly show the outlines of their body mikes. Kinda spoils the mood, if you know what I mean.

Next we join T and JJ at their kids' soccer game. Totes boring. Plus, Thereser has never heard of the expression Napoleon complex, which JJ tells her is what's ailing her brother. Also, she repeats her allegation, for the billionth time, that JSTA is brainwashed by Melissa. I honestly don't know why this segment made it to air.

Jacqueline, Kathy, Dirty C and Drunk Ass Rosie are playing the bridge and tunnel crowd over at some chi-chi salon in NYC. Midway Dirty C gets a call from Thereser who tells her that at the gym her brotha treated her "very aggressively" for no reason even though he told Dirty C he wanted to reconcile. Um, not exactly T. Dirty C told two big fat lies to get you both thinking the other wanted to make up. Dirty C suggests that maybe they need professional help. Um, didn't they do that already? Thereser says maybe we need to go for holistic healing. I'm still amazed that these two bimbos are speaking cordially to each other. At the last reunion Thereser referred to Dirty C's midsection as "blubber, blubber, blubber" and according to Dirty C, Thereser's green dress marked her as a snake and Lauren Manzo was two blood pressure points away from leveling an M16 in Thereser's face. Anyhoo, Dirty C is, she tells us officially, out of this loop and who should leap into the breach but Drunk Ass Rosie. Super great! Oh, and before we leave the salon Dirty C does what she does best - state the fucking obvious - by officiously telling the gals that: "they will never be whole if they don't get over this stuff." Jesus H. Christ, Dirty C: STFU. Also, why are you dragging all the girls to a salon in NYC for makeovers when Lauren has a perfectly good makeover place - Cafface - right there in Joisey. Yeah, I know what you're thinking: what does Cafface even mean? Nothing. It means nothing. Lauren Manzo is an idiot.

Kathy wants to go into the mail order cannoli business and she's stuck with King Douchebag as her biz partner. Here he comes like a sledgehammer and announces he's ordered like 10K plain white shipping boxes. But wait! Kathy had it all planned to ship her cannolis in these pretty blue boxes each one tied with a striped ribbon. King Douchebag blows her off with his obnoxious assurance that those dainty little things would never make it. Kathy is understandably pissed off - this is HER business venture and King Douchebag is steamrolling all these decisions without even so much as a conversation. King Douchebag closes out the scene by telling us "I have to be involved in the business side. I married a housewife not an entrepreneur". Seriously, Kath, do you need the names of some really good lawyers? Just say the word, babe; just say the word.

The Stupid As Fuck Manzo kids are having dinner with Dirty C at her Hoboken apartment. "Barely Able To Tie His Shoes Chris" announces that he doesn't want to have kids. Praise Jesus, intones every viewer who actually is concerned with the future of the human species. Especially, he doesn't want a girl. Then he proceeds to utter some of the most offensive shit that anyone has said on these shows and in this three-ring circus of moronic bottom-feeders that's saying something. Here's what he said:

"If I had a girl, straight to the church steps with her. Because from birth to age 10 I have to make sure it doesn't die. From 10 to 25 I have to make sure she doesn't turn into a whore. That is a lot of pressure!"

I had to turn off the TV for awhile so that I could plan his demise in earnest. That DNA must NEVER enter the world. EVER. Damn he's a pinworm. But wait! It gets SO MUCH WORSE! Deeply, deeply self-hating sister Lauren joins in with a self-immolating glee to rival Pagliacci:

"Mom, you had it easy 'cause I was fat in my whore years so you didn't have to worry."

Dirty C, not to be outdone, and in the fun house mirror that is her horrific relationship with her children, says, while smirking along with her two sons:

"Hold up, now, you know what they say about fat girls."

Chris the pinheaded pinworm helpfully adds:

"Fat girls are blow job queens, everybody knows that".

Dirty C shakes her fake red hair in triumph! Did she raise these boys right or what? Meg Griffin's got nothing on Lauren Manzo! Lap Band Surgery or no Lap Band Surgery, their little sis will always be the fat blow job queen of the Manzo family. It's like Lord of the Flies in there. Andy Cohen, shame on you for airing that evil garbage, you degenerate whoremonger! The man has zero shame. Zero. You almost need a decontamination shower after watching something like that. Feh.

Drunk Ass Rosie makes her first foray into the world of family fence mending (basically because she's the only one who HASN'T done it yet) by inviting JSTA out for a drink. Their ensuing conversation has been had by a nearly infinite combination of the jackasses on this show over the last several years, so just imagine any version of the "we've gotta mend the family" combo and you're there. Oh, and at this point I'm pretty sure that Drunk Ass Rosie is a hopeless alcoholic. Also, JSTA? The omnipresent tiny knit cap winter and summer went out of style like five years ago, bro.

Again with the Manzos, (senior this time) who are cooking in their Hoboken apartment and, even though Al SR has been (supposedly) a restaurant owner his entire adult life, he can't make scrambled eggs without setting off the smoke alarm. Oy.

King Douchebag has gone ahead and leased Kathy an industrial kitchen so she can test all her new recipes. Kathy is again pissed that King Douchebag just went ahead and did something without so much as a chat about his plans. He tells us he found a place that rents by the day, by the hour - its a test kitchen. What alternate universe do these goombas live in where industrial kitchens are rented by the fucking hour? And what exactly are they cooking there? Paging Walter White...Also, the guy who leased him the place? Way sketchy.

Theresers writing her blog. So? She gets a call from "Ro" inviting her out for a drink to...have the same...boring...repetitive conversation. Even Thereser says: "here we go again." We're right there with you T.

Drunk Ass Rosie and Thereser meet for drinks to tawk, and scream at each other, but really its just to set up the Bravo producers' plan for the families to head to some holistic healing retreat to get...healed? We know this because Thereser has a scripted line reading wherein she reaches the conclusion that a holistic retreat is the way to go. How do we know its scripted?

1. Thereser would never come up with such a plan and,
2. She can't even read the lines without almost bursting out laughing.

Also? During their staged frenzied screaming: YOU'RE THE PROBLEM! YOUR SISTAS THE PROBLEM! Drunk Ass Rosie, while pounding the table in righteous indignation, manages to break her highball glass, spill her 80th scotch, and slice the fuck out of her hand. Please Bravo? An intervention for Ro? She could even get her own spinoff: Rosie In Rehab: The Dry Drunk Years!

The Real Housewives of New Jersey Recap Episode Four: The Showdown at the Gym K Corral

It's time for the RHONJ Recap from me, The ABIB! Here's the highlights, well, maybe the lowlights:

The Gorga/Guidice Interstellar World of Dysfunction is starting to coalesce. That is to say, Thereser and JSTA and their respective minions are starting to circle the wagons in earnest. Melissa tells JSTA about the disco party ambush and JSTA, not surprised, refers to Crack Hoe Kim D and Gym Spy Linda as Thereser's "soldiers". Yikes. Time to lay off The Soprano's there, JSTA. On the other side of the interstellar lunatic ride, Thereser, as per normal, is bitching out Melissa and her brotha to largely monosyllabic Juicy Joe. JJ seems even less interested than we are, if that's possible, and basically dismisses Melissa as a lying, scheming bitch. With a gigantic forehead. Really, JJ? You're married to the First Lady of the Planet of the Apes and you wanna go to foreheads?

Unfortunately Bravo did NOT hear my plea to get the fuck rid of the collossally annoying Manzo kids, so here we go to Hoboken where the brothers Manzo are about to open a new restaurant. In the clip montage leading up to this we are treated to past views of the epic failure that was BLK. Why did it fail you ask? Um, because it's fucking BLACK WATER. Duh. Anyway, in the clip we see the two losers trying mightily to shill this inexplicable swill - WHO THE FUCK NEEDS WATER TO BE BLACK - with a great shot of Uncle Chris Laurita, the erstwhile investor, looking on with an expression of mild annoyance coupled with bafflement. Probably was baffled with himself for having agreed to this meshuggana nonsense. We also get a much older shot of Little Al telling Dirty C that law school REJECTED HIM! Which prompts DC to admonish him to "NEVER LET ANYONE TELL YOU YOU CAN'T DO SOMETHING!". Then she bursts into very loud, kinda fake, weeping. Uh, well, truth be told, DC, law school CAN tell your precious prince that he can't do something: he can't be a fucking LAWYER! Anyway, DC's crying but Little Al seems pretty cool with the whole thing. So let's see...he's gotten rejected from: college, law school, police academy and failed miserably at trying to sell toxic waste as an appealing drink. So what's the next logical step? Opening a restaurant, that's what! They've hired an executive chef but DC barges in there anyway and tells him that he's making the meatballs all wrong. I found myself yelling at the TV: RUN EXECUTIVE CHEF! RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIFE! Oh, the place is called Little Town and it's going to feature all things Joisey. Yeah, 'cause there's no other places like that in...New Jersey. At this point I'm reminded of a bit from SNL wherein Amy Poehler, reporting the news, says that New Jersey is about to change their license plate motto to read: New Jersey: Who Farted? For anyone that's ever driven through Elizabeth, NJ, that makes a whole lotta sense.

Quick cut to Kathy and Rosie having dinner with their mother. The requisite bitch and moan fest about Thereser's father ensues. Kathy's mother and Thereser's father are siblings but have not spoken in many years. If they ever told us what the nature of that rift is I honestly can't recall. Clearly Mama does NOT want to talk about her brother but Big 'Ol Drunk Ass Rosie, in between slurps of Scotch, insists upon it. She blubbers endlessly about this that and the other, mostly how Thereser is a disrespectful whore, and through it all Mama remains silent. Kathy joins in at first but quickly gets it that her mother does NOT want to discuss it and clams up. Not so Drunk Ass Rosie, who, rather than getting her mother's very apparent non-verbal cues, presses on more loudly and with more angry rhetoric until Mama finally tells her to STOP! Thanks, Mama; it's always annoying to have to listen to a drunk-ass nutjob go on and on so we're right there with you.

Next up: Kathy has planned a co-birthday party for King Douchebag who is turning 49 and Victoria who is turning 19. So I guess it's a biggie since it's the last one before 50 and the last in the teens. One would think she'd just go ahead and wait for the big 5-0 and the big 2-0, but what the hell. Once again we're whisked to some classay eatery and the crowd's all there: the Manzos, the Lauritas, the Gorgas. Of course Thereser and JJ were not invited. Soon enough DC is seated amongst all her bitches and dispensing her sage advice with the same holier-than-thou blah, blah, blah demeanor. She predicts that Thereser is NEVA GONNA TAWK TO ANY OF YOUS. Duh, DC, what the fuck? Who on earth DIDN'T KNOW THAT? She is such a sanctimonious bitch. But I see cracks in the goodgals exteriors. Both Kathy and Melissa are starting to get annoyed with DC and, truth be told, with each other. We are again dragged through the detailed daily schedule of Thereser's father's recent hospital stay, as Melissa recounts to the gals her attack at the hands of T and her "soldiers" at Gia's birthday party. Kathy especially, is not 'pressed. Her face seems to imply that Melissa's story, no matter how heartfelt, doesn't hold water. This might get interesting as Team Gorga/Manzo/Wakile/Laurita begins to unravel. At this point I'm picturing Thereser, dressed as the Emperor from Star Wars, rubbing her hands together and intoning: Gooooood.....goooooood...

Also at the birthday bash, JSTA tries to get a hooker for Little Joseph, who at 16, is seated at the big boy's bench and thus open to all kinds of bullshit. Joseph seems truly alarmed as the girl sits down next to him and leaps to his feet, stuttering: HEY I'M ONLY 16! Yeah, boy, but JSTA wants to watch. Yuck.

Back to the girls table and Drunk Ass Rosie is bellowing about some crap or other and screams at an attractive woman (with her HUSBAND) across the room that can't she get "JUST ONE KISS!?" I'm sensing an intervention is in store for Drunk Ass Rosie. Shockingly the woman grants the request and so we get to see THAT. Drunk Ass Rosie macking on some stranger while HER HUSBAND LOOKS ON, with a rather disturbed expression showing clearly through his strained smile. I mean, can you imagine this group of nutcases winding up on any random night in some bar or restaurant and just basically bull-in-a-china-shopping the whole place? Once kissed, Drunk Ass Rosie gets wind of the conversation at the ladies table, that Thereser doesn't want to see any of them. Well, that's all it takes; Drunk Ass Rosie goes full blast, screaming like a maniac (and drawing frightened looks from the other patrons) about how "SHE DON'T WANT TO SEE US? MAYBE WE DON'T WANT TO FUCKING SEE HER!" She makes various rude physical gestures and basically bombasts her way to the center of the conversation. I'm going to just say here that, as of this season, Drunk Ass Rosie is becoming as intolerable for me as Dirty C. Yeah, it's that bad. She's stopped being the pretty-stupid-but-really-kinda-harmless-cute sideline character and is now the pretty-stupid-angry-belligerent-drunk character. Who constantly uses her belligerence to horn into the center of every scene she's a part of. Nicht git.

So the final set piece of this week is the Showdown At The Gym K Corral between Thereser and JSTA. JSTA is there early in the AM, doing some serious lifting (again, JSTA, the loud grunting with every lift? Right out of The Sopranos. STOP IT!), when who should spot him but Thereser, who is getting one of Gym Soldier Linda's evil workouts. T decides she should bury the hatchet and approaches JSTA to say hello. Before that she AGAIN asks the question: why are they at MY GYM if they're not obsessed with me? Oy vey, T, where to begin? JSTA is flat on his back under the weights and T offers to spot him. JSTA says, not entirely jokingly, are you going to drop them on me? Assured that she won't JSTA proceeds to do one more press with T serving as his spotter and then gets up. Within like three seconds they are at each other, hurling accusations and pressin' charges! JSTA endures a few hollow volleys about Melissa's devotion to their father and blah, blah, blah and then he brings out the big guns. Hey, he flings at his sister: "I wouldn't call my wife a C..T" Yeowch. Didn't know you had it in you, JSTA. Of course what he's referring to is a scene from last year's trip to California, where JJ receives, and accepts, a call on his cell as they're all seated to dinner in celebration of DC's 50th. The camera followed him off screen and we hear him speaking quietly to someone, who we presume, is a girlfriend (but who later he tells us was a business partner) and to this person refers to his "wife the c..t". Again, yeowch. Thereser recoils from her brother's reminder of this fairly awful fact and, in true Thereser fashion, deflects the issue back to Melissa, how she controls JSTA and well, the same old Thereser same old. JSTA presses on asking T how JJ treats his daughters and that makes her get the Thereser crazy eye, that of the old table flipping variety, but instead she inarticulately growls at him. And then flings the contents of her water bottle at JSTA as she angrily stalks out of the gym. JSTA, not to be outdone, and probably pretty pissed off about the water throwing, follows after her shouting accusations and repeating the incriminating volley. To us JSTA in his voice-over, states that the biggest mistake his sister ever made was marrying JJ. Hmmm...could be true? But you know, JSTA, she's pretty wacko herself, so, there's that.

Tune in next time when we continue to follow the spiraling vortex of dysfunction that is The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Oh, and the surely imminent demise of that fucking restaurant.

The Real Housewives of New Jersey Episode 3: It's Gia's Birthday Party!

We open on Thereser bustin' her ass - literally - at the gym with her gym rat friend Linda. She's telling Linda that she's excited for Gia's 12th BD party. Thereser's little clone has invited 65 of her closest friends to her first co-ed party but Thereser don't want her tawkin to boys. Thereser sent an invite to her bruthas house 'cause after her tawk with Dirty C she's feeling cautiously optimistic. Dirty C who has willfully inserted herself between Thereser and Joey Still The Ape, bemoans that she has to act as go between for the Gorga/Guidice vortex of dysfunction. I'm just going to make my standard response to Dirty C. Dirty C: STFU.

Gia and Juicy Joe are out getting some frozen yogurt and Gia says that she can't stand being with Milania because Milania insulted her body. She said Gia's got "a hairy grill". Shit where do these kids get this crap? JJ don't understand and all confused says: "she said you got hairy teeth?" Now, JJ, even I got the reference. Gia is clearly disgusted having to explain the real meaning to her father - IN A YOGURT SHOP WITH A CUTE YOGURT SERVER GUY RIGHT THERE- but dimwit finally gets it and reassures her that its just part of puberty. Gia is all ewwwwwwwwwww. We're right with you girl. Truly though they seem to have a sweet relationship. Oh, and Thereser tells us that they had to get right on the sex talk with Gia 'cause she walked in on them bumpin' uglies. But at least they were done. Again, and all together now: ewwwwwwwwww.

Back at Stately Laurita Manor, Dirty C is laying on the guilt to JSTA with a backhoe. "IFGAWFABID something should happen to your fatha I don't want you to have any regrets." Oh, and Dirty C confesses that she lied to JSTA, because Thereser didn't say she wanted to sit down an tawk with her brutha, she said she was willing to accept an apology from him. Uh, that's kind of a major discrepancy there, Dirts McGirts. Which brings me to my standard response to Dirty C: STFU.

Next we join up with Kathy's son Joseph and her sister Rosie tooling around in King Douchebag's new Ferrari. Aunt Rosie is egging the kid to goose the Ferraris accelerator in spite of the rain and heavy, fast moving traffic that is everywhere. He maybe has a learners permit. Maybe. But being the lunkhead offspring of King Douchebag he's totes up for the joyride. Dumbass Rosie tells us that she's "not the mother, she's the Aunt and she wants to be the FUN AUNT!" Huh...actually she maybe wants to be The Vehicular Homicide Aunt.

Back home, they pull into the driveway and Kathy and King Douchebag are mad as hell that they took the car out. At least Kathy is. Turns out KD out-douches himself by taking the kid aside ostensibly to chastise him but as soon as they're out of earshot KD is all: "so how was the car did you drive it good was it fun?" Basically sandbagging his wife to make "cool Dad" points with Joseph. He is the biggest asshole in a show ear-deep in assholes. The scene ends with The Three Cretins mocking Kathy for being a nagging grouch. Oh, Kath...please take this fish-lipped, slack-jawed, rap-mogul-glasses-wearing freak of nature to divorce court for every penny he has. Plus one bright red Ferrari.

Back at Chez Gorga we learn from JSTA that he's so sick that he ate a bowl of soup and it came right out his ass. Also we learn that in spite of telling Dirty C that he's up for a chat with Thereser, he changed his mind and doesn't want to see T or JJ. and as for that invite to Gia's BD party, he ain't going. Right about now Melissa's Voice Over is annoyed that Dirty C is having these convos with her husband without calling her. Back off Dirty C, says Melissa. Uh, yeah. At the gym Melissa has brought Kathy to "the easiest workout she does" and Kath's about to croak. Afterward the gals go for smoothies and even though Melissa says she's got a sore throat that "comes and goes" and therefore can't go to visit her father in law, Kath ain't buyin' and to the camera calls BS on Melissa. The gals are starting to eat each other folks.

Meanwhile, Linda, who we saw in the opening sequence working Thereser like a muthafucka at the gym is actually a spy planted by Thereser to report on ANYONE who dares to come into Thereser's gym. Thereser, having a coffee with Crack Hoe Kim D, gets a call from Linda, who reports, in scathing detail, about how Kathy, Melissa and Jacqueline are hanging out at Thereser's gym! The three women have a good laugh wondering how "Kathy could get her fat ass through the door" and how "Jacqueline's fat ass hasn't seen the inside of a gym in months" and on and on. Thereser tells us that her gym is "at least 45 minutes from Jacqueline's house" which proves she's there trespassing on Thereser's territory. To be strong on her.

Meanwhile, at the Manzo compound, Dirty C and her kid Stupid Ass Chris drive up to find her sis Fran out front with a giant pig named, we are told, Moo Shu. Stupid Ass Chris stupidly announces that he "just ate Chinese, like five minutes ago but now he wants more." OMG can't someone at Bravo just get rid of these monumentally moronic Manzo kids? Andy Cohen, help us out here would you? Dirty C needs to concoct a plan so that Al SR doesn't see Moo Shu so she figures she'll whisk him off to Hoboken until Moo Shu the rescue pig finds a better home. Or until Stupid Ass Chris fucking eats him. Oh and in the house we get a shot of a doggie peeing in the Manzo foyer. Why? Who the hell knows why?

The Guidice girls are all getting haircuts in prep for Gia's upcoming BD party. Gia heard from her Tia Joe, aka JSTA and...drum roll...he's not coming. Gia tells Thereser that he has pneumonia and that she's OK with him not coming but Thereser is determined to egg her directly into angry disappointment with the helpful reminder: "but he's your godfather". Gia is having none of it and tells Thereser to drop it! You go girl, way to shut down the Mama Drama. I'd give Gia a high five if I could but I can't so I lamely give one to the TV.

Melissa is getting her two older kids ready for the party by spraying enough lacquer on the boy's head to ignite an ICBM. Here's a tip kid: stay clear of the BD candles. In walks the ailing JSTA and promptly announces "I gotta put a plug in my ass". OMG, where do I begin with that set-up line? With sooooo many rejoinders to choose from I'll just let it be.

A butt plug? Really?

HEY JSTA I THINK YOU LEFT IT OVER AT LAURITAS PLACE THE OTHER NIGHT!

Sorry, I just had to.

JSTA gives Melissa her fighting orders. "Don't take no lip from nobody. If that Kim D's there you spit in her face."

The fabulous party is in full fabulous force when we join. Not surprisingly it's at some ultra-glitzy neon palace and the place is swarming with kids. Gia is surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and one boy, and they are all busily engaged with their smart phones. We learn that the boy, Christopher, is Gia's BFFL - Best Friend For Life. I actually found this kind of endearing, that Gia is BFFs with presumably a gay boy. I think Gia's going to be OK in spite of the fact that her mother and father are crazy. Speaking of which, JJ approaches the boy and, with a strange smile on his face, demands to know: "do you got a crush on my daughter?" Except since its so loud in there he has to shout it at the kid. Twice. Poor Little Christopher looks stricken. His face is filled with worry, confusion and fear but mostly he just looks terrified 'cause let's face it: its JJ doing the asking and he probably garrotes people for a living. Poor Christopher, who is likely thinking: crush? I want her outfit!

Now here comes Crack Hoe Kim D into the party just about the time Melissa arrives with her three kids. Also Gym Spy Linda is there so we've got the setup for the three witches bringing down the curse onto Melissa. They're already getting Thereser all righteously worked up because Melissa didn't visit Thereser's father in the hospital until after he'd already been there for four days. What a putan! Well it only takes a hot NJ minute for the three harpies to start, as Thereser so wonderfully puts it "interrogizing" Melissa, demanding that she exactly state to them when she visited Threser's father. Can I just state the obvious here and point out that these ladies live at a whole new level of pettiness. It has now become a fifth grade gang up sitch and Melissa is being barked at by three bejeweled attack dogs.

WHAT DAY? WHAT TIME? NO WAY THATS WHEN I WAS THERE! WHY YOU LYIN' MELISSA?

Not surprisingly Melissa gathers up her kids, before they can even have cake, and gets the fuck out of there. And the episode ends with Thereser, the original Mean Girl, bitching out Melissa The Wuss to JJ for being such a BIG SENSITIVE BABY, who's off to cry to JSTA and alienate him further. So what else is new? In the "coming next week" clip, Dirty C, sporting a breathtakingly unflattering pair of hipster specs, intones the obvious (par for the course) by telling Melissa? Jacqueline? Kathy? that Thereser will NEVER speak to them. Oh, and Crazy Sister Rosie's back doing her best Fred Flintstone In An Inarticulate Rage. Oh, and Dirty C? STFU.

The Long Island Princesses, Episode 2: Wherein Casey Proves She Can Hold A Grudge...and Draw...Well, Kind Of

We join Amanda (she of the gay boyfriend Jeff) and her Mom Babs at the ritzy boutique where Babs works. So, correction, Amanda IS Jewish. So the two of them are pawing their way through all the new clothes that have come in and Babs is beyond delighted to see so much in the way of animal print, because, as she tells us, "Animal prints are so me!". OK, Babs; why are we not surprised?Amanda, its dawning on me, is probably the most slow-witted of all the LI princesses and that's saying something because this crowd is not solving any Rubick's Cubes anytime soon. Or ever. Amanda takes Valley Girl speech to a whole new level and draws out every word as she introduces Joey, who has just wandered into the store, to Babs: "Thiz Joeeeeeeyyyyyy..Thiz my Mooooooooom..."

Joey has come by to apologize to Amanda about her drunk-ass friend at Erica's pool party crashing around and throwing shade at Amanda and her manly-man, Jeff. Joey is totes..."Sorry but it's not my fault. I didn't condone the words my drunk friend used and I just want you to know that I support you." Support her in what? Is this going to be some kind of Showdown at the Fendi Corral? Amanda and her seemingly-barely-aware-heavy-lidded eyes are not impressed. We know this because the camera lingers on her long enough for her to pull a farbissine face that would choke an ox. Since she's not much to look at to begin with: all googly eyes, original nose, zero chin, one would advise her against ever doing that on camera again. Nicht git, babe; nicht git.

Chanel comes to collect Ashlee to take her to meet her "guy magnet" friend Casey so they can hopefully sloppy-seconds their way into eligible Jewish men. BTDubs, Ashlee's Dad, he of the mani-pedi, LOVES Chanel's outfit and tells her so the moment she walks in the front door. Are there any non-gay men on this show? After a brief confab with Mr. and Mrs. Ashlee's Parents, wherein the mother basically tells Chanel to help her daughter to find a male who isn't crippled or a felon, the girls start to giggle excitedly about the prospects of heading into the city. Before they can head out, though, Ashlee needs to brush her hair so she dispatches her Daddy to her bathroom to fetch her her hairbrush. He obediently does this, after asking her from the balcony which of the four different brushes does his little (non-ironic; the bitch is 4'9", she told us herself) princess want, she directs him to the correct brush and the hot gals are ready to rumble. Before they go, though, Ashlee tells everyone that she'd like to find a man who is forty-ish but not "all wrinkly". Oy.

After much squealing and screaming in the car as we see them whiz down the LI Expwy, the girls get to the city and hit a club and it is, indeed, filled with men! Casey is a GODDESS! Quickly, though, they and we notice that lots of the men are dancing with...each other? Hey! Its GAY night! Ashlee says she's not going to find anyone here. Hey, Ash, your Mom did! Burn! Also, Chanel's man-magnet buddy Casey is nowhere to be found. But wait! Here she comes! Striding down the street in a bare midriff dress and a smile. We hear in a Chanel voice-over that Casey grew up on LI but now lives in the city. Chanel says Casey is one of her best friends. Turns out that 10 years ago Erica The Drunk stole Casey's boyfriend on the eave of prom! She already had a dress! Oy such a shanda! So there's totes bad blood between them.

Meanwhile, back on the Island, Amanda and Jeff are out to dinner with Erica the Drunk and Rob. Erica the Drunk tells us that she's known Rob since high school, but back then she basically wouldn't have been caught dead with him. But now...at her current age and with her current prospects, basically bupkes, he's looking pretty good. Erica the Drunk, I'm discovering, is a bit of a sociopath. And really stupid. The waiter drops by to announce the evening's specials and one of them is some kind of dish with octopus. Amanda, while the waiter stands by patiently, tells her friends about a story she read (we can only guess where, but my money's on The Weekly World News) about a woman who ate octopus that, unknown to her, had eggs in it and then she "had like baby octopuses coming out of her mouth". The waiter politely excuses himself, planning to spit in her drink, we can only hope. Next we hear how Jeff stalked Amanda for two weeks at the train station on LI and simultaneously shopped madly to find himself just the right outfit for when he planned to introduce himself to her. He SO wanted to go with the heckle feather boa, but the color just didn't work with his eyes. Pssht. (The ABIB made that part up). Once appropriately clothed, he sat directly in front of her on the train and asked about her white iPhone and she complimented him on his awesome outfit and just like that it was a match! A match made in Beard Heaven! Not to be outdone by this saccharine, gushing bullshit, Erica the Drunk, starts to slobber all over poor Rob announcing in bad acting 101 voice how "she LOVES HIM SO MUCH" and is "SO HAPPY THEY'RE TOGETHER". They start to kiss, at the table. Jeff enthuses with a forceful wave, "if you're kissing, we're kissing!" Then starts to "kiss" Amanda unbelievably actually making an overt mmmmmmmmmmmmm noise. Jesus he is SO FUCKING GAY!!So now we have two couples basically making out in the middle of what appears to be a decent restaurant. I'm reminded of the "Schmoopy" episode on Seinfeld where Jerry and his "Schmoopy" have a kissing match across the coffee shop table from George and Susan. Except that was played for intentional laughs. These people are just freakish buffoons and pretty much the lowest form of human life. Amazingly I keep watching.

Blessedly we leave that freak show behind and end up at...Casey's childhood home out on LI, where she is going through her artwork from when she was 13 and tells us that she's a cocktail waitress in NYC but art is her life. Um, from the looks of this "art" I have to say: "Don't quit your day job babe". Chanel drops by and immediately begins the expository dig into the old fight between Casey and Erica in high school. Bravo at its most clunky. So, Erica stole Casey's boyfriend, the love of her life, just because she could. Casey already had a prom dress! Ten years later the memory still haunts her and she just can't let it go. Um, didn't the dude have something to do with it, Case? Nevermind. Chanel has come by to issue an invite to Casey to come out to the Hamptons for a fab Shabbat weekend. Chanel, ostensibly the most observant Jew in the bunch, is going to show these gals how Shabbat is DONE. She's got a party bus and a chef and she's good to go. Oh, and Erica will be there. That part has Casey kinda spooked so Chanel says she can sleep in her room with her but that she has to come.

Next we learn from Joey that in high school Erica was deemed the hottest girl on LI. Hmmmm, really? In a wine-drinking scene at Erica's parents' house, Joey also tells Erica that she (Erica) slept with Joey's boyfriend in high school, too. So, now the count is up to stealing Casey's boyfriend and ruining prom for her (and to hear Casey tell it, the rest of her life to date) and fucking Joeys boyfriend. A reveal that Erica has barely any memory of. Joey has to intone the boy's name and give Erica a few moments to try and remember before the light bulb goes off over her head and she IDs him. Erica's kind of an aggressive slutty hoebag, no? Casey tells us she's still freaked out about what Erica did 10 years ago because her Dad left her Mom when Casey was two for another woman. She can't remember the last time she saw him. For what it's worth, Casey's Mom seems fine with it. Classic Bravo bullshit.

The party bus comes, it picks up everyone but Casey, who is driving out herself and the girls are deep into the Pinot Grigio within fifteen seconds. Especially Erica the Drunk. I observe that Erica the Drunk's drinking seems to really trouble itty bitty Ashlee. But she's a nervous chalaria about everything, so...Out in the Hamptons Chanel brings the Hebrew with what I can say from personal experience, is the MOST sacrelilgious lighting of Shabbat candles ever. I'm asking the TV: why are the fucking candles burned down nearly to the candlestick when she lights them? What the fuck is up with that? If this is how the Shabbat prayer is introduced to non-Jewish viewers I have to say: shame on you, Andy Cohen! You're a MOT, asshole! Anyway, the manufactured drama ensues as the girls sit down to dinner and Erica starts to drunkenly run her mouth and Casey tells her to shut up and Erica runs crying from the table and calls Rob and all the girls basically start to run around and wring their hands and get all fahrklempt. And that's it for the episode. Can I also say: what's the deal with the retro-70s hippy headbands that these girls are wearing? Did not see that on Fashion Police, girls. I may have to nominate you for FashHole of the Week!

The Wendy's Girl: Giving Gingers Everywhere A Bad Name

You've seen her. On TV, in print, online, she's everywhere and she's giving every honest redheaded person on earth a black eye with her superior, know-it-all, "hey you fucking slob, you're lucky I showed up to prove to you what a clueless loser you are" vibe. It never fails, some hapless schmuck is getting ready to bite into some crap or other and along comes this evil little bitch to cheerfully tell him that he has chosen...poorly, as she makes to bite into HER far superior, much more tasty and much more fiscally sound food choice: a Wendy's whatever. Poor schmuck gets all embarrassed and pretends for a half second that his original choice is still viable...he's cool with it...he's not the least bit shamed by her fake cheery bombast. But that false bravado only lasts a moment more because everyone who comes face-to-face with the blistering wrath that is The Wendy's Girl knows it's only a matter of time before they're going to give in. To her better judgement, her far more appealing offering, because her cheerful "Now That's Better!" chirp is a very thinly veiled threat to eat HER Wendy's crap or face HER Wendy's judging wrath. Every dude who owns a TV knows the drill and dares not to question the Pavlovian command when she barks it:

"Feet Up! Game On! Face deep in a Baconater!"

She's a cross between Nurse Wratchet and every fast food eating, can't get a date, online gaming nerd's wet dream. She's Mommy and the hot intern all rolled into one: YOU'LL EAT WHAT I TELL YOU AND YOU'LL LIKE IT, MISTER! Me? I'd like to see her get her comeuppance and being The ABIB, I've thought it through and here's how I see it going down.

After a day's worth of shaming non-Wendy's eating losers, our evil, red-headed know-it-all is headed home to her meticulously decorated apartment, where even a misplaced paper doily is straightened immediately lest it ruin the perfect neatness that is "home". Because you know her place is a just-so girly cave whose museum-like cleanliness is a reflection of her self-righteousness. She's even bossy to her belongings. Anyway, halfway there she senses that she's not alone and turns about to find herself face-to-face with Ronald McDonald and The Burger King.

Hello, Wendy, Ronald purrs malevolently, how's tricks?

Yeah, Red, The King chimes in, how's every little thing?

What do you two losers want? I'm in a hurry here...to check out your falling sales numbers among the key demographics that don't want toys with their lunches, cheap paper crowns or anything cooked in a greasy flame.

The King recoils slightly from that one and she knows she's struck a blow. But Ronald advances closer and leans in.

In a million years you'll never get the kind of numbers that I'll be able to take for granted into the next decade, you poser bitch.

This one hits home and Wendy's Girl staggers back slightly, but just as quickly recovers her composure and advances.

Bring it you clown-faced freak! I'll take your sorry-ass Big Macs on any day of the fucking week. Just try me! I'll bring the Baconater AND some Chili Cheese Fries AND Asiago Ranch Chicken AND a chocolate/vanilla swirled Frosty down on your sorry ass so hard you'll wish you'd never been hatched out of whatever ad man's head you came from. Whatever sick fuck that was.

Now The King has recovered and, side-by-side with Ronald McDonald, they begin to slowly advance on The Wendy's Girl, who stands her ground, feet firmly planted, hands on her hips in defiance of their menace. She actually starts to laugh, shaking her head back and forth in derisive amusement.

You old fuckers don't even have a clue, do you? They eat my shit BECAUSE of ME! ME! The Wendy's Girl! They do what I tell them to do so buzz the fuck off!

The King and Ronald stop short and look at each other warily. A bead of sweat trickles slowly down The King's forehead. Ronald steps forward and whistles shrilly. Stepping out from around the corner are Mayor McCheese, The Hamburgler, Grimace, Birdy the Early Bird, and The Fry Kids. The Wendy's Girl is now surrounded but is still defiant, her eyes ablaze.

We've got you now, says Ronald, and we're gonna have a little "discussion", aren't we fellas?

The other characters chuckle as they close in.

With that, The Wendy's Girl, unleashes a high-pitched, venomous cackle and as she disappears into a cloud of red smoke her voice echos eerily all around them.

"Now that's better!"

An icy wind howls down the street. The other characters all scatter, except for The Burger King, who straightens his paper crown and strides purposefully into the setting sun.

The Carolina BBQ Tendercrisp Sandwich, he whispers into the gathering darkness as he smiles to himself, yes, I think that will do just fine.

The Hyperbole Police: ABIB Gonna Have To Cite You

“I’m mad as Hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!” Howard Beale, Network (1976)

Are you, like The ABIB, troubled by the wholesale overuse of perfectly innocent adjectives that can’t speak and/or defend themselves against the wanton abuse of their appropriate usage? To wit:

OMG!!! I just ate THE MOST FABULOUS AND DELICIOUS SANDWICH EVER!!! – Beyond doubtful. Furthermore, if true, the fact that you haven’t shared this with CNN, The New York Times, and Reuters is just plain shitty. Don’t you think everyone else would like to try such a culinary marvel? Bitch.

Had SOOOOOOO many amazing events to attend but now I’m SO EXHAUSTED I CANNOT MOVE!!! – Wrongful use of overstatement (honestly, you literally can't move?) only made worse by being in the context of a humble brag; always annoying.

Can I just say that I WORK WITH THE BEST PEOPLE EVER and am SO HUMBLED TO BE LUCKY ENOUGH TO BE IN THEIR PRESENCE? – Wow…did you ascend to Heaven and somehow get to work with Mahatma Gandhi? Jesus? Mother Theresa? No? Huh…

You get the point, right? I mean, how hard is it to formulate written sentences without becoming the verbal equivalent of a gushing sea of lava? Do these people actually speak like this when in face-to-face conversations with others? I kind of doubt it or we’d be hearing more on the news about folks getting carted off to psych wards for observation. Because let’s face it, if you had someone in your face spewing out the kind of gibberish that passes for the average Facebook/Tweet/Tumblr update you’d be backing away slowly and scanning the area for deadly weapons, right?

So let’s break it down here. In my admittedly very non-scientific, limited observation, the worst offenders in the Hyperbole Olympics are women. Specifically young women. Now I get it, we women are traditionally given far wider boundaries of what is acceptable in terms of emotional expression. I know that this wrongful paradigm is slowly changing but it’s still pretty clear that women hold the corner on overwrought, flowery descriptions of…whatever. A fucking sandwich? The effects of daily activities on your energy level? Your fucking co-workers for fucks sake? What is it that they lack in their lives that makes these women so desperate for stimulation that they have to invent increasingly dramatic terms to describe mundane, daily events? Is anyone’s daily life that fucking dramatic? Shit, I hope not, because ladies I gotta tell you, that’s not even remotely sounding like fun. And who began the whole practice of having to have the BEST friends, the MOST WONDERFUL interactions, resulting in being INCREDIBLY LUCKY…or AMAZINGLY FORTUNATE…or RIDICULOUSLY GRATEFUL. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for expressive feelings of thankfulness for good luck, good friends and happy circumstances that people encounter in their daily lives. But honestly, how do you know that those friends are really THE BEST? Did you check with the other 85 posts on your wall alleging that THEIR friends are THE BEST? How can we decide who is telling the truth? How do we readers conduct a best-off? And is any luck or good fortune ever really incredible (adjective: so extraordinary as to seem impossible)? Are you really ridiculously grateful? Hell, that doesn’t even make sense.

So here I am, The ABIB, purveyor of a varied menu of bitch fests, asking you (and YOU know who the fuck you are) to have mercy on the rest of us that have to see your bullshit on a daily basis. Folks: words have meanings; specific meanings, meanings that are geared toward illumination, not fulfilling some random need for you to appear at your most Drahmahtic and Important and Better than every fucking one else. There are people actually reading the drek that passes for insight into your life, so cut us all a break and ease up off of the crazy talk and just speak English, please, correctly and accurately. Just think: if you do, then when something truly amazing happens to you, say, you scale Mt. Everest in a tee shirt and flip flops, you won’t have to convince us that it’s right up there with that Starbucks latte you got last week.

The Real Housewives of New Jersey Recap, Episode Two: Do You Ever Use A Strap-On?

The episode opens on Thereser's three clones and the kid dropped off on their doorstep (because there's no way it was made by T and Juicy Joe) making cards for T's Dad because he's gonna be getting a pacemaker inserted. T gives the girls a fairly gory blow-by-blow description of what's about to happen to their beloved grandfather, what with the carving a hole in his chest and sticking in a machine that keeps ticking in case his own heart stops ticking so that he doesn't...and Milania helpfully shouts out: DIE! So that he doesn't DIE! Her older sister glares dangerously and warns her to NEVER SAY THAT WORD AGAIN OR I WILL KILL YOU AND I'M NOT KIDDING! Kind of ironic, no? Plus, Milan...she's holding a pretty wicked looking safety scissors.

A few doors away, Melissa and Joey Still the Ape (from now on called just: JSTA) want to sell their 3.8 mil white elephant of a house, like right now. They have a Jewish realtor named Jerry Sahlman who doesn't seem all that sure about unloading their overpriced, not in the best neighborhood, without an in ground pool, McMansion. But Jerry, babe, it's got a custom sound studio right downstairs that JSTA installed himself for his wife who appears to have moved on from her obsessive career aspirations in the music industry. Easy come, easy go. When Jerry and his bummer vibe leave, Melissa tells us she's praying on it...all the time. Selling their house, that is. From your mouth to the big mans ear, Melissa. Good thing you got a Member of the Tribe (MOT) intermediary available to put in a good word with the Man upstairs. Goyim. Oy.

Back at the Manzo compound with Dirty C and Big Al, SR. and...um two giant German Shepards barking and growling behind a very large indoor wire enclosure. Kind of like a room sized doggy crate. If there was any doubt about Big Al being the real life Tony S, it be gone, bitches. Dirty C brings in some hot Starbucks and Bad Mood's already in bitch mode wantin' to know where the fuck's her coffee? Dirty C asks why she's such a bitch and its in cement: she hates Bad Mood like fo rill, and tells her to shut the hell up. One of Dirty C's 85 siblings is bunking with the Manzos and shes got a little rescue chihuahua with her named Frito. Because, she explains, he kind of smells like a Frito. OK....Dirty C tells us that she's cool with folks hanging at their place for awhile as long as she doesn't smell dog pee on the floor it's all good. Nice, low bar. She also tells us that, although she lives to meddle but it makes her brain hurt. Except she doesn't call it meddling, she calls it helping. Yeah you make everything better martyr. Dirty C also tells us that she and Big Al retreat to their Hoboken pied a terre whenever they need some alone time. Like when the Feds get a little closer on their latest RICO charges. Bada bing!

Kathy and King Douchebag are teaching their son to drive. That wacky Rich Wakile is in the back seat acting like an eight year old jackass which is about right. Kath's in the front seat attempting to be serious but that ain't gonna work at all. Her talking head tells us that King Douchebag is annoying as fuck and wants him to stop living vicariously through her son. Her son. Ouch. Sounds like Kath is starting to get her fill of Rich Wakile and his freakish face. Finally!

Jacqueline is doing a video blog for Parenting Magazine and...and...oh sorry I dozed off there. I do recall that it takes her to some big building on Park Avenue in NYC. Other than that, nada. Safe to say she was crying, though.

JSTA and Big Al's Consigliere Chris Laurita (he of the giant cabinet filled with firearms of every conceivable size and caliber) are having a friendly game of pool when this happens:

JSTA: How old are you now?
CL: I'm 46.
JSTA: 46...are you on Viagra?
CL: No.
JSTA: Is it still as hard as normal?
CL: Actually its gotten better.
JSTA: I'm gonna want it more than I want it now?
CL: You? You got a problem. You could be fuckin' the wall over there, you'd be happy.

Heyyyyy...wait a minute. Is this an Extenze commercial?

OK, first of all, which of these fucking macho meatheads would ever admit to needing Viagra? And JSTA? Just blow him and call it a day already, 'ya idiota. Chris tells us that even with all their shit him and Jacqueline make time to get it on. But he's not as obsessed as JSTA. Indeed who is, Consigliere, who is?

Back to Jacqueline on Park Avenue, which building front the Bravo producers have showen us twice now,still not impressed, BTW. Jac's at her video blog taping and she's blah blah blah about something. What? Sorry I dozed off again. Jacqueline is human Ambien and I am THIS CLOSE to just giving up on her altogether.

Back at LauritaVille Chris gives us the whole back story of their son and his problems, and JSTA finally, moved to tears, tells him "I wanna make out witchu." You heard it here, first, peeps. ABIB does a victory lap. High fives all around.

Back to T and her Dad's ongoing health issues. We are now located outside of some New Jersey hospital, presumably awaiting word on Big Daddy Gorga's pacemaker implant. And who is that I spy with my little eye? Well none other than Crack Hoe Kim D she of Posche fame and co-conspirator in last years big Melissa ambush and resulting Strippergate. You remember her: Crack Hoe Kim. Well while T and Kim Da Hoe are shootin' the shit outside the hospital T gets a text from Dirty C asking for some time to chat. Wow...say both gals. T says she hasn't heard from Dirty C in a year and a half and does she miss her? No. Instant replay of clip from last reunion with T addressing Dirty C's fat rolls: blubber blubber and blubber. So, so classy our simian-foreheaded Thereser. Crack Hoe Kim turns to leave and looks straight at the camera. Just busts through that fourth wall and looks directly at us. Might wanta call her Fame Whore Kim instead.

Back to Dirty C's place...the 11,000 square foot one. Bad Mood's getting Dirty C all painted up for her lunch with Thereser and the gals engage in some good old fashioned shit talking. Dirty C says she's taking one for team Joe The Wall Fucker, because, really, he did reach out to her for help and if she doesn't intervene, the entire Gorga/Guidice fambly gonna just implode and ain't no pacemaker in THE WORLD good enough to sustain that brother on sister hater shit. Bad Mood warns her that Thereser's kids have been raised by wolves so...Dirty C says its hard for JSTA to talk to Melissa or Kathy cause they're in it with him. Uh, Dirty C...and you're not? You've been so deep in their family's business for the past two years that pretty soon you're gonna have to adopt one of them.

Meanwhile, Thereser's telling Juicy Joe about her upcoming lunch but he's too busy peering through a magnifying glass at some unknown text that he refers to as "just paperwork". Hmmmm...whatever. Maybe he's reading the collected works of Bazooka Joe comics wrappers, they were pretty little. He warns Thereser that if Dirty C starts to lecture her about her brotha she should just leave because: "nobody knows everything. Not even the president." Uh, ok, strange turn of phrase there Juicy Joe. Hah! Thereser and Juicy both figure that Dirty C is calling to apologize. Of course WE know otherwise. This should be awesome.

But before we can get to that Thereser paints Juicy and us a picture: when women get their periods men don't want to drink any dark red liquid for fear of getting some of the blood and falling under the woman's spell. So, says Thereser, this is what happened to JSTA: Melissa had her period, JSTA went down on her and now he's under her spell. Eww, says Juicy. I can't believe I'm writing this but, yeah Juicy, you got that right. Stories from Transylvania by way of Sicilia! Thereser is still completely off her rocker. And I couldn't be more delighted!

We join Kathy and King Douchebag at their little princess' college where she's a commuter student studying to be a nurse practitioner. Kathy tells us that its good that Victoria is living at home cause Kathy hears all kinds of terrifying stories about the wild sexytimes at college and her little flower couldn't handle it. Victoria gives the 'rents a tour of the creepy fake hospital ward with the creepy fake patients and if this were a Twilight Zone episode the things would wake up and start shambling around like the plastic zombies that they are. And they'd still be more responsible than King Douchebag who is an infantile moron who has to touch everything and makes cracks about Victoria's fat college friends and their endless meal plan. Yeah, if it WERE the Twilight Zone he'd be the first to get the life choked out of him by one of those grinning plastic freaks. Yeah...too bad it fucking isn't.

Back to J and Chris and on and on about their kid's problems. I gotta say here and now: I'm tuning out of this storyline people. For the rest of this season. Tuning. Out. Just so you know.

The MOT realtor has finally gotten some suckers to bite on JSTA and Melissa's 3.8M white elephant and their two boys are rolling around on the couch beating the shit out of each other. Melissa thinks its good to have kids around when the house shows. Proof she says, that love lives here and they're so damn cute! Now I understand how mothers love their kids but those are two seriously homely children. Seriously homely. The older one has a forehead straight out of a David Cronenberg movie.

In comes another realtor (of the non-MOT variety, but apparently OF the hooker variety). She's lugging along a client that has some shit or other to do with P Diddy. Um is he even a thing anymore? I love how this show tries to name check with like F listers. Last year it was Billy Joel's daughter, now P Diddy. Whos next, Eric Estrada? Well, anyway they head on upstairs and bitch ain't feeling the keyhole windows in the master bedroom and then in the bathroom the fixtures are falling off and the sink is chipping away to reveal...its not even real marble but some kind of veneer? Oh, hell no. Downstairs JSTA is bragging that he's Joey Michaelangelo since he built the joint. Well he general contracted anyway. Realtor breaks it down for them: no way you're getting that money for this house in this 'hood. And with no pool? Psssht. Clocks ticking on Melissa's great escape from Thereser-ville, but fuck if they're gonna sell at a loss. Me thinks they gonna remain close by neighbors with she-who-cant-be-named. At least for the rest of the season.

Finally! The bitch beat down we've been waiting for through all this other trifling mess: the Thereser and Dirty C lunch-off! Things start off excellently when Dirty C tells Thereser that she's here for JSTA and T rolls her eyes and says: well now he's scraping the bottom of the barrel. Dirty C says thanks and laces her fingers together presumably to keep from lacing them around Thereser's nipped and tucked throat. So right away Dirty C starts with the yelling and the outraged bugeyes and the wagging finger of holier-than-thou doom. Threser's having none of it; apologies all around from everyone to her and that's it. End of conversation. Dirty C digs in: its a sin! You have one brotha! I know everything! Obey me! Thereser shakes her head full of extensions and says NO. Dirty C knows she's beat but would never in a millennia cop to it, so she tells us, in that fucking smarmy, superior way, that now when she looks in Threser's eyes all the old sparkle and life are gone...so sad. You holier than thou old biddy...get the fuck over yourself. Score by my count: Thereser: 1 Dirty C a big, fat goose egg.

Back to stately Laurita Manor where the gangs all there for poker night. Well, the ladies are upstairs bitching and talking shit and DA MENS are downstairs playing poker. Oh, and Rosie...crickets...

Anyhoo...its just a card game until they start in on weepy Jac and - I warned you people - I'm going straight to FF on the remote. When next we pick up its back to the battle royal at the private room in the Ho-Ho-Hokus Inn. Not kidding; that's the name of the joint where spidery Dirty C has lured her prey Thereser to pontificate her into obedience. Oh, but before we leave LauritaVille the boys are pumping Rosie for all the salacious deets on the girl-on-girl action. For example Little Al wants to know: do you use a strap-on? Really Andy Cohen? For real? Rosie blusters that any bitch coming at her with a strap-on or that wants her ta strap-on can go fuck herself. Uh, yeah, Rosie-Osie that's the general mechanical idea. Plus, I'm pretty sure that Rosie's already got a bigger fucking dick than YOU, Little Al, Christopher with the IQ of a newt, and certainly the 'roid shrunk wonder boy himself, JSTA. Moronic knuckleheads.

The episode concludes back at the Ho-Ho-Kus Inn where Thereser just has finally, fucking given up and said whatever Dirty C wants to hear just to get the bitch to shut the fuck UP! You want me to talk to my brother? Yeah, yeah, I'll talk to my brother. But you better give that slut he's married to fair warning: I WANT AN APOLOGY FROM HER! As if that's ever going to happen. But Dirty C agrees that, yes, all of Thereser's demands will be met, just so long as I can say I WIN! I SAVED THE WORLD FROM THE GORGA/GUIDICE APOCALYPSE. Or some such shit. We close out with a shot of Dirty C, now alone in the private Ho-Ho-Kus dining room, slumped at her table in righteous exhaustion intoning that "she needs a drink." YOU? Bitch, please.

Bravo's Long Island Princesses: Oy, Can We Tawk?

So, Bravo launched a new "lets follow the lives of the gaudily rich" franchise last Sunday called Long Island Princesses. I watched. I did NOT qvell. The young ladies in this show make the actresses in any given SyFy Channel original movie (e.g., Sharktopus, Piranhaconda) look like Meryl Streep. Surriously. Now I know that we're supposed to watch these Bravo "reality" shows with the belief that they are real-time, as-they're-happening moments in the lives of whatever subculture world in which the show has immersed us. But the truth is that much of what passes for "real-time" is staged by the show's producers and at least in part, scripted. For the sake of the healthy continuation of the species let's all pray that my last statement is true, because what I saw on Long Island Princesses, if real and left to procreate, will END HUMANITY AS WE KNOW IT!

For starters I can't recall exactly how many princesses there were? I want to say five, but they all blended together into a singular whiny blur so I can't be sure that it was five. It could have been four, it could have been six. Suffice it to say there were a few...yeah, let's go with that. They are all, by their own to-the-camera admission either approaching or have already achieved, old maid-dom. The oldest is about to celebrate her 30th birthday so I'm guessing for her the shroud fittings are looming. Anyway, they all still live at home with their parents and one of them, Chanel (yes, that is actually her name and I will argue that being saddled with Chanel for a first name gave her no chance to become anything other than the little Jewish American Princess that she is). Anyway, Chanel, we learn, is being thrust into the maximally humiliating situation of having to help plan the wedding of her...YOUNGER SISTER! Dum, dum, dum....Oy the tsuris, such a shanda! But she stoically soldiers on, gigantic wineglass in hand, as her mother solicits her opinion on invitation colors: "Go with the eggshell? The ecru? The cream?" I'm already exhausted and the show isn't even 15 minutes in.

We next hook up with some little munchkin named Ashlee who is having a mani-pedi with her...Dad. Yep, Daddy and Ash pull up to the nail salon in his black Mercedes and proceed inside where Ash can't decide on a color and leaves it up to Daddy. Again, I'm already exhausted watching this crap. Ashlee, seated in the cushy pedicure lounger, tells us that she is about to turn 30, is 4'9" and does not own a pair of flat shoes. She has heels for every imaginable occasion and asks the bewildered nail salon employee if the pedicure flip flops come in heels. Ash can't wear flats, as in can't...wear...flats. Ever. Even, as it turns out to exit the nail salon. She has her father roll her in a rolling office chair, feet up so as not to spoil her new pedicure, to the salon's front door where then they BOTH proceed to request that the salon owner (a man) CARRY HER ON HIS BACK across the blacktop to the front seat of Daddy's Mercedes. How you must be asking yourself, did I not turn this drek off at this point. I really can't answer that, I just don't know. Ashlee is kinda panicked about her upcoming 30th b-day party wherein 200 of her closest friends are coming by for the bash that she has planned for herself.

Next we see Ash, safely ensconced in a fabulous pair of rhinestone-encrusted HEELS, driving, in the rain, through a middle class bedroom community in her BMW on her cell to her mother expressing her deep sadness that people have to live like this. She tells Mom that she might just have to cry. See, now here's where Bravo tipped it's hand re: the scripting of this nutso crap. I choose to believe, call me a cockeyed optimist, that NOBODY and I mean NOBODY alive is like this Ashlee character. I have to believe that folks, I just have to. Ashlee is stuck driving through this single-family home netherworld of not McMansions, to pick up her friend, a "south shore girl" Joey who lives on the Long Island Princesses' version of the wrong side of the tracks. Perfectly lovely LI, middle class neighborhood, but OK, whatevs. They are going shopping for the perfect dress for Ash to wear to her upcoming party. The rainstorm intensifies, thunder and lightning arrive and, by the time they reach the boutique, the power is out in the strip mall. OH NOOOOOOOOOOO!! Ashlee FREAKS OUT!! Which we will learn as the EP progresses is pretty much Ash's natural mental state. That is to say the bitch is fucking crazy. Well little Ash marches her ass up to the front door and knocks, expecting to rouse someone within the closed, darkened store. I mean, it's Ashlee; someone better fucking open up, she needs to shop and she needs to shop NOW. Amazingly there ARE two women in the store who tell the girls (two more of Ash's buds have magically appeared out of nowhere) that they lost power and can't let them in. Oh, HELL'S no. Ashlee, increasingly distraught, tells the storekeepers that she HAS to shop for this dress RIGHT NOW! Is there some kind of seizure malady that afflicts these bimbos whereby if they don't SHOP RIGHT NOW they start to vomit credit cards?

Amazingly they are admitted into the darkened store (I'm sure the Bravo film crew trailing them didn't hurt) with the proviso that no purchases can be made because, well, there's no fucking power. The girls power through the store, find at least a dozen potential outfits for the big day and just that quickly are gone again. Poof! Bye, bye Ashlee; bitch you not right. Now we meet Amanda Bertocini who is a LI Princess but is NOT a MOT (that's Member of the Tribe, folks). Amanda, at 26, is the youngest of the princesses and she lives in a typically garish McMansion with her plumped and surgically mummified mother, whose long, blonde hair and fake boobs belie the fact that she's probably pushing 50. Anyhoo, Mommy is way attached to Amanda and basically just wants to hang with her little girl all the time. Amanda's having none of it because she is all in love with her SOULMATE, who she met on the train and who is 12 years her senior: Jeff! Jeff is clearly gay, but Amanda is sure he's THE ONE. I'm sure he is honey, just not for you. Anyway, Amanda loves being the pampered, much younger girlfriend and, even though she is sans rock, she's sure they're headed for the altar. Poor thing; she's just a little simpleton. Jeff LOVES to go shopping with Amanda and her Mom and they do just that, head to Roosevelt Field Mall to search for the perfect bathing suit for Amanda to wear to the upcoming pool party at Erica's. Mom and Amanda prance and twirl in increasingly tiny bathing suits for Jeff's approval in what is a pretty creepy segment inside of a wholly creepy show. I don't know which is worse: that Amanda and her Mom are vying for a gay man's approval of their (not so great?) bodies or that I'm watching this feeling like a shower is forthcoming.

We meet Erica, who is an incipient alcoholic, and by her own and the others' admission, the true party girl of this crowd. Erica also lives at home with her parents in another in a series of forgettable, gigantic mansions on Long Island's north shore. Erica's actually kind of boring so I don't remember a whole lot about her segment except she does alot of sunning at the pool and drinking wine from glasses that appear to have been swiped from the set of Cougar Town. Oh, did I mention that, except for bad side of the tracks Joey, not one of these sorry bitches holds a job? Well, Erica has a pool party and some man-candy, athletic types that nobody in this crowd would remotely consider dating, are invited as guest fodder, all the girls, of course, and some random friends of friends show up. Typical Bravo social gathering, lots of drinking blah, blah, blah while the camera pans across the crowd. People jump in the pool, get thrown in the pool and otherwise do what pool partiers do. Then the scripted dramah begins as a (supposedly) very drunk friend of a friend begins to harass gay Jeff. Some trifle about Facebook and stalking and Oh, hey, Amanda? Did you know your boyfriend's, um, GAY? Amanda FREAKS OUT and starts to scream at the drunk girl to get AWAY FROM HER MAN and then lots of accusations are flung around and Jeff, hon, please stop trying to deflect the attention from your gay self...your hysterical shouting and frantic hand gestures, I gotta tell you, are NOT helping your case,babe. Hilariously, as the episode ends, little high-heel clad Ashlee is seen crying into her cell, to her MOM, telling her "I'm scared!"

So, I'm thinking I'll give this shit show another week to get me hooked and then I'm gonna bail because this crap is lousy even for Bravo. And I sat through every episode of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo so I know from lousy crap.

George R.R. Martin AKA Jeff Albertson

"Worst creepshow EVER!"

It hit me recently that George R. R. Martin, the super dweeby old man behind the Game of Thrones franchise is basically Comic Book Guy (Jeff Albertson) from The Simpsons. And before any fanboys or girls out there get all outraged on me, I've read the series, I'm not taking this position as some kind of an outsider. I've been to Westeros, I know a smidgen of Dothraki, I'm HIP, people. And I've come to realize that GRR Martin is a skeevy old perv with a penchant for uber-gruesome violence. Basically your awkward loner on a fast track to Saw-ville. It's really only a quirk of luck that his books have been turned into a glossy, high-production cable series with feature film production values and tons and tons of HBO money being thrown at it to keep it that way. Because I gotta say, from what I've read in those books, it could just as easily have become The Medieval Times meets Freddy Kruger. Come to think of it GRR Martin himself was probably kind of Freddy Kruger-y growing up. He was the guy with the bad skin, overweight, didn't bathe all that frequently and tried to talk to girls by staring at them in homeroom. He was also brilliant, and spent his free time weaving fantastical worlds from his overstimulated imagination. Worlds where young women were either evil queens or ripe, innocent girl/women needing to be rescued. Or lush whores who lived only to service the brilliant but misshapen and misunderstood dwarf. In pictures of a young GRR Martin we see the guy who spent all the money he earned to attend fantasy and sci-fi conventions where he could finally, FINALLY confab with the other awkward folks with big imaginations who also wove stories and worlds alone in their bedrooms. Hell, at least they found each other; good on them!

I watched Game of Thrones on HBO for the first season and then I gave up. The stories rely far too much on gory, punishing violence that was bad enough on the written page but, knowing myself, would have been intolerable to view. Because I am someone who can't shake violent imagery; it keeps swimming back up in my mind like poor Big Pussy in The Sopranos. All those axes and arrows and arrows tipped with the Westeros version of napalm, and the hacking and hanging and swords chopping off heads. Feh! So I quit watching after Season One. But now, I read that they've aired the episode that everyone is calling The Red Wedding and reviewers and recappers alike are dubbing it likely to be the most violent, gruesome action to ever be shown on TV. I remember reading that passage in the book and thinking that I would NEVER want to see that brought to dramatic life. And boy, for the folks who had not read the novel before last Sunday's episode, I'm guessing there isn't enough Xanax on the planet to scour that shit out of your head. Which brings me back to GRR Martin as The Comic Book Guy; WHO THINKS UP SHIT LIKE THAT? Lonely weirdos, that's who. Weirdos who have had years of weirdoness to hone their spite for those they perceive to be their tormentors into a razor sharpness that spills out onto the page as something like the scene of The Red Wedding. And for those of you still reading (and watching) who haven't read the novels, I gotta tell you..it gets worse, folks. Way worse.

So where am I going with this? Well, I guess my point in putting these thoughts down is that sometimes we crave escaping into an imaginary world where the words, the deeds, the very physical reality bears no resemblance to our known life. I can dig that, I really can. But the problem I have is that shows like Game of Thrones, I think, kind of desensitize us to violence exactly BECAUSE it is happening in a world of conjured, hyperactive imagination. I'm not such a curmudgeon that I can't accept some garden variety violence on screen in service to a story or the progression of a character. I think The Sopranos is the best television show that's ever aired. But the whole torture porn vibe of Game of Thrones is actually masquerading as high-brow, literary episodic television and I just can't buy it. The Wire had violence, but the show was a brilliant, varied landscape, each season focused on a different element of a single American city (Baltimore), that when viewed as whole cloth at the end of the series, had given us the story of an American urban world. Each facet of that world was examined and then fitted in, like a puzzle piece, to it's rightful place in the picture. And it was done with such brilliance and pathos and guts and overarching sense of integrity, that I often found myself wholly lost in the narrative of the episode, or the season. And there was violence; it was a story taking place in a ghettoized American urban landscape, so, yeah, there was plenty of violence. But it didn't have that gratuitous focus on "how gory can we make these before the network says 'too much'" It wasn't violence for the sake of violence, but rather as an organic element supporting the wider narrative construct.

I'm sure that Game of Thrones will go on to win more Emmys and/or Golden Globes and I believe that parts of it do deserve the accolades that are coming it's way. Certainly from what I saw in Season One, Peter Dinklage absolutely earned his Best Actor Emmy. But as stories go, Game of Thrones is kind of a Big Mac. There's lots of stuff going on to distract us from the core truth that it's just alot of gloppy mess about a whole lot of nothing.

Hey, I know that this post was outside of the norm for The ABIB but sometimes I gotta get all serious on you just to see if anyone's actually paying attention. Oh, and one more thing:

Worst TV show review, EVER!

The ABIB Recaps: The Real Housewives of New Jersey Season Opener!

Hello everyone! Here we go again, back in Joisey, back for another round of Eyetalian on Eyetalian family love/hate, otherwise known as The Real Housewives of New Jersey, which The ABIB has to admit is her very favorite of the Real Housewives crap-o-rama franchise. Let's not delay, shall we, but jump right in. The season opens with camera-in-the-back-seat-of-various-SUVs-view of the effects of Superstorm Sandy on our characters' beloved Joisey Shore. The first voice we hear is that of A-Numero Uno Douchebag, Richie Wakile, who tells his wife in her shotgun seat, that he "can't believe that this is the United States". Yeah, cause we don't usually have weather, here, Rich. Dipshit. In the Gorga vehicle, our little stripper Melissa is all agog as they approach Chez Gorga At The Shore. For what its worth, their beach house is pretty much wrecked and the Bravo producers have helpfully edited in stills of what each devastated room used to look like. Sorry, I really can't get into this fake drama POV; these are SECOND VACATION homes, folks. There were others' primary residences that were swept out to sea. Muck and mold and general water rot damage everywhere, but, as they stand in water in what had been the front foyer, Joey "Still The Ape" Gorga wants his beloved wife to "flip the switch; let's see if the lights work". Luckily, for their kids, Melissa has the semblance of a fucking brain and tells him in no uncertain terms that it's probably kind of dangerous to try and turn on the electricity right now. Joey Still the Ape finds that pretty funny. But he's still working on being able to count his fingers and toes.

Juicy Joe and Tereser are also surveying the damage to their place, and Juicy Joe's even got some of his guido bagmen hard at work with their nail guns and drills. Actually using them for the purpose for which they were created. Bada Bing! Juicy Joe is waxing philosophic as he scans the storm's wrath, telling Tereser that they're all just, as that Kansas song says: "Dust in the Air". Yeah, Juicy Joe's still a few bricks shy of even a half load. We get Melissa's recap of the whole Superstorm and it's bad-assery in a nutshell when she tells us "Sandy is a bitch". Nicely said, Meliss; nicely said.

Back in North Joisey at the Guidice compound, Tereser has marshalled her little princesses to comb through their many belongings to pull together a collection for those families who have been impacted by Sandy and don't also live in North Caldwell or Franklin Lakes. Now, I am not one to criticize the notion of introducing your children to the idea of charity and helping others, but leave it to Tereser to fuck up an otherwise nearly fuck-up proof concept by telling us that she knows that the storm's survivors are going to need "glamorous things" and since they have SO MUCH MORE glamour than they can possibly use, why not share the wealth? As it were. Yeah, T, maybe those shimmery little wispy nothing cocktail dresses can get in line behind, um, food? Shelter? Potable water? Just a guess.

Jacqueline is already crying on camera about one of her kids. Constantly. Lord.

Rosie is still a monosyllabic blockhead. So.

You heard it here first: Caroline's hair is inexplicable. Last season, during her "I think I'm in menopause but not nearly old enough so let me get every quack test on earth" story line/mid-life crisis, she let it grow out which was not a good look for her...not a good look at all. Apparently this year's approach is to let it get even longer and then stop washing it altogether, which prompts me to rename her already. From here on out Caroline will be known in this blog as Dirty C. Dirty C's daughter Lauren's shirt announces in big, bold letters: "Bad Mood". Great. As Lauren is the corporeal embodiment of something like a Bad Mood, it's actually helpful truth in advertising for this pain-in-the-ass hoebag. We learn that Dirty C and Albert "The Boss" SR are testing the "downsizing" waters for a year by moving from their Franklin Lakes estate to an apartment in Hoboken. Hoboken, you may recall, is the 'hood where Dirty C's two worshipped sons live. When challenged by the always viciously jealous Bad Mood herself, Dirty C announces, in a huff, that she is in no way "stalking" her sons by moving directly into their neighborhood. Down the street. Dirty C is quickly becoming kinda skeevy, and is already a monumental jackass who, predictably, never fucking shuts up about it. Also, Dirty C is no longer satisfied with endlessly meddling in the lives of her three children, well, at least the boys', she clearly couldn't give a shit about Bad Mood.

In what's shaping up to be one of the creepiest storylines of ANY RH franchise, Dirty C has decided that she and Joey Still The Ape share a special bond and that she is going to focus on his problems because, of course, her superior meddling skillz are what he needs to fix any and all fucked-up family issues that have plagued him forever. Oh, and one other thing: she don't need no fucking Melissa mixing her wifely shit into their special relationship, so she asks Joey Still The Ape out for coffee. Alone. As she's telling Jacqueline of these plans and bragging about she feels so protective of this much younger, married man, and how, by the way, she knows EXACTLY how to fix the Gorga/Guidice problems once and for all, Jacqueline stares mutely at her sis-in-law and then addresses us directly. She tells us that she is SO OVER the whole Guidice/Gorga drama train and that at this point, for her, it's right up there with "bleaching her asshole". Hey, thanks for sharing that, babe. Now we all have to bleach our ears.

Back at the Guidice compound, the main storyline of the EP is brewing, namely a playdate for two eight-year-olds, Melissa's daughter and Tereser's daughter who have not seen each other for a year and have, apparently, been desperately pining for one another. Letter writing and all. Juicy Joe announces, when he hears of this incipient juvenile reconciliation, that Melissa is a "stank ass beyotch". Yay! Juicy Joe has not lost one iota of his classy edge...LUCKILY!

Later in the EP, as Melissa is preparing to bring her child together with her arch-nemesis, Joey Still the Ape takes the opportunity to tell her that Dirty C has invited him out for coffee. Alone. What the WHAT? Melissa looks at him as if he's grown a third eye in the middle of his Neanderthal forehead and asks: "She doesn't want me to come?" Joey Still The Ape verifies that, no, Dirty C just wants coffee with him. Melissa asks the camera why an older woman would ask a younger married man out for coffee and specify that his wife is most def NOT invited. Hmmm...really? But she's clearly pretty skeeved out and frankly, me too. Especially when Joey Still The Ape dreamily tells us how he feels a special bond with Dirty C, and that she's the older sister he never had. But JSTA: you do have an older sister with whom you, until recently, had a borderline incestuous relationship. Yeah...This. Is. GREAT! I predict that this new storyline is going to be fucking awesome!

So the playdate went forward, Tereser and Melissa circled each other politely but basically stayed out of each other's way. A minor skirmish ensued when it was discovered that each of their kids had some kind of critical Catholic coming-of-age ceremony on THE SAME DAY! Hackles were raised, the dead rose, the spectre of the Gorga 'rents having to decide which ceremony to attend was hinted at, and super-surprisingly it was Tereser who backed down and agreed to postpone her kid's thing and book another date. Of course, as they were all leaving the beading store (which is where the play date from hell was hosted), we hear Tereser assassinating her sister-in-law with her typical venom. Ah, the RHONJ shit is like none other!

So there you have it. We got some previews of the season to end the EP: your standard Joe on Joe righteous pounding, some Melissa begging dramatically at Tereser's feet for peace from hostilities, and implied marital woes for both Kathy and Dirty C thrown in for good measure. Oh, and the requisite, annual Senior Gorga health crisis allusion. Shortness of breath? Chest pain? Too much rigatoni? Also, can I say that I'm loving that we now have subtitles? Stay tuned.

Coming June 2: Recaps of the New Season of the Real Housewives of New Jersey!! Bada Bing, Baby!

I'd have put up a countdown clock but that would just be sad.

Porsha is Purturd, Kandi's Prayed Up and Phaedra's Got a G-String Problem - Welcome to the Next RHOA Recap

So when we last checked in with the very classy ladies in Atlanta, Phaedra and Kenya were locking horns over the rights to the Best Booty Work Out Video that money could buy! And considering the size of both of their asses it was shaping up to be a very large, very bootylicious tangle. Of course, being that this is the Real Housewives of Atlanta, or anywhere for that matter, it was, in the words of Shakespere: All Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing. Really, ABIB? You're going to quote Shakespere up in here? But seriously, all it came down to was Kenya showing up at Nene's Shoedazzle shoe coming out party pretty much nekkid. She showed up in a replica of a seriously horrific bathing suit? stripper outfit? spring 2012 hooker ready-to-wear? that Phaedra wore at some point in this endless show's past that was constructed of black mesh and nothing else. Oh, wait! Kenya also had stuck a couple of butt pads on each of her ass cheeks to, I guess, emphasize her already out there ASSets. Whaddya think? OK, no more.

She sashayed into the Shoedazzle event with Miss Lawrence as her wing gal wearing nothing but the black mesh grocery store string bag and a gigantic, floppy hat. Word was that she was pretending to be Phaedra "I'm a Southern Belle; Brains, Booty and All Business" Parks in order to ironically spoof Phaedra's claim to be ASScendant (Really? No more?) in the Booty Brawl. Of course she ended up looking like an escaped mental patient in serious need of some boob tape, 'cause her girls were swingin' ya'll! But Kenya was not to be deterred by anything as incidental as side-boob exposure; she was there to show her outrage about Phaedra's back street whisperings regarding Kenya's alleged issues with the drank and bipolar tendencies. 'Cause you know, in addition to having the biggest ASS (or is it BEING the biggest ass) in Atlanta and never, ever shutting the fuck up about it, Phaedra is also now an expert on diagnosing mental health issues amongst her peers. Kenya sat her butt-padded, bare ass down (let's hope the Shoedazzle folks paid for some serious clean up following this event) and proceeded to issue proclamations of "SHAME ON YOU, PHAEDRA! SHAME ON YOU!" Phaedra, throughout Kenya's tirade of SHAME! continued to insist that she had said nothing behind Kenya's back (basically that she is a mentally unstable alcoholic) that she had not said to her face. At this I have to say that, considering what a terrible person Phaedra is, the bitch was probably speaking the truth.

But after the Shoedazzle Showdown we blessedly have not heard any more about booties or videos or nothing related. And let's hope that continues, but I know it won't simply because her giant ass is the only thing that Phaedra Parks has to talk about and the season's barely half over.

Next we learn that Cynthia, in order to raise awareness of her Bailey Modeling Agency and hopefully sucker some mothers into signing their kids up for modeling school, is throwing a beauty pageant for young women, who are, I want to say somewhere between birth and 25? Anyway, Cynthia has hired the best pageant thrower in the South, and I swear it was Karen Walker's arch nemesis, Beverly Leslie! He was there to get Cynthia into the spirit of pageanting! Big halls! Gigantic Sparkly Tiaras! Sashes! Yeah, so there was that. Cynthia, because the Bravo producers wrote it that way, has asked Porsha to help her in this new endeavor because Porsha brings with her some kind of imprimatur of some kind of A-List Atlanta family and Cynthia needs all the publicity she can get. Problem is that Porsha doesn't want to really do anything, because frankly she doesn't know HOW to do anything except be Cordell Stewart's child-wife. Super icky. But wait! There IS something that Porsha wants to do for Cynthia's wonder pageant besides add her family's esteemed name to the proceedings: she wants to SING! According to Porsha she's got a voice that's a Mary J. Blige, Beyonce, and Rhianna congloberation. No folks, that is not a typo; Porsha's voice is, by her own description, a CONGLOBERATION of those amazing singers. Why she isn't already signed to a major label with that kind of vocal power is an affront to music, I'd say. A CONGLOBERATION. 'Nuff said. Cynthia is skeptical but agrees; if that's what it takes to get Porsha to show up, well, hell, she can do a number. Unfortunately when Cynthia asks Porsha to do an ad-hoc demonstration of these monster pipes, our girl clams up. She's got a scratchy throat right now, but def another time! Yeah; we hear you Mar-Once-Anna; we hear you. Cynthia ends up dismissing her ass from the proceedings once she realizes that, not only is Porsha not going to sing (because, as we finally hear, she CAN'T sing) but Porsha is unable or unwilling, or both, to actually DO ANYTHING to help Cynthia and her pageant. At this turn of events Porsha tells the camera that she is "very PURTURD at Cynthia; very, very PURTURD." Yeah, the turd part's about right, hon.

Next we turn to Kandi who is back in the studio after a many month hiatus based on LOVE and MOVING INTO HER NEW CRIB and LOVE. But anyway, she's back and ready to record a, drum-roll please: Gospel Track! Say what? You gonna push that EP on the Kandi-Koated Nights Sexy Talk podcast or on the Bedroom Kandi Sexy Toy webstore? 'Cause girl, you know what? You a SEX TOY entrepreneur now and gospel music doesn't really fit the Bedroom-Kandi-Koated brand. Bedroom-Kandi-Koated Prayer? Bedroom-Kandi-Koated Heaven? Anyway, she's getting ready to record a gospel track she wrote and is all kinda excited that some gospel singer that I guarantee NOBODY watching the show has ever heard of, has agreed to record with her. Bully, babe; but you know what? YOU'RE A SEX TOY ENTREPRENEUR! Kandi, being the savvy business woman that she is, quickly assures the viewers that her shit is seriously popular amongst the churchy crowd. Yes, brothas and sistas: she has sold OUT of certain, shall we say, intimate appliances, to the wives of deacons and bishops and whatnot. So, yeah, bitches; if Kandi wants to sing gospel and shill dildos well, I guess she's preaching to the choir, as it were. So we get to hear the scratch recording of Kandi's gospel sound and see her Dad, with whom she's had a somewhat distant relationship since her folks divorced when she was very young, get all teary-eyed listening to his SEX TOY ENTREPRENEUR daughter sing about her spayshal relationship to the lord. Daddy wipes his eyes and tells her that her Grandfather, who was a Bishop at "The Holiness Church" is smiling in his grave. Smiling in his grave. Really, Daddy? That's super, super creepy and frankly kinda scary. Next from Bravo: "The Real Zombies of Atlanta".

Moving on to lunch with Porsha and HER Daddy. Oh, wait; that's Cordell, her husband; I keep forgetting since he orders her food and tells the waiter to "bring her a wine" even though Porsha has just ordered herself a Sprite. Porsha and her Daddy/Husband are disagreeing about the baby that she wants to have because obviously Creepy Ass Cordell wants to make his young wife a prisoner (earlier we saw her tell Cynthia that she and the "Bailey Boys" couldn't come to Chez Stewart because Cordell has to meet in person and approve anyone who sets foot in their home and he's out of town. Shortly thereafter she proceeded, on camera, to check in with her jailer, er, husband, by phone and assure him that nobody is about to set foot in their place). Porsha wants to hire a Nanny once the baby is born but Cordell won't hear of it, citing her request as proof that she is clearly not ready to be a mother because as we all know, once you have a baby that's it, bitch. Every diaper, every meal, every bath, everyTHING that has to do with that kid is YOUR JOB! I'm watching this and vocally advising Porsha to RUN, BITCH, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

Finally it's the day of Cynthia's pageant which now has an official name: The Bailey Agency Renaissance Pageant 2012. All the signage displays a gigantic photo of Cynthia so I'm wondering if she's already just gone ahead and named herself the winner in advance. In spite of their troubled past, Cynthia has invited Kenya to be a judge at her pageant and Kenya shows up, decked to the nines, in her Miss USA sash, doing the slow pageant wave and making like this is actually all for her benefit. Bitch, take a seat. Cynthia is all kinds of excited because she has gotten a super-famous actor to serve as her MC: none other than Boris Kudjoe. Um, who the fuck is Boris Kudjoe? I actually had to Google him and, no surprise, he's kind of a washed up ex-model, and bit part actor. Good looking though, but totally fucks up anything he's tasked with doing as the pageant MC. Like reading. Or saying the correct names as the young girls strut the catwalk. Awkward. Well, they muddle through and announce the winner and she FREAKS OUT and the camera cuts to Kenya and she looks really sad which is really...sad. Poor Kenya, her Miss USA sash isn't even visible on camera at her hidden judge's seat. But she puts on a brave face and everyone crowds around Cynthia, even old-ass Uncle Ben, and congratulates her on pulling off the pageant. And, hey, what a surprise: Phaedra manages to get in yet another in a seemingly endless string of references to HER OWN ASS, when she complains that her G-string is biting her in the booty. STFU, Phaedra. Just PLEASE S.T.F.U. already.

So next week we see the girls are getting ready to head out to visit Nene in LA and then on to Las Vegas. Should be good; Bravo found the one place on earth even more garish than these ladies themselves: Las Fucking Vegas. Bring it! And leave it to my girl Nene to close the EP with one of her signature quips: "These girls better not come out to Los Angeles and show their asses. That would be a problem for me." Sorry, Nenes but that's exactly what we're all hoping for. See you next week!

The End of January and it's Cold! What a Concept!

So, as Baltimore appears in The ABIB's name, and it's preceded by the word "in", dear readers you must know by now that I live in Baltimore. Baltimore is in Maryland and Maryland is in the mid-Atlantic region of the U.S. which is in the Temperate Zone of our great planet. Just to be sure that everyone reading this knows what that means:

Temperate Zone
noun Geography
The part of the earth surface lying between the Tropic of Cancer and the Arctic Circle in the Northern Hemisphere or between the Tropic of Capricorn and the Antarctic Circle in the Southern Hemisphere and characterized by having a climate that is warm in the summer, cold in the winter, and moderate in the spring and fall.

Without going all Bill Nye on you, let me draw your attention to the last sentence in that short description above. "Warm in the summer, cold in the winter and moderate in the spring and fall". Warm in summer: check! The heat in this bitch gets downright face-melting between May or June and the end of September at the earliest. Moderate in spring and fall: check! Mostly. Finally, cold in winter: check! Just in case you need to repeat that to yourselves the word is COLD. It's the end of January and guess what? It's fucking COLD outside EXACTLY LIKE IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE! If I have to hear one more fucking person, be it some chipper little weather forecaster or any number of moronic coworkers complain about the COLD in JANUARY I'm going to flip my shit. What's the problem, people? Don't you get enough sweaty-ass weather from roughly April through the middle of October? Isn't it enough for you to have those WONDERFULLY BALMY December days when it's a freakish 60 degrees outside? You greedy-ass schmucks better shut the fuck up when, at the bitter end of January, it finally actually FEELS LIKE WINTER OUTSIDE!

The ABIB, as you may have guessed, is a cold weather aficionado. Hell, I straight up love the stuff. All bundled up in my big, fluffy hoodie and slippers, sipping a warm cup of something, my fat ass on the couch watching my favorite show. Because you know what? If you're cold you can ALWAYS put on another layer and surprise: GET WARMER! But when it's 95 in the shade with a humidity level just shy of the Black Hole of Calcutta, you can't get any less dressed than naked and frankly nobody needs to see that shit walking around. Ever. But it's like, around here people forget that winter is SUPPOSED to happen, that it's the natural progress of things, that cold temperatures mean that the Earth is still spinning and we're not getting ready to begin boiling the oceans. At least not just yet, anyway. So I have to assume that those people who act like it's a big surprise when the temperature falls to NORMAL levels deep in winter are very confused. And if they're confused about something as straightforward and repeatable as the seasons, what other scary-ass things are they confused about? Things that have the potential to affect ME? Picture, if you will, these confused scenarios:

Bus Driver: HEY! The air feels cold today! That sucks and I don't like it and it's not supposed to be cold out because, well, because I don't like it. What's this? Am I supposed to sit up in here and drive this thing? Is it supposed to pick people up or...hit them? This is a real head-scratcher. I'll just start driving and see if it comes to me.

Grocery Store Meat Department Worker: HEY! It's cold outside and the weatherman said that since it's the end of January it's going to keep up like this for...A FEW DAYS! I'm confused about that; why is it cold out? I don't like it! Hey, what's this package of chicken doing here next to a bottle of bleach and some laundry soap? Hmmm...maybe I'm supposed to pour the bleach and soap OVER the chicken and wrap it back up. Yeah, that must be it!

Bank Clerk: HEY! This cold weather is really getting on my nerves; what's up with that? Why isn't it 70 outside so I can wear shorts and flip flops like I want to. Hmmm...am I supposed to clear out this account for Ms. ABIB? what's this button do? Wow...all the numbers just went away; is that a good thing or a bad thing? Who knows? I'm confused.

I think you get my drift. The imbecilic preoccupation with whining about why it's actually cold in January is a clear indication that, as usual, I'm surrounded by morons who don't know their ass from a hole in the ground. I'm going to try and help them out here. That big, bright object in the sky is called the Sun; it's a giant fiery ball of gas. The place where YOU live is called Earth. The Earth floats around the Sun and it takes a whole year! Sometimes the Earth is closer to the Sun, which - remember, now - is made of FIRE, and when the Earth is closer to the FIRE it feels hotter outside. But later on in the year, when the Earth is farther from the Sun and the FIRE, it's colder outside. Get it? I imagine lots of empty, drooling, confused faces right about now who are looking up wonderingly asking themselves:

Hey! What's that white stuff that's dropping from the sky? Ooooo...is it cotton candy?