RHONJ This Week: Fan Boats, Gators and Man Bitches Hiding In Bathrooms

Yeah, but still no I-Slept-With-My-Mother-In-Law-Gate. I figure at this point Bravo's just fucking with us and they'll air it sometime around next Easter. Whatever...I've given up caring. EXCEPT I HAVEN'T, YOU FUCKERS AT BRAVO! Again with the end teaser trailer previewing next week and offering the false promise of a I-Fucked-My-Mother-In-Law-Gate-A-Palooza. Only difference being is that in this trailer we actually hear Asshole From Outer Space, Jim, shout the words "HE SLEPT WITH YOUR MOTHER!" So...maybe...NO! I refuse to be duped by Bravo for a third straight week. Christ ABIB, its not like you're going to stop watching. Truth.

So we rejoin the girls chilling in Boca, hanging out at a reptile ranch and falling in love with a baby gator born with no tail. Dina especially, she of the hairless cat and dog with no front legs, is charmed, crooning that she wants to take the little fella home. Until she remembers that he'll eventually eat her and her other pets. Not to mention a likely revenge-fueled rampage through her DSW sized shoe collection some of which HAVE to have originally been one reptile or another. Yeah, so no little tail-less alligator. Next the girls hop onto two fanboats for a fast trip through the swampy Everglades to spot some real gators in the wild. which they do and its kind of boring, frankly. They're just gators, in a swamp, floating. ZZZZZZZZZZZ The girls seem to like it though, screaming and waving their arms as another lackey shuttles them around and basically becomes a water taxi. At this point I'm pretty sure that these girls are always totally hammered, so even a bug-laden swamp is fun, fun, FUN cause they're drunk!

Back in Jersey the families Guidice and Wakile are loading up on fambly time, T, JJ and their girls over at JJ's bro's house, and the Wakiles over at Kathy's place listening to Rosie the Rivet Head prattle on and on about how she and Ellen broke up and she's sure that there's someone out there for her. Someone like her own mother, she pines, who is always at her side no matter what. The sentiment is kind of sweet until you realize that she's pairing the concept of her loyal mother and a future sexual partner/wife. Theeeennnnn it gets a little creepy. Even Rosie realizes what she's saying and laughs uncomfortably. Yeah, Rosie, we're right there with you. Let's not rule out nervous laughter, said Rachel Green, better than anyone ever. Everyone at the Guidice dinner table is crying, like every week someone is crying this season and this week it's JJ, his mother, T, JJ's old Dad, JJ's brotha...fuck it: everyone at the table is crying over all the sentimental crap everyone is intoning. Weekly lectures this season about IMPORTANT TOPICS! FORGIVENESS! DEVOTION TO FAMILY! VALUING WHATS IMPORTANT! OFFSHORE ACCOUNTS! GETTING A BETTER FUCKING CPA! Stuff like that. Also, we get another tearful visit to the Laurita's with Jacqueline-san and her crying over the kid. Oy, is this going to become a weekly event? Seriously? Who gives a shit? Sorry, I might be the only one here, but Jacqueline Laurita annoys the crap out of me.

Back in Boca shits starting to get real with the arrival of Amber and Asshole From Outer Space, jim. Either Jim's a really stupid,mean drunk or his role is scripted to the point of him nearly looking into the camera and twirling his mustache ala Snidely Whiplash. I mean, who talks like that? As soon as he and Amber sit down he starts to pick a fight with Nicole's boyfriend and Jim's ex-BFF, Bobbie. Bobbie listens for a hot second and then runs upstairs and locks himself in the bathroom after accusing Nicole, who in her 12-inch Jimmy Choos, is hobbling after him as fast as her wobbly legs will carry her. "You're so stupid!" Bobbie yells at Nicole who is quickly losing ground on him. He repeats that Mean Girl line about three more times and then locks himself in the bathroom. Yeah, I wondered the same thing, too: what grown man locks himself in the bathroom? Whatever, it prompts a rapid acceleration of the drama downstairs as one-by-one, starting with Amber all the girls run to the kitchen and start to cry. This mayhem makes zero sense even for a Bravo RH franchise so I figure it's very badly edited or the producers are just getting lazy with the scripts. Probably both. Soon Amber's crying, Nicole's crying, Jim's still cussing out every dude in the room, which at this point is only Joey The Ape. Melissa is shaking her head and looking distraught, running between the tear frenzy in the kitchen and JTA's side on the couch. Jim still won't shut up. That's what its like when you're an Asshole From Outer Space, the rules of our world just don't apply. Dina is trying to Namaste the hell out of Amber who WON'T STOP CRYING EVEN THOUGH THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HER. Amber and Jim def deserve each other. Meanwhile, as the episode draws to a close Jim is heard dissing ex bestie Bobbie with tales of his cheating by way of a condo he maintains with a ho on the side. THE ENTIRE TIME HE'S BEEN DATING NICOLE! She won't hear of it and TeRESSa jumps into protective twin mode, vowing in her talking head confessional: "You mess with my sister you mess with me! You hurt my family, I hurt you!" All we need is Kathy's canollis and Don Corleone and it's a wrap.

Joey the Ape weighs in by calling Jim a bitch. Good one JTA, pretty articulate of you. At this point in the show I was struck by the audacity of men who are wholly supported by their wives' participation in this three ring circus using derogatory terms for females to insult their fellow freeloading husbands/boyfriends. Pretty ironic, dontchathink? So the episode ends with Asshole from Outer Space Jim drunkenly crashing into a glass table on his way out to the pool to continue in his harangue of Bobbie who has finally emerged from the powder room, apparently having regained his composure. So there you have it, next week promises to continue the Brawl in Boca and I'm pretty sure that Rino's gonna convieniently show up just in time for the big I-Fucked-My-Mother-in-Law-Gate...not that I'm getting my hopes up; Bravo is a fickle, fickle temptress.

Oh Honey Boo Boo, Honey, Honey Boo Boo

Uncharacteristically slow on the uptake here, The ABIB is (SHOCKINGLY) just now reporting on the break up of the...what was it exactly...marriage? committment arrangement? shack-up-tials?...lets just say union, of Mama June and Sugar Bear, they the parents of the titled progency HBB herself. Accused of trolling for hook-ups on various dating services (which he vehemently denies) Sugar Bear has been summarily dumped by big, 'ol Mama June who's in the process of looking for a new big 'ol house for her brood sans SB and closer to her fambly, wherever that may be. I picture them just like The Beverly Hillbillies, driving down the road in a ramshackle, old truck..."swimmin' pools, movie stars!" Hey June: I know of a $4M, 12,000 square foot white elephant up in New Jersey. Probably too cold up there for your normally shoeless feet (due to an unfortunate intersection between one of those said feet and a forklift). Not going there.

Certain wags have been heard to opine that this whole Mama June - Sugar Bear break-up is wholly concocted for ratings as the show is just now beginning it's third season on that stalwart of high brow programming: TLC. Yeah, brainiacs, we all figured that out, too. I caught Honey Boo Boo and Mama June on The Tonight Show recently and Jimmy Fallon gamely played along with the pair in spite of having to deal with a nine-year-old who has been raised in the freak show world of child beauty pageants followed by the super freak show world of broadcast reality TV. Oy. To say that shes badly behaved is kind of like saying that Mama June needs to lose a few pounds. Cue the inappropriate cheap joke at the expense of the fat lady effects. But seriously, how can this kid ever emerge from such an upbringing and lead a halfway normal life? It's been reported that HBB has left the world of pageants. Ya think?

A quick search reveals that this girl and her family have been photographed what appears to be 10 million times. HBB barefoot at the Quicky Mart, HBB walking down the street with a giant soda, Mama June's 2008 mug shot, Sugar Bear's undated mug shot...the list goes on and on. So it's no wonder that this little "Holla for a Dolla Honey Boo Boo" keeps being put out in front by her mother to shake that money-maker for the fambly. Anyway, back to the beginning: Mama June and Sugar Bear are, The ABIB believes, in the process of faking a "separation" to boost flagging ratings and extend HBB's 15 minutes of fame, which seem to have sadly expired. All that's left is an ever-growing HBB having to adjust to life as a mortal child. A fame target at six...washed up by nine...its all downhill from here.

RHONJ - Where's An Intracoastal Waterway Kraken When You Need One?

Welcome back to the ongoing saga of...what exactly? Overpaid buffoons making like they've got something of importance to say, when in reality they're just a bunch of...goombas. But I'll give it some more time because they keep teasing me with quick scenes from next week where the bozo boys get into it over The Gotti Rumor From Hell. But it turns out it's not fucking next week, its the WEEK AFTER NEXT. Those fuckers at Bravo better be careful with their endless teaser trailers because it's not like this is such a scintillating season and we're all gonna just hang around until they're ready to entertain us. Well, I am, of course, but I'm compulsive that way.

Anyhoo, Amber, as you might have guessed in spite of all the drama and dramatic editing:

"Yes, Amber, your blood work came back and it's...it's...." COMMERCIAL BREAK!

As if any fucking doctor talks that way. Christ folks, lets at least TRY to pull the wool over our eyes that this crazy fest is not TOTALLY scripted! So, as I was saying, as you might have guessed, Amber's blood work came back fine with no leftover "inconclusives" hanging over her Godiva-haired head. So, after shedding some much coached tears of joy, she and her lunatic husband Jim are off to Boca to hang with da goils and get all kinda crazy behind her good news health report. Good on you, Amber. I still think you're a mega annoyance. But that's just me...

Meanwhile in Boca we've got the twins, TeRESSa and Nicole, "I'm Hatin' On Her With A White Hot Intensity" Melissa the Gorgon, and my would be BFF, Dina. T politely declined wanting to stay back in Jersey with the fam, what with the federal indictments and all. Totes understand, babe. By the by, T is really all grown up this season, she's mature and together and just kinda chill. I'm waiting for the other Mahnolo to drop. This is our table-flipper after all.

The gals in Boca are cougaring it up with a Bravo-supplied pool boy whose only flaw, according to Nicole (or was it TeRESSa?) is that he's got nipple hair. Um, ewwww.. They find out ASAP that he's single which makes him perfect for our Dina who is also single and ready to mingle. But in her talking head confessional Dina tells us that she's not really into the whole cougar vibe...she's more into an older fella. Way to look out for that DSW sized shoe collection babe. That kind of purchasing fetish is not going to fund itself. My Dina's a smarty girl. After lazing at the pool and getting pretty hammered, and watching Melissa flaunt her, truth be told, pretty kick ass body after three kids, everyone decides that they're going to hang out tonight at the house, drink wine and make dinner togehter. Oh, and that flaunting I just mentioned? Melissa was cavorting, capering and otherwise jumping around like a grasshopper on acid, as boats motored by on what must be the Intracoastal Waterway. I kept chanting at the TV: just another couple of feet...just another couple of feet...I was totally pissed that she didn't fall in. Oh well, a bitch can hope.

Girls then went on over to the local supermarket to get all the fixings for their Eyetalian dinner in and honestly if those fucking twins said "WE NEED THE LONG HOT PEPPERS! YOU KNOW? THE LONG HOTS! YOU GOT ANY OF THOSE LONG HOT EYETALIAN PEPPERS? THE LONNNNNGGGG HOT ONES!" Of course just toting around an entire film crew wasn't attention grabbing enough. Even "I'm Hatin' On Her With A White Hot Intensity" Melissa The Gorgon, herself a shrill annoyance, was "SO OVER THEM!!" Yeah, Meliss, we know just how you feel..

There was one quick cut back to Joey the Ape "babysitting" the kids while Mom was whoring it up on the Intracoastal. Babysitting by Joey the Ape entails throwing his kids around...literally...and telling his seven year old daughter that he wasn't ready to "have The Talk" with her just yet. Oh, thank Christ, you moronic numbskull..SHE'S SEVEN!!! He also told us that once his daughter is old enough he's going to "break the Internet". Hmmmm....OK....presuming that your currrently seven year old daughter is going to become a porn addict is kinda creepy, no? But that's life with a man whose head is approximately the size of a billiard ball.

Okey dokey, following that throw away scene of mayhem we wind up WHERE??? In Casa Laurita with WHO???? Jacqueline and Kathy. What the What? Who the fuck invited them? True to her style, Kath's brought some calorie-laden, homemade goody for Jacqueline to sample. Delish, of course. Also? My prediction that Jac's love of plastic surgery has her on the fast track to becoming Big Ange is proving very insightful on behalf of The ABIB. In her talking head where Jacqueline is talking about...who the fuck knows..she's such a boring annoyance, plus I was transfixed by her ever-changing face which has now rendered her Asian. Fo rill, her eyes have been so pulled up that they have quite literally taken on the angle of Asian eyes. Anyway, Kath's come over to spill the news that she and Idiot In Chief Richie are building a new, BIGGER house in Franklin Lakes and that means she and the Lauritas are going to be neighbors! Kathy's evil plan to keep her grown kids at home forever (fuck, can you blame her, if they leave she's stuck with Idiot In Chief) is to build a house so huge that they each have their own WING! Yeah. Well, Jac's on the downsize train along with T and JJ, so Kathy's left out there in left field with her burgeoning new McMansion, which they visit even though its still just a shell and Jac's wearing 18 inch heels. Way to go ya fucking jackass.

We quickly rejoin the Boca Bitches and post-dinner they're outside just chillin' by "the tallest, skinniest palm tree" that Nicole or was it TeRESSa has ever seen. Then the producers get Dina all scripted out as she worries herself into a frenzy about how on earth she can keep this huge secret that T shared with her about how The Gotti Rumor From Hell is just too big to keep inside. Dina's determined to tell the secret but she can't tell, because...well, way back at the beginning of this post I told you all that Bravos got it on the tease for next week. For the last TWO weeks. So in the last 10 minutes of the show we're treated to Dina fretting should she tell, shouldn't she tell. She's been hinting at it since the bus ride in from the airport and the twins have openly stated that they don't wanna know. That don't matter because in the teaser we already know that Asshole From Outer Space Jim (of Jim and Amber) is going to shout out the news once the guys get there. Next week. Yeah, Bravo; fuck you!

So that's the latest except for T and her woes. I skipped over them cause frankly they're pretty boring. She's looking for a new, smaller house and JJ's in a suit. Nuff said. Stay tuned cause I'm pretty sure that this week's ep's gonna blow the lid on I Fucked My Monther-In-Law-Gate. Should be real, real, classy.

But Seriously Folks...

The insane asylum hothouse that is the Chicago improv "community" exists to perpetuate its own bloated self interest. It does this by huckstering multi-leveled "coursework" ostensibly aimed at creating armies of earnest improvisers poised to make their lives, and by extension, our world, a better place. In actuality what this pipeline churns out are armies of adherents willing to do nearly anything to be validated by their improv teachers and "coaches", themselves extensions of the organizations that sell the coursework. Any given cult or pyramid scheme uses methodologies to indoctrinate the faithful that bear striking resemblance to what passes for the advocacy of the group think of improv. Its all about the "yes, and"...or actually, “there’s a sucker born every minute”. Let me begin by painting a picture.

Eager Young Person: I want to be an improviser so I came to Chicago. I live in a crowded apartment with four other young wanna-be improvisers and we all work minimum wage jobs. Can you help me (insert here your choice: iO, The Annoyance, The Playground, Second City)?

Multimillion Dollar Improvisation Theater/School (again, insert your choice from the list above): Can we help you? Babe, you can’t get ANYWHERE in this town WITHOUT our help. You’ve come to the right place.

Eager Young Person: What do I need to do?

Multimillion Dollar Improvisation Theater/School: OK, first, give us several thousand dollars and all of your free time to take classes at our establishments that span several levels and many, many months, if not years. Following that, audition for one of our “teams” in a very competitive but essentially totally random selection process. You will be observed and your skills judged by (in one of our $$$$ “schools”) a shadowy organization made up of self-important douchebags who call themselves The Harold Commission. Let me repeat that: The Harold Commission. Commission. Yes, I know; try hard not to laugh at this level of outlandish pomposity. This holy order is named for "The Harold", the signature improv format that nobody outside of the insular world of improv has ever heard of. The Harold was invented by cult-founder-leader-for-eternity-self-proclaimed-warlock-and-clearly-certifiable-sadistic-maniac Del Close who, in the late 1950s, supposedly invented the cult...er, " art", of improv. I’m not going to go into his story so as not to rile up the pathetic faithful who continue to extol his superior vision all these years later. To improv purists Del Close is quite literally a god.

So, if you aren’t selected its because you did something wrong or otherwise missed the deep message embedded in the training you’ve just had, so clearly you need to go back to the beginning and start again. Come back for another audition in about 18 months, but of course, no promises. In the meantime max out your credit cards and, or, beg money from relatives to pay for this next round of “education” because, of course, by beginning again you have to pay the full fee. And you'll go on paying it until we deem you sufficiently "educated". Also, know that once you complete the first two or three levels that ensure that you’re adequately indoctrinated into our group think, cultish lifestyle, we’ll precipitously limit the the number of “students” that have to compete for a dwindling number of slots in our “courses” in order to complete the full roster of “training” that allows you to audition for a “team”. Oh, and sometimes those audition slots are limited to the point that online registration for an audition is filled in a matter of a few seconds. Have fun with that because that’s what the mind fuck of Chicago improv is all about. If your life is disrupted to the point that you have to take a day off work in order to be at your laptop when registration opens, oh well, that’s the improv life - a full-on commitment to playing by our random, ever-changing rules. You gotta want it! Plus, if it isn't obvious by now we really like to shake our dicks at all of you just because we can. That and we're awful, awful people.

Eager Young Person: OK, if I do that will I get on a “team” and be able to perform and use all the skills I’ve learned going through your course levels again? Will I be able to get on SNL then?

Multimillion Dollar Improvisation Theater/School: Not so fast. If you’ve set aside your ego sufficiently this time to be able to absorb the improv wisdom that has been presented to you in this second (or third, or fourth, or fifth) round of coursework (and we’ll be the sole judge of that), and you successfully pass the audition for a “team”, then you get to BE on the team, pay money to us each week for a team “coach”, and fork over the cost of our performance space when your team is on stage. You, of course, earn zero money for this activity; you’re just one of the lucky ones that gets to be in the position to pay US for the opportunity we’re offering you to get into the “group mind” of improv. Of course we sell the fuck out of tickets to those folks who come to see your team perform because, well, we set the rules, remember? Also, if you’re really, really lucky we’ll pick you to work for free selling tickets or tearing tickets or pouring beers because by volunteering your free time to work in a for-fucking-profit enterprise you show us just how much you WANT IT. Oh, did we tell you we’re building a new seven million dollar theater across town? Yeah, it’s good to be king. Or queen, as the case may be.

Eager Young Person: Where do I sign up? AKA, please, please love me.

And...scene. So if I told this story to a random group of people not brainwashed by the improv cult leaders that rule the improv roost in Chicago would any of them in their right mind choose to participate? Uh, just in case I have to spell it out for you...oh, hell no. However, what you read just now is exactly the way the world works in the factory farm environment that is Chicago improv. The difference being that it’s not cattle being sent down the chute to the slaughter, its young people from around the country who make the pilgrimage to Chicago because they saw a few episodes of Whose Line Is It Anyway? and expect that they’ll become the next in a supposedly long line of winners chosen by Lorne Michaels to join his SNL casts over the years. Reality being reality, a decent guess as to the chances of that happening, based on the number of young people paying to become an improv "star" versus the number of actual stars that have been made over the years is about 1 in 50,000. If the odds are even that good. For real.

So there you have it, folks. The dirty little secret that is the rigged game of the Chicago improv world. All the chips for all the prizes for all time are owned by the few at the top of the pyramid and paid for by the multitudes of slaves at the bottom of the pyramid. So, YOU! Yes, you, that slob in the flannel shirt, geek-chic glasses and dirty sneakers, shuffle on over here to Chi-town and take your place in the great factory that is Chicago improv. We guarantee you’ll be glad you did. And what were you going to do with that down payment cash anyway? That house will always be there and, after all, it’s just a house. We’re offering you the chance to create ART with a capital “A” because we’re all assholes with a capital “A” and we’re damn fucking proud of it.

Three Musketeers Mini Annoyed At Being The Last Candy Left in the Bowl - Again

Jill's Office, Andover, Massachusetts - A Three Musketeers Bite Size Mini was heard voicing its annoyance at once again being left as the last candy in the candy bowl on Jill's desk. Previously filled to the brim with mini Hershey bars, Kit Kats, Milky Way bars and Twix, the bowl was down to one lone bite size Three Musketeers.

"I don't get it. I'm chocolate inside, chocolate outside, light, airy and delicious. What the hell does Kit Kat have that I don't? So what if its crunchy; I'm fluffy! And don't even get me started on the Reese's. Peanut butter? Please."

Jill's candy bowl is a well-known office hangout for co-workers needing a mid or late afternoon sugar fix. People have been known to openly pick through the Three Musketeers to get to a Hershey's kiss buried at the bottom of the glass bowl. Overheard recently when encountering the last Three Musketeers, two co-workers conjectured on what might be in the vending machine down on five, baldly voicing their disdain for the Three Musketeers as "nothing but corn syrup and air; its not even candy, really". They left the mini alone in the bowl and were heard to be pooling their change to buy a bag of Skittles.

"That was the low point for me," the mini Three Musketeers grumbled, "I mean what does a candy have to do to be picked? A song and dance routine? I'm silver, red, white and blue for Christ sake! My Truffle Crisp even says "New" on the front! Jill's gonna come in here soon and dump in a whole new bag of the glitterati and there I'll be...back at the bottom again. So unfair."

When last heard from the bite sized Three Musketeers was plotting to unwrap itself in a desperate bid to be noticed. Chuckling at the top of the pile were a mini bag of Reese's Pieces and two Rolos.

"Loser."

Local Woman Admits to Having Problem With Overuse of Enthusiastic Punctuation

Rachel Williamson of Edina took the first steps toward recovery today when she resisted the urge to add an exclamation point to the end of her email to several colleagues at the accounting firm where she is a group level administrative assistant.

“I’ve known for some time that I have a problem,” Rachel quietly admitted, “it’s something that, up until now, I’ve been unable, or maybe unwilling, to control. It’s just so easy to be that cheerful, ebullient enthusiastic person when you’ve got the exclamation point crutch. I finally had to admit to the problem when the exclamation points started to creep into my Word documents, titles on Excel spreadsheets…even my text messages…I’m so ashamed.” Ironically described as “quiet” by her coworkers and friends, Rachel admits that her addiction has been an uphill battle.

“It’s so easy to be that jaunty, bubbly person when you’re hiding behind an exclamation point.”

It was a polite but direct email reply from her manager requesting that she “tone it down in her emails” that was the first clue to Rachel that she had to take action.

“I have to say that at first I was hurt when I got Ed’s email. I mean, I’m just trying to be cheerful and bright. But then I realized that Ed was right…it was just too much. I was practically shouting my cheerfulness to people. I mean who talks that way?”

Rachel’s next step was to discreetly reach out to fellow enthusiastic punctuation overusers in her office and form a self-help group. They meet once a week at lunch at a local Panera Bread.

“It’s loud enough in there that we can all really just be ourselves, really let our enthusiastic hair down and share.”

“We all knew we had a problem. I was grateful to Rachel for reaching out,” said Maggie, “I have a problem with both exclamation points and happy faces…well, actually all kinds of emoticons.”

Rachel admits that she’s still got a ways to go in her recovery.

“What with Instagram, Tumblr and Facebook, we enthusiastic punctuation overusers have a special challenge in fighting against the immediate gratification of adding those four…or Lord help me…even five or six, exclamation points to the end of a post or a Tweet…It’s a journey.”

RHONJ Shorthand Quickie Update

So, three weeks in what have you missed?

Lotta prayin' goin' on.

Lotta wondering from T: Why is this happening to us?

Lotta mail, mortgage and and wire fraud - that's why, moron.

A second Theresa who calls herself TeRESSa.

Her twin named Nicole who only needs oral sex and Dunkin' Donuts.

Amber who can't keep a secret and who is potentially the busiest busybody on a franchise dedicated to the nearly worshipful exposure of busybodies.

Her douchebag husband Michael who is a LAWya. And, like I said, a douchebag.

Oh, and Rino, TheRESSa's husband who, when they were divorced from being married the first time, slept with her mother. According to sometime-RHONJ-guest-star and full time buddy of T, Victoria Gotti. Yeah, THAT Gotti. Everyone now, sing with me: Mother in law....MOTHER IN LAW...Mother in law...MOTHER IN LAW...Oy, the ick factor could NOT be higher.

Blessedly precious little of blockhead-in-chief Richie Wakile. But Kathy still occasionally appears bearing canollis.

Also blessedly less of Rosie the Rivet Head, who, BTW, has a new girlfriend...good on you Rosie, now go away...just go away...

More to despise about Melissa the little asshat and her bullet-headed husband Joey the Ape: lying, throwing shade every-fucking-where, humble bragging about having to pay to fix her Bentley because "it was icy out that day...", bitching and moaning about the indignity of having to live in a downsized rental house while their new custom giganto mcmansion is being built, being concerned for T and JJ and their kids because of all the, you know, "legal stuff". You know that secretly she's just filled with evil glee that T, her sister-in-law-cum-nemesis, is now twisting in the wind. Melissa, I think I'll hate you most of all...

And last but not least, rather BEST: the triumphant return of Dina Manzo the gloriously delightful and refreshing voice of reason and sanity on an otherwise crackpot cast of 40-something juvenile delinquents. Dina, whose sister you may recall is the high and mighty mother to three empty headed ninnies, Caroline Manzo. Caroline, or Dirty C, as I like to think of her, is OFF THE PROGRAM!! She got a spin-off with her scrounging-for-IQ offspring so at least I don't have to put up with their dipshit nonsense on RHONJ. Lordy good riddance!

I will be picking up where this blog left off with weekly updates on the RHONJ and anything else that occurs to me that's worthy of a righteous rant. Until then I will return to lobbying Dina Manzo to be her new BFF, because she's here this season to bring the Zen. And because she has a whole room dedicated to her color-sorted shoe collection. Namaste, bitches!

RHOA Recap Dish Times Two!

ABIB here bringing you two weeks worth of Atlanta goodness. Our ladies have been busy bringing the drama, the crazy and in one uber-creepy case, the embalming fluid. One by one here we go:

Phaedra is giving her inarticulate blockhead of a husband, Apollo, the silent treatment for exchanging skeevy texts with Kenya and then lying about it. Also, her whole "Phaedra Queen of the Dead" shtick has taken on a whole new color as she's prepping, in Alabama for some inexplicable reason, for her mortuary license...or degree...or whatever they give to those fucking weirdos. In her talking head segments she's wearing an Elvira get up that would give the House of Usher the creeps. Basically I've never been able to stand Phaedra and now it seems that my aversion has been deserved. Phaedra's a bizarro and this season's favorite Phaedra word is "formaldehyde". Feh.

Nene is in re-jiggered newlywed bliss with Grigg and is basically taking every opportunity to remind us that she's still hanging by a thread to fame via her one remaining Ryan Murphy TV credit, Glee. But I love me some Nene, so she can prance around in her Manolos and platinum weave and just be her ghetto faboolus self. Big mwah to Neens.

Cynthia had fibroids and Uncle Ben was way concerned because that meant they weren't fucking anymore. That old, ugly-ass, good for nothing dick is a useless sack of shit. But Cynthia loves her old man and so she tells him that she's sorry he's had to endure her crabby moods and lack of desire to be fucked, but THATS what happens when you have a few cantaloupes fighting for space in your uterus. Fucking Uncle Ben. So she goes under the knife and he reminds her that he's gonna be looking forward to some good Uncle Ben sex ASAP. He tells her this in surgical recovery. I'm planning a Kickstarter page to raise money for a hit on Uncle Ben. Who's with me? Also, they actually try to make a storyline out of Cynthia's 13 year old daughter Noelle's new boyfriend, Arthur. Has the meet and greet with the 'rents and everything. Cynthia's life must be really boring right now if this qualifies as a story thread. Guess there's no G List Atlanta fashion shows to be produced by The Bailey Agency this year.

I won't even dignify the Porsha whine-a-thon with coverage except to say that Porsha is a spoiled BAP and her mother needs to immediately stop wearing sleeveless tops. Like fo rill, babe; with upper arms roughly the size of a missile silo bare is not a good look. Not. A. Good. Look.

Kenya is...Kenya. Which means shes embroiled in some trifling high drama bullshit with some landlord and well...yadda yadda yadda... Kenya's typical twirly-crazy-everyone's jealous of me-brand of certifiable gonzo bullshit. That plus she's talking about some mysterious African lover man who makes her feel like a queen. Yeah, K, that's why you're sexting with that blockhead, Apollo.

The winner so far this season for Top Crazytown Express has got to be Kandi and her Momma. Whoah! Kandi's Momma DO NOT like fiancee Todd nor Kandi's bestie and burns up ALL her screen time going all evil-eyed, "I'm gonna poison your food and work a root on your ass" whenever either of those two are in her presence. Kandi's at a loss because I get the impression that this batshit behavior is nothing new for her Momma Dearest. At the wedding dress store Momma gets to taking off her shoes and waving them around in a threatening, "I'm gonna fuck you up" kinda way at the girlfriend. Or wait...maybe Momma actually said "I'm gonna fuck you up" to the girlfriend. Either way I'm thinking Kandi's Momma should probs be tested for Alzheimer's or something. Also, Kandi needs to invest in a personal shopper right away. Between the ugly t-shirts and desperately shoehorning her into several wedding dresses, Kandi's looking pretty, pretty, pretty rough around the edges. At a minimum someone needs to tell her that her days of shopping at Forever 21 are about 50 pounds behind her. No pun intended.

So that's the latest scoop with our bitches in the ATL. Come back next week for more ABIB recap love!

The ABIB Recaps The RHOA Season Opener: The Bailey Agency Is Expanding; Phaedra Has Birthed A President and Nene and Grigg Are Back, Baby!

Hang on to your butts, the REAL reason that Bravo means “Real Housewives” is back, baby! ATL is in the house! Nene, Phaedra, Porsha, Kandi, Cynthia and Kenya are back and bigger than life. Of course our first stop is at Chez Leakes with the newly remarried Nene and Grigg opening the 10,000 presents they received as gifts for their second marriage. Name dropping with the best of them, Mrs. Leakes, sporting a diamond ring that would choke a Wookie, lets us know that her friends do not scrimp when it comes to gifts. Tiffany crystal objects d’art out the ying yang and a special Hermes decorative plate from none other than Thereser and Juicy Joe up der in Joisey “Oh! From Theresa and Joe in New Jersey. What a rich bitch!” Nene gasps as she removes the plate from its protective sleeve. Neen’s makes sure that we know that SHE knows how to drop the “H” in Hermes, as she repeats the word, Ermez, about six times in a row. Quick: Nene! How do you pronounce hombre? Her voiceover tells us that since her show “The New Normal” got cancelled (hell we already knew THAT), she’s back in Hotlanta which is “home”. Although she’s quick to remind us that she’s happy to head to LA or New York “for work”, just in case any casting agents might be tuning in. Nene begins to wax empathetic as she muses over the fact that Porsha and her footballer husband are getting divorced, but just for two hot seconds ‘cause right away she’s dishing for us on Cordell Stewart and how he “knows how to break up wit a bitch. I mean he’s like ‘we broke up’ BOOM! There it is!” We’ll learn later, from a tearful Porsha, that she learned that he was filing for divorce on Twitter. Classy. And you know what? Just saying that word reminds me all over again how much I miss me some Sheree on this show. Sheree brought it: "Who gonna check me Boo? You?". A moment for Sheree, please.

Next we join Porsha as she lawyers up. Porsha tells us that she’s a single woman, completely on her own, ready to make her own way. The lawyer explains to her what a deposition is going to be like and Porsha fires the first salvo: warning us that Cordell won’t want to have her tell the public all the dirty shit that she’s got on him. I always found Cordell Stewart to be a super creepy, medieval control freak, so I’m like: bitch: bring IT! The people want to KNOW! Porsha tells her lawyer, through tears, that she’s going to deliver a list to Cordell of what she needs him to do in order to reconcile, if he blows her off then that’s it: D.I.V.O.R.C.E. Pssst: Porsha…we all know that you’re a kind of annoying, none-too-bright woman-child, but hell, girl, even YOU can do better than creepy-ass Cordell. Just think: you’ll be able to go to a restaurant and order your own wine if you want to and not have to drink a glass of soda instead. Let it go.

Next we join Cynthia as she does a kumbaya circle with her loyal “Bailey Boys” (e.g., her staff) as they sadly close up the Bailey Agency storefront. Why, you ask, are they closing? Well, because Cynthia’s SUPER fucking pain-in-the-ass-control-freak-runs-every-business-directly-into-the-ground-and-loses-all of-her-fucking-money old ass husband, Uncle Ben, (a.k.a., Peter), has unilaterally decided that he’s moving HER business storefront into some lame warehouse that HE bought directly across the street from HIS business, Bar One. As you may recall, Bar One is (according to some of the RHOA ladies) directly in one of Atlanta’s demilitarized zones. But, hey! If Uncle Ben thinks it’s a good business move then who is ANYONE to question his unquestionable business savvy. I give this crap-ass decision about six weeks before they’re directly in bankruptcy. Fucking moron. So anyway, Cynthia and her crew are lamenting having to vacate their cozy little corner of the world when in walks crazy-ass Uncle Ben who immediately begins to (a little too gleefully if ask me) rip up the flooring and announce that as their new landlord he’s gonna be “all up in their asses”. Oh, great. Meanwhile, in her talking head, Cynthia whines that she would have thought that, since he’s committing money that comes from both of them, that Uncle Ben might have consulted her BEFORE he made the decision and signed the contract. Yeah, Cynthia, ‘ya fucking pea brain, like he’s EVER consulted with you on how to spend YOUR money. Wake up, sister; you’re married to a MORON, you’re perfect for each other. Then, out of the blue, in walks Kenya Moore to everyone’s (feigned) surprise. Cynthia tells us that she hasn’t seen Kenya in several months and didn’t even know she was in the country. Uh, OK. So anyhoo, Cynthia tells Kenya that they’re moving across the street from Bar One and she’s going to be having an opening party and ALL the girls will be there. There’s some trifling bullshit convo about Kenya getting evicted – UNFAIRLY – of course and before you know it Kenya is bitching AGAIN about, who else? Her old “boyfriend” Walter and how pissed off she is that Nene invited Walter to her wedding. OK, we all know this but I have to say it: Kenya is pure, batshit crazy. Crazy.

Now we head over to Phaedra and Apollo who have moved to a new house in, as Phaedra tells us, “the Buckhead area, which is like Atlanta’s 90210”. Uh, Phaedra, coupla things here, one: nobody gives a rat’s ass what fucking neighborhood you moved to, and, seriously, 90210? Bitch, 1990 called, it wants its old-ass pop culture reference back. I seriously can’t stand Phaedra and let me just say right now, that not even pregnancy has improved her boobs but she’s still trying, in every scene, to convince us that she has some. Hell, I guess any old B-cup can squeeze out some pitiful cleavage with the right amount of duct tape. Anyway, she’s just had another kid and she’s dubbed him “Mr. President”. I won’t even dignify this with a comment. His name is Dylan, OK? Dylan. Phaedra comes strolling outside, babe in arms, to check up on Apollo and his management of the ongoing renovations. Apollo, wife-beater and various tats on display, worriedly asks her if she and the baby should be outside. Um, why? Because there’s air out here, Apollo? Because there’s light? WTF? Apollo joined the cast and the show’s collective IQ went down 50 points and there has never been much to spare in that department on RHOA. Hell, on any of the Real Housewives shows, truth be told. Phaedra spends some time whining about this and that and bitching to us about how Apollo’s continuous yawning is starting to really piss her off. She’s the one who just had the baby, for fuck’s sake. What’s HE doing yawning? “I’m the one that’s workin’ like a Hebrew slave.” Yes, yes, she did actually say those words. Low class hoe bag. On these interior shots I couldn’t help but be delighted to see that Phaedra and Apollo’s house could sub-in for an episode of “Hoarders”. Southern belle? Not so much, Phaed…not so much.

Kandi and her finance Todd are up next. She’s making him some breakfast and he’s whacking her ass (playfully of course) and well, they just seem to be genuinely happy. The rest of this scene is a whole bunch of expository, clunky dialogue, a Bravo specialty. Todd goes awkwardly on and on about his “production work” here there and everywhere. Atlanta, Boston, wherever he can get a gig. All this talk about Todd’s work ethic is the lead-in to what will clearly shape up to be the central conflict in the Kandi storyline this season: Kandi’s Mama DO NOT like Todd. She’s been trash talking him to anyone that’ll listen, about how he’s a free loader and a gold digger and only after her daughter’s money. Kandi offers that she’s pretty bummed that her Mama, to whom she’s very close, doesn’t see Todd in the same light as she does. Blah, blah, blah…family’s important…needs to get to know you…you should talk to your Mom about how important this is you…Yeah, it got pretty boring pretty fast. But Todd got a good lookin’ breakfast, ya’ll. Oh, and Kandi is writing a song for Jennifer Hudson…and she wrote “No Scrubs”. Hellerrrr….

Back to Nene, who is on her way to meet Porsha for lunch. Nene tells us that she has decided to “take Porsha under her wing, be a big sister to her” through this difficult, divorce-y time. At lunch the two women gush over each other for an interminable period of time, their outfits, their hair, their fucking manicures. Nene tells Porsha that she’s “gonna be all right” and that in fact Porsha appeared to be having a pretty good time on her own at Nene’s wedding. Porsha takes this opportunity to start the gush-fest all over again, this time focusing on Nene’s historically spectacular wedding which was “off the chain”. Another drama thread gets set up at this luncheon as we watch the newly joined Terrific Twosome of Nene and Porsha rip Kenya a new asshole for blowing off Nene’s wedding without even an RSVP! Porsha starts in on her wedding being between her, Cordell and the Lord. Oh, brother. This pseudo religious crap is really annoying and frankly my Nene is the only one out of this crowd that doesn’t indulge in that silly posturing. Nene tells us that Cordell acted like a queen that his crazy bitch behavior was a “queen move”. And so begins the party line this season that Cordell Stewart is gay, baby! This should be interesting. Kinda.

Cut to probably one of the most ridiculous scenes ever shot in ANY Real Housewives franchise. Porsha, her Mother (I think), and half-sister are sitting on a couch talking about the fact that post-deposition, Cordell pretty much told Porsha “hell no” on her list of conditions to reconcile. Babe, Cordell Stewart wants you GONE. It takes a few minutes, and a “in happier days” look back montage, but Porsha and her Mother manage to squeeze out some tears. OK, I’ll cop to Porsha’s looking pretty genuine, I mean, she IS getting divorced, after all. The Mother made crying sounds, certainly, and she scrunched up her face in a cry-ish expression, but I won’t swear that she was able to manufacture actual, real tears. The half-sister didn’t even try. In fact a couple of times I’d swear she looked like she was mightily trying not to laugh! Again, Porsha makes the pitch that Cordell isn’t shopping in the straight department by referring to herself and telling us that “Cordell didn’t want this sexually. I don’t know what he wanted.” Okey dokey, then.

In the EPs final sequence, everybody turns out for Cynthia’s grand opening party for the new and improved Bailey Modeling Agency in its thug-central new locale. The theme, ironically, is white; as in everyone has to wear white to this party. One by one all the ladies and their mens show up and hug and screech inarticulate greetings and air kiss each other but we know what we’re all waiting for and she finally arrives. Escorted by Miss Lawrence here comes Kenya, sporting a tied-below-the-bust handkerchief that doesn’t quite cover the wire in her underwire bra (just sayin’) and a skirt. So she’s showing some midriff skin which, considering she shills exercise videos looks pretty slammin’. Her talking head tells us that she’s entering the party sporting for a fight, expecting some bitch to come at her and she’s ready. “Bring it.” Oh, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya. Nene tells us that her plan for the night is to totally ignore Kenya. Precious. Nene barges in on Uncle Ben and insists that he take her and Grigg on a tour of the whole place. Right now. Uncle Ben obliges with an oddly bizarre leer at Nene. Uh, Uncle Ben? She’s married now. You’re married, too and what the fuck is sexual about “we want a tour of the place”? I’m thinking that maybe old-ass Uncle Ben might be in the early stages of Alzheimers. Phaedra’s magical gay Derrick saw Kenya heading over in the direction of Phaedra and decided to head off a scene by dragging Phaedra waaaayyy across the room. Phaedra’s talking head actually cracked me up in spite of my burning hatred for her. “Thank God for Derrick in his hot pants and heels. He whisked me right away from that beauty queen on bath salts.”

So finally we get to the piece-de-resistance for this evening’s festivities: the Nene and Kenya face off. Kenya volleys first with her bitching and moaning about how she’s been “tortured for the last two months and whenever I go through something nobody reaches out to see how I’m doing.” Nene responds with “Well, you know I was planning a wedding for 425 people and you didn’t reach out to me. So I’m going through things just like you’re going through things.” Then we get into the whole, yeah but you’re going through happy things and I was being evicted so it’s not the same oh yes it is planning a wedding is very stressful yeah but its good stress not bad stress like I was going through and on and on. Until finally we cut to the chase and Kenya gets to her point: did you invite Walter to your wedding? Again with the Walter obsession? Kenya, honey, you know they make lots of good meds for that. At that point Nene tells us that she didn’t want to get into a fight and that she wanted to remain a lady. Cut back to the party and this happened: Nene: “I’m leaving now Kenya.” Kenya: “Oh no you’re not.” Nene: “Kenya I gotta pee; you want me to pee in your glass?” Now that’s some ladylike shit, Nene Leakes-style and The ABIB’s gotta respect! Oh, BTW, Nene totes lied: she got into a big-ass, Nene-talking-louder-than-anyone-else fight with Kenya and she was all: "I'll invite anyone I want to MY EVENT! And when I have AN EVENT I ain't gonna be worrying about if Kenya Moore is uncomfortable with the guest list!" It occurred to me at that point that in the whole time that RHOA has been on the only person who could go toe-to-toe with loud mouth Nene and not back down was Kim Zolciak. Those two were a matched pair; none of these other relative shrinking violets have a chance with Neens. Just as a reminder: "Kim ain't nothin' but a low-down, dirty monkey wit a wig on." and "Nene, that big moose."

So there you have it, RHOA fans! The bad-ass ladies of ATL be back, honey and “The New Normal” or no “The New Normal”, Nene Leakes is STILL kicking it as the Queen Bee of all she sees. Stayed tuned next week for another recap from The ABIB!

Cialis: It's A Right Now Kinda Thang

Cialis is a prescription drug for erectile dysfunction. So, when old dudes can’t get their dick up they can take Cialis and bang until it falls off. There have been reports of erections lasting four hours or longer, so I’m guessing that some of them wish their dick actually would fall off. A commercial I just saw for Cialis offered us three different scenarios edited together as kind of a montage:

Scenario One: A man and a woman wearing T-shirts that say “Football” are sitting next to each other on the couch watching…presumably…football? The lady is all excited and jumps up off the couch when her team does something cheer-worthy. I’m guessing we’re shown that detail to prove that she’s, well, excitable. Back to them in a minute.

Scenario Two: A man and a woman are cleaning the clutter from their attic. I know, I know, who DOESN’T get a boner cleaning the attic? Well they’re sorting through a box of records and come across some old album that seems to bring back memories for both of them. Not sure if they’re great ones because the dude keeps shaking his head with an ironic smile on his face while he turns the album over and over and over. Who can read that fast? The look on his face seems to say: “Oh hell, yeah, I remember this record…I was wasted and you? You were passed out. I think it was the first time we screwed.” Back to them in a minute

Scenario Three: A man and a woman are outside appearing to refinish an old wooden crate. Um, why? Suddenly the dude, apropos of nothing, as they appear to not even be speaking to one another, begins to look at the woman with, frankly, a skeevy kind of stare. Unperturbed by this the woman, just as suddenly, returns his gaze, although she offers him a kind of blank smile, like she’s used to this from him. Back to them in a minute.

Bing, Bang, Boom! The Cialis kicks in and look out ladies; you all about to get SERVED a juicy dose of erectile dysfunction-fueled lovin’!

The cheering football lady presents her couch potato with a tray of food that would serve seven but it don’t matter because he gives her a look and who needs football, let’s fuck!

The attic cleaners put the old album on the old turntable and begin to dance. Who needs to clean this filthy craphole; let’s fuck!

The wooden crate-refinishing-duo finally toss those damn brushes and get it on instead. I guess that creepy stalker smile worked after all. Who needs to refinish this splinter-ridden piece of shit; let’s fuck!

So there you have it. Cialis kicks in and life takes a back seat because, well, those Cialis-infused dudes NEED TO FUCK RIGHT NOW! And why not some truth in advertising, Cialis hucksters? Why not show the poor sap four hours later crying in the emergency room because his dick won’t go down? As the commercial ends we see the Cialis emblem, which is a silhouette of a couple, each in their own, "it will only fit one person" bathtubs situated side-by-side, holding hands across the small distance that separates them. Um, what’s up with the skinny bathtubs? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the whole purpose of Cialis in the first place? Maybe there should be a warning on the package? MEN: DO NOT TAKE CIALIS IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE IN A SITUATION THAT WILL PREVENT YOU FROM FUCKING WITHIN 20 MINUTES! So to that dude in the bathtub: until you can relocate to a more fuckable location, DO NOT TAKE YOUR CIALIS, MAN; it’s gonna be hard to get it on in the little, tiny bathtub. Furthermore, woe be to you guys with a four hour boner; dude, that little bathtub has a little drain. You could get stuck and then where will you be? In William Howard Taft-ville that’s where. And with an image like that in your lady friend’s head…well, ain’t enough Cialis in the world gonna fix that my man.

The Real Housewives of New Jersey Season Finale: They Go Out With A Whimper Not A Bang

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ...Huh? Wha? Gosh, I'm sorry, I must have dozed off there. MOST. BORING. FINALE. EVER. As in EVER. What did I just watch? That was an hour of...nothing! For the first 20 minutes or so they just recapped the season. But I fast forwarded through that because I...watched it? OK, I thought, now we get to the good, fist pumping, punch-throwing, JSTA getting his little beanie ripped off and then hauled off to jail ACTION. But, uh, we didn't. Back we go to the Posche 2 opening party and everyone, and I mean everyone, is surrounding Penny and her oddball husband 'cause they got some 'splainin' to do and Melissa and JSTA are prodding them to do just that. Well, actually JSTA did make some googly-eyed, half-assed lunges at Penny's hubster while screaming, as he is normally wont to do, "SHE'S MY WIFE!! MY WIFE!!!" Yeah, JSTA, uh, we've all got that and since he's been tweeting up a fucking blow-job shitstorm about your little songbird, I'm pretty sure he knows that, too. Anyway, there's Melissa, demanding, DEMANDING, an explanation from Penny who prompty throws Thereser directly under the bus because, well, because it WAS Thereser who was the little devil whispering all the secret Melissa dirt into Penny's wired-to-In-Touch-magazine ear. All T could do was widen her eyes incredulously, which considering T has about a quarter inch of forehead to begin with, kinda put her big, black eyebrows in direct contact with her simian hairline. Melissa was surrounded by her posse, which is to say, the entire cast of RHONJ because thanks to the Adirondyke Mount-ins and Miraval, everyone is singing Kumbaya from the same sheet of Bravo music. Hilariously, Dirty C kinda went apeshit even more than JSTA, "ARE YOU HAPPY? ARE YOU? ARE YOU? YOU RUINED A FAMILY ARE YOU HAPPY?" which is saying something. Hey DC: ease down...ease down. Here's a suggestion: try ramping up your estrogen, babe, cause not only do you shave (which you've told us already in a previous season and that Big Al SR absolutely LOVES it) but you're kinda verging into Manlyville. In fact, maybe you're already kinda there. For real. So anyway, the crew is all around, backing up their girl Melissa and Penny shouts out for some help from Crack Hoe Kim D. Crack Hoe Kim D joins the fray, apparently still in full makeup from her audition for The Walking Dead. DAMN! That is one hard looking bitch, people. You do NOT want to cross Crack Hoe Kim D in a dark alley, my friends; she WILL cut a bitch. And likely has. Anyhow, Crack Hoe Kim joins the outer ring around Penny and her tweeting hubby but kinda just stares her scary-ass stare. So yeah, there was that. Then up comes that whiny-ass dipshit Jacqueline, who, now that she's safely surrounded by her husband, friends and sister-in-law DC (again who is just a chromosome away from growing a pair for real) she takes off on Penny and her man, snarling about how they tweeted nasty shit about her kid and what kind of monsters are they and blah, blah, blah. Jacqueline is human Valium, she really, really is. The fast forward button is SO my friend when it comes to that mealy-mouthed little idiot.

All at once everyone huffed out of the Posche 2 party in various states of outrage and that was it. End of THAT storyline, which need I remind RHONJ regular viewers, is pretty much the EXACT SAME END AS LAST FUCKING SEASON. Next day T and Jacqueline, over some giant goblets of vino, have a heart-to-heart and Jacqueline advises T to come clean with JSTA and Melissa. We see Thereser wrapping her mind around that notion and trying to remember her script as she considers that this might be the only way to "move forward" with JSTA. Comically she never mentions Melissa's name. Telling. But then again, I kinda can't stand Melissa so, I get it, T, I get it. Jacqueline suggests that Thereser should plan to make her confession to JSTA the next day at the BLK flavor tasting. WTF? So now it's not just going to be black water, it's going to FLAVORED black water. These morons are the limit. We get to see Dirty C in her talking head brag on and on and on about her AMAZINGLY successful and independent children and we are treated to some of the best clips from her loser kids' past, namely the one where she tells Little Al JR to never let anyone tell him that he can't do something. Um, OK. Dirty C is on a big-ass stroll down memory lane, walking through her giant house and revisiting some of the more wonderful memories of life in their heavily fortified compound. This is all just a big lead up to Dirty C's epiphany that, hell, she doesn't want the apartment in Hoboken, she wants to stay right here, because, well, there's no place like home. Cue the Wizard or Glinda or whoever Big Al SR is the stand-in for in this gag-worthy, "touching" shot who assures Dirty C that she can stay there as long as she likes. Big fucking whoop. Honestly, it's amazing I kept watching this bore-fest of a finale.

Next day everyone gathers at the BLK "office" to taste-test the potential new flavors of their sludge water and, well, who fucking cares about BLK anyway? Thereser drags JSTA over to a private spot and spills the beans to him about how she befriended the wrong people and that since she was "so mad at Melissa" she didn't speak up when the ladies started to trash M in earnest. She never owned up to being the dirt source, but rather took responsibility for being a silent witness to Melissa's downfall at the hands of other, more vicious and vindictive North Jersey trollops. And you know what? I kinda found myself nodding along with T 'cause lets fact it peeps, we've all been there, amirite? You're hatin' on someone and it's just plain old delicious FUN to hear others crap on that person. So they cried (again) and they hugged (again) and all is right in the Gorga/Guidice swirling inferno of drama as the season ends.

Our last shots are back at the Jersey shore, where the season began, in the aftermath of Superstorm Sandy and Thereser and JJ's beach house, which had been ruined by the storm. But! It's been rebuilt by JJ and now everyone's coming down-a shore for a cookout/hugathon/what-I-learned-this-season confessional epilogue. I'm thinking, "way to go, T, you got that good-for-nothing husband to at least make himself useful and fix up the beach house before his lying ass is deported. Our last talking head segment is Dirty C, pontificating as usual, the old, wise grand dame of the crew, jabbering on about how even when they hated each other they really loved each other and how even in their most spiteful phases any one of them would have come running at the drop of a hat if any of the others were in need. And I called BULLSHIT at the TV at that point because, honestly Dirty C, who the FUCK is going to believe that load of crap-ola? Your own expression tells me that YOU sure don't fucking believe it. So, yeah. And that's where we ended up, with a peek at the latest Guidice legal woes brewing and a hint that by next week's Reunion episode, some of the lovey-dovey glow has kind of worn off. So The ABIB will be back next week to recap the Reunion party, which if past seasons are any indication, should be kinda fun. Especially if that nitwit Lauren Manzo shows up. Stay tuned!

The Real Housewives of New Jersey Recap: A Penny For Your Tweets!

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The Real Housewives of New Jersey: Two! Two! Two Recaps In One!

So I'm gonna kinda punk out on this week's recap by adding in - at no additional charge to you - LAST WEEK'S recap! How about that? We begin - still - at Miraval, that healing camp for bored, rich first-worlders who just need to fucking HEAL PEOPLE! Well, our little rowdy band of revelers wrapped up their Heal-A-Palooza with the lamest "trust fall" I've ever seen. And that includes the drunken trust falls they did on their last night, in their last healing adventure, at the Adirondyke Mount-Ins. Yeah, this time they had to get all harnessed up, don their "don't crush your tiny skulls" helmets, and climb what looked to be a telephone pole circa 1945, with the tiny iron footholds and everything. Two at a time they scaled the heights (about 30 feet we are told) and hold on to each other as they take teeney-tiny steps along a wire. Clasped at the shoulders they are forced to lean into each other and slide along, usually no more than four or five steps before they step off and hang, harnessed, in mid-air only to be lowered to the dusty ground and congratulated by all the other trusters-in-waiting. Psssht. It was pretty stupid and I'm sure did nothing to actually build trust, which these silly exercises never do, anyway. So after the trust suspension bridge demonstration, everyone just headed back to their rooms to get ready to leave, but not before an evening of food and drank wherein everyone decided that the Guidices and the Gorgas needed to seriously bond together as a FAMILY to shut down all of the evil chatter, Twitter and otherwise, about Melissa's alleged blow jobs with her old boyfriend. Done and done. But not before JSTA flew into a completely unprovoked rage and threw his champagne glass smashing into the stone fireplace to the open astonishment of everyone. Melissa yanked him off screen but we can hear (and see in subtitles) the tongue lashing that she gives him offstage, several times calling him an idiot. Yeah, I'm predicting that Thereser will eventually be proved correct in that it's just a matter of time before Golddigger Melissa dumps her brotha for a richer dude. Really, really, really not feeling the love for Melissa these days.

Back in Joisey, the gang disperses into their respective lives: Thereser and Jacqueline are back in love, Katy has struck a deal with an event planner to help kick-start her cannolli biz, and Melissa is alternately reinvigorating her singing "career" and continuing to hunt down the source of the blow job rumors. Ahem...even though she pledged to stop doing that back at the Miraval final night Kumbaya "we're all one fambly" close out. Turns out the blk storyline is still alive - amazingly - since last we heard about it two of the three super loser Manzo kids, namely the boys Little Albie and Chris the Barely Cognizant, had seemingly washed their hands of the whole blk schtick and were focusing their monumentally loser-y business acumen on opening a New Jersey themed restaurant. Anyhoo, their Uncle The Bankroller - Chris Laurita - tells JSTA over a glass or 10 of vino, that blk is still alive and well but that it's "alot of work". In fact, it's SO alive and well that they're getting ready to have the blk imprimatur host some kind of sports themed charity event for autism. Basketball will be played! Blk will be shilled! Jacqueline Laurita will sob annoyingly as she struggles to deliver the keynote speech! Yeah, that last one really did happen and it was, as Jacqueline's appearances on screen always are, majorly B-O-R-I-N-G. FF button is my friend when it comes to Jacqueline. But you already knew that.

Kathy and her crew, laden with about 1,000 business cards, a big ol' poster and tons of cannollis, head into the Big Apple to make a sales pitch appearance at Dylan's Candy Bar a NYC biz owned by none other than Dylan Lauren, daughter of Ralph Lauren. Of course neither Dylan nor her father are anywhere in sight, but drama ensues anyway, as the Wakile family struggle to get their shit together and get the fuck out of Jersey and across the bridge. Once there, Kathy pitches a fit when none of her "personally invited" family or friends appear at the store to support her in this, the launch of her business. Not a one. King Douchebag calls them - ironically - "douchebags" and he lamely tells Kathy: "I'm here". Yeah you are KD, you are. Being the good egg that she is, Kath soldiers on and they all finally show the fuck up, but pretty late. No problem, Kathy the Doormat greets them with open arms and big smiles, thanking them profusely for coming out to support her. Poor Kathy.

Melissa and JSTA also make their way across the river into the big city to meet with Johnny Wright, music producer extraordinaire, to pitch him on repping Melissa. Yeah, Melissa who fucking can't sing her way out of a paper bag but who, nonetheless, is convinced that stardom is def in her future. I don't know who Bravo had to pay off to get this guy on the show but it's just as likely that, being the fame whore that he is - according to his Wikipedia entry - Mr. Wright was just looking for the free face time on air to pimp out his vast music production compound in Orlando. He proceeds to tell the Gorgas that if Melissa wants to be in the biz she's gonna have to jettison her family and COMMIT BITCH! He agrees to stop by Chez Gorga with some of his posse to check out her in-house studio and hear her attempt to sing one of his stable of writers' new songs. So, with the song writer and an A&R girl in tow, Mr. Wright appears at da Gorga crib and downstairs they all go. I don't think I need to tell you but I will: MELISSA CAN'T SING!!! She makes all kinds of fucked up excuses and insists that she hears distracting static in her headphones which nobody else can hear, but basically the bitch can't hit a single note straight. It's embarrassingly bad and everyone from the Wright Production House is clearly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, Mr. Johnny tells Melissa that she needs to come down to HIS production world in Orlando and let the Wright team work her over. Melisa looks way queasy but nods "yes". Enough of that storyline and for any of you that follow the Atlanta housewives, this plot line is exactly like Kim's foray into "singing".

Finally we get Melissa and JSTA - AGAIN - out for a date night dinner ("I love you in leather" JSTA purrs creepily) when who should Melissa spy with her little eye but the infamous PENNY up at the bar! Now Penny is the vehicle through which the blow job rumors have been surfacing but Melissa and JSTA want to know: WHO IS FEEDING YOU THIS INFORMATION PENNY? Three fucking guesses. Lovey dovey "we've all made up and are moving forward as a fambly" Thereser. DUN DUN DUN...! Um, is anyone ON EARTH suprised by this yawn-inducing "dramatic reveal"? Who DIDN'T see this coming? So next week's preview shows an outraged Thereser being confronted by Penny with Melissa and JSTA listening on avidly. Should be good, right? RIGHT? Anyway, it should be...well...something. See you next week!

It's Just Horseshit, People!

Ladies and Gentlemen, this week was likely the lamest, most annoying episode EVER of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. We again join these miscreants at Miraval - the healing resort in the middle of the Arizona desert - and Heal-A-Palooza is still in full-blown healing mode. This week the gang is escorted out to the horse corral where a pretty dubious character, who introduces himself as Wyatt and self-identifies as a "therapist", welcomes the crew to the next level of True Confessions. For real. Wyatt explains that the horse standing beside him is especially attuned to "inauthenticity" and so one-by-one, they're going to have to come on up and try to clean some shit out of his front leg's horseshoe. Yeah, you read that right. Apparently this horsie don't play, ya'll. If you ain't bein' rill, he WILL NOT allow you to scrape shit out of his front left horseshoe. Okaaayyyy...now I have horse people in my immediate family and I'm pretty sure any one of them would call "bullshit" on this nonsense. But being that all of the RHONJ goombas are city slickers nobody's about to issue the challenge that would unmask Wyatt...if that's even his name. DUN DUN DUN.....First one up is Drunk Ass Rosie and pretty much immediately she starts to boo-hoo and Wyatt, being the "therapist" that he alleges, eggs her on with the aim of getting her "let it out". Apparently our Rosie has been playing second fiddle her whole life and has never felt like she matters or is worth much. Wyatt knows authenticity when he hears it and invites DAR to give the shit cleaning catharsis a whirl. Like magic, she slides her hand down the horsie's foreleg and right away he obliges her by lifting his hoof in the air so that she can scrape some shit out of the grooves in his horseshoe. Everyone is delighted, especially DAR, who, just moments ago was crying about some pretty fucking serious issues but is now magically all smiles because SHE GOT THE HORSE TO LIFT HIS HOOF! Hell, at this point I'M calling bullshit on this crap. But everyone is super happy for DAR as she returns to her seat, presumably cured of a lifetime's worth of low self-esteem and feelings of worthlessness and all it took was five minutes with Wyatt and his wonder horse. Aaaamazing!

DAR is followed by her sister Kathy and King Douchebag and Wyatt tears KD a new one, calling him out on his use of "humor" to avoid feeling real feelings and for minimizing Kathy and ignoring her "voice". Throughout Wyatt's chastisement of KD, Kathy looks on silently with the ever-so-subtle look of "I told you so, motherfucker" playing across her face. Then her talking head basically says: "I told you so, motherfucker." Much love for poor, ignored Kathy. BTW, horsie let's Kath clean his hoof but won't budge for King Douchebag. Yeah, baby.

Next up: Melissa, who has elected to attend the horse corral stage show wearing what must have been her costume at the pole when the strip joint had "Western Theme Night". Basically her ass is barely covered by the mini, mini jeans shorts she's wearing with a crop top and cowboy boots. Make it rain, Melissa! She saucily sways up to Wyatt and his horse and he immediately calls her out as a big, old whore! HAH! I have to say I did love that part. He tells everyone that Melissa has just done the "whore stroll". Surprisingly JSTA doesn't haul off and level him. But whatever, there she is and of course immediately cops an attitude and won't give Wyatt a straight answer on anything. Evasive and looking way bored, Melissa is then invited to try and pass the shit scraping test which she summarily fails. Big time. Whatever, says Melissa, as she haughtily returns to her seat. JSTA came up next but he was just too scared of the horse to get close enought to pet him let along lean down and lift his hoof. Wyatt dismisses him straightaway. Next up is Jacqueline who, like Drunk Ass Rosie, is crying before she even gets up to Wyatt and his horse. But unlike Rosie, Jacqueline is ALWAYS fucking crying so...so what? Again she's going on and on about Thereser and...well, I've warned you all before in this blog, I canNOT remember what the hell Jacqueline says because she is BORING!! Next up is Thereser who takes one look at the horse and says: "Nope. Not gonna do it." And walks away. We are promptly shown a shot of JJ walking away from the crew as he makes a call. Uh oh, the Bravo dupesters want us to think: here goes Juicy Joe again, just like last year, calling some hoebag in the middle of a group outing. But NO! This year his call is to their kids and T walks away with him to join in the chat. For which they are chastised by Wyatt when they return to the group - he calls them out on using their cell during what is supposed to be a meaningful team activity. Obviously he's never met the Guidices because clearly they couldn't give a rats ass and make that abundantly clear.

Now it's time for Dirty C and Big Al SR. In her talking head segment DC has told us that she is TOTALLY into this exercise because she LOVES horses. Yay! So, up they go and Wyatt immediately is sympatico with both of them, telling them that their obvious love and devotion for each other is "a beautiful thing". Then out of nowhere he asks Big Al SR: "were you abused?" WHAT WHAT?? Hell, turns out he was and gets all teary-eyed telling the tale of his "difficult father who was pretty tough on him". Awkward throat clearing and eyes looking everywhere but at him...and that was just ME. So yeah, there was THAT.

Finally we get Juicy Joe who, with virtually zero prompting from Wyatt, offers up that he's kinda scurred about what's going to happen to him at his upcoming hearing for lying about getting a driver's license. Now, this was all filmed long before the most recent Guidice brush with the law which, far more serious than falsifying a driver's license, is all about defrauding multiple banks and other financial institutions and could actually get his ass deported back to Italia! But for this show he was all worried about having to go to jail and his kids growing up without their Daddy for a few years and EVERYONE was SHOCKED! SHOCKED! That Juicy Joe came clean with his worries about this stuff. JSTA even devoted his talking head segment to giving JJ serious props for being so honest. Which I found hilarious in light of recent events. I mean, honest? Not so much.

And that concluded the Wyatt and his magically sensitive horse segment. We are next treated to Thereser and JJ alone with their vino in their private hot tub having a heart-to-heart about the upcoming legal entanglements. I pretty much couldn't get past T's seriously ugly G-string, sparkle bikini. At what age do those become just not cool? I'm guessing somewhere around, like 30? Not a good look, T.

As evening falls the gang heads over to some group lodge food and drinks hang-out but on the way are stopped mid-path by some dude in full American Indian war regalia who enlists them in some serious drumming. Everyone joins in as he encourages them to all get in the same drumming rhythm so that it sounds like a "giant heartbeat that will heal the world", Now, that's just plain goofy. They all drum for about three minutes and then he bids them a fond goodnight. Finally the episode ends in a typical RHONJ eating and drinking extravaganza wherein Thereser and Jacqueline break away from the crowd and repledge their love to one another and restart their friendship by throwing some paper into the firepit and scraping the bottoms of each other's shoes. There you have it, folks. The preview for next week shows some kind of drunken shouting match which I'm guessing is heralding the approach of this season's end. Tune in next week to find out what trifle they decide to drunk-fight about next!

The Real Housewives of New Jersey Recap: Strep Throat! Bikinis! Camel Toe! Oh, My!

So this week was part one of yet another two-parter wherein the NJ guidos and guidettes get to travel on Bravo's dime outside of their great state in order to...HEAL! Shit, even the Atlanta ladies (fuck, ESPECIALLY the Atlanta ladies) don't need this much out of town lady time. Two trips for these wackos but this time without Dr. Eyetalian Vajayjay. No, this time they've been whisked off to that epicenter of spirituality, Arizona. Just lucky none of them is Hispanic, amiright? Anyhoo, in honor of wife Melissa's b-day, JSTA decided it would be way cool to get the whole gang to join them on a jaunt way out west. Melissa was less than thrilled with the idea, but hubby wasn't buying it. Largely because that's the way the season has been written. One by one the familia were invited and accepted to jet out to Healing Central...some dude ranch whose specialty is spirit "energists" and open doors and windows which, one evening, let a fucking bat into someone's bedroom. Everyone, including the dudes, hid behind pillars screaming like girls while Big Al SR shooed it out with an M-16 that he brought with from The Brownstone. Not really, it was just a broom. Once again, Melissa was deathly ill with something that was making her throat hurt with "the worst pain I have ever felt in MY LIFE!" To this JSTA scoffs, calling bullshit by reminding her that she's had three kids. No, says Melissa, this pain is way worse. Every week and in every way, Melissa is getting my wholehearted vote for most annoying after Jacqueline. And for anyone reading this that knows my feelings on Jacqueline, that is saying something. Speaking of Jacqueline, she, Chris Laurita, Dirty C and Big Al SR are on a later plane from the rest of the bimbo contingent and get waylaid in some airport for a really long time so, yeah, we get to see THAT. Jacqueline's even boring when we're not hearing specifically about her boring-ass, first world "problems".

So they get to Hacienda Healing and everyone retires to their open-air rooms, which, truth be told would NOT work for The ABIB. The ABIB and the great outdoors do not mingle well. I was getting the creepy crawlies just watching people unpack and prepare to sleep in rooms with no screens in the giant windows and no doors. See above: BATS!? Of course, King Douchebag has to make an obnoxious spectacle of himself, and when told to SHUSH that he's walking through the "quiet room", he chooses instead to trumpet out a giant fart. To which Drunk Ass Rosie yells: "JERSEY IN DA HOUSE". Oy. So, right away everyone's headed out to some pool/hot tub gizmo outside of JSTA and Melissa's room, and they are OF COURSE, deep into the vino already and Thereser's doing some seriously butch push-ups in one of her several tiny bathing suits. We hear the voice of (presumably) Juicy Joe in the pool with JSTA, tell her that after all these years she still looks sexy. She girlishly thanks...her husband? her brother? We'll never know but her coy little giggle is way icky considering we all know that Thereser has bigger balls than any man on the show. Hell, she's even got bigger cohones than Dirty C. Yeah, I went there. Well, just about this time King Douchebag enters the picture, with, of course, his wife, the long-suffering Kathy and proceeds, ONCE AGAIN, to out-douchebag himself by warning Melissa, reclining on a chaise lounger and catching some rays, to be careful because the bottom of her tiny bikini is displaying some serious camel toe. Yes, that's what he said in front of HIS wife and Melissa's husband. Melissa, being the numbnut that she is, just tsks gratuitously but doesn't seem at all disturbed by the fact that King Douchebag is looking directly at her twat and announcing it, without a hint of shame, to everyone within earshot. King Douchebag: he's always good for bringing the class and lowering the bar on what is already a gutter-dwelling affair. JSTA splutters some kind of "offense" wondering aloud why KD is looking at his wife's twat, but everyone laughs because this low brow chit chat is right in their wheelhouse. Yay! I should take a shower now...

So, after a day at the pool the rest of the gang finally arrives from their 16 hour trip from HELL and the party swings into serious HIGH HEALING gear. It's now nighttime at the Cozy Corral and the first special guest is some lady who introduces herself as someone who does "energy work". Turns out that means that she's some kind of half-assed medium and starts immediately to fish for hints from the gang about people that have "gone on". At this point I'm picturing a Family Guy episode that parodied the medium shows that used to be on..."I"m getting a "J"...any "J"....how about an "M"? No "M"...well stop me when I get there..A? B? C? D?" You get the picture. This lady is sitting with a group of Italians so she goes for the safe guess..."I'm getting a Maria? Does Maria mean anything to any of you?" In spite of his desperate attempt to remain skeptical with the other manly men, JJ offers that his grandmother was named Maria. The look on the medium's face says it all: "like shooting fish in a barrel". She tells JJ some trifle about how his grandmother is watching over them and blah, blah, blah. Certainly no specifics. Then she turns her focus to King Douchebag and Kathy and asks if there was anyone with a weak heart...heart trouble in the family? King D looks shocked and says that his father died of a heart attack. Again...not to be too cynical here, but is it any wonder that among a group of middle-aged people SOMEONE would have a relative SOMEWHERE in the family tree that had had heart trouble? Sheesh. Anyway, King D got real emotional real fast and before we could say "Bob's Your Uncle" he was sobbing over his deceased father and well, I just didn't know what to do. Fuck, I'm thinking: this is KING DOUCHEBAG and he's crying on TV! Even in his talking head sequence he couldn't continue talking because he was so choked up. The ABIB is nothing if not honest and I'm not proud of myself here, but shit, man, I had to grab for a tissue, folks. Kathy was crying and all the other dudes were looking up and down and side to side, anywhere but directly at KD for fear that they, too, would end up boo hooing on national TV. I mean he's still a total dick but DAMN, he sure did love his father! ABIB's gotta respect. So, the medium got Kathy next, once again invoking the spirit of HER dead father with some vague "details" that apparently were all the proof that Kathy and Drunk Ass Rosie needed to convince them that their Dad was whispering sweet nothings to them through the medium's attentive ear. This brought some more crying and soul searching as Kathy confessed that she had not had a chance to tell her father that, in spite of their differences, she loved him before he died. Yeah, I was about ready for a commercial break at this point. Blessedly I got one.

Next day it's time for a hike and we join Melissa and JSTA in their room where M is chugging down some horse pills and moaning that she's dying and has never, EVER felt pain like this before. As captured above, JSTA's response (which I found very amusing) was basically to call "bullshit" on her and say: whatevs, he's going for a hike in the Arizona cacti. When next we see Melissa, everyone has left her for said hike but she don't care because she's back out on her sun chair slathering on the baby oil to catch some more rays. Cop to it, Melissa: that was SO an act to get rid of everyone because clearly THIS is what you wanted to do all along. Hey, it's your birthday; go for it! Everyone else, including a whining Dirty C, head out into the desert with their hiking guide, who looks eerily like Opie from the Lake George incident, but, whatever. They hike for a little while and then stop at this next spiritual station where a ring of chairs are around a firepit and some new lady spirit guide is waiting for them. Turns out this next ritual is that everyone has to write down something that they want to rid their life of and then put it into the firepit and let it go as it burns up. I gotta be honest with you guys, I really only one quarter watched this part because it was kinda boring, but I did tune in when Jacqueline called Thereser up to stand next to her as she burned up her paper which had something like "resentment and bitterness" written on it. So, Jacqueline has been hinting that she reallllllly missed T, but that she can't reallllllly trust her so much after all the shit that's gone down between them. But, never mind! This little paper burning exercise seals the deal and she and T embrace and alls well again in their world. That is, until Thereser makes the mistake of saying that from now on she (T) wants to be better because when you're shitty to other people it can bring bad karma on your kids. Now actually what I heard was Thereser specifically saying that SHE didn't want HER bad behavior to bring bad karma down onto HER DAUGHTERS. What Jacqueline heard was Thereser alluding that since Jacqueline had been such a shitty bitch, the karma gods cursed her kid with autism. Yeah, she really, really, really heard it go down that way. But I'm here to tell you that it didn't; Jacqueline is a crazy-ass, confused little ninny.

So that's the set up for next week's Arizona storyline: Jacqueline getting Chris all riled up over the imagined slur that Thereser never uttered but which Jacqueline will swear that she heard. Oh yeah, and also: there appears to be some more "healing" with some old dude who has a horse and is asking Big Al SR: "were you abused?" Oh, yeah, it's gonna get all kinda weird up in there. Join me, wont' you?

The Tummy Tucking, Double Chin Lifting Calm Before The Bitch Slap Storm

So, once all the manly-men got the Fight Club shit out of their systems and Dr. Vajayjay left in a vaporizing cloud to the strains of Dean Martin crooning “That’s Amore”, everyone returned to their respective palatial estates filled with family love. As if. But seriously, for two EPs we watch as the Guidices and Gorgas join in Big Happy Family dinners with seriously FAKE love for each other’s’ kids and bonding between Tio Joe and Gia over pizza and drag racing where she basically shames him for being a douche to her mother. Awkwaaaard. Oh and I must not be the only viewer totally disengaged from the Laurita’s disabled kid storyline, because we’re also treated to the trumped-up drahma around Jacqueline jetting off to sunny LA to get some much-needed plastic surgery. Now, The ABIB’s feelings about plastic surgery are: unless you’ve been in a disfiguring accident and/or surgical procedure, plastic surgery is about THE most self-centered, narcissistic behavior in which a person can engage and proof that you have way too much money. So, no surprises here, the most boring person on this show needs to manufacture some interest in her boring life for all of us viewers, so she decides that she absolutely MUST have a tummy tuck and a chin lift. Well, all of the other housewives and some of their husbands, are aghast at this news. Jacqueline is GORGEOUS! Jacqueline is CRAZY; she’s too BEAUTIFUL to need plastic surgery! At her age it’s NUTS TO GO UNDER THE KNIFE! OK, ease up motherfuckers, GORGEOUS? Jacqueline? For real? She’s got a nose like a prize fighter, googly eyes and kinda weird shaped lips. Hardly gorgeous. Heck she’s barely attractive. But away she goes to Dr. Knife-Wielder-To-The-Stars, but first she goes shopping with Kathy to buy some sexy pajamas to wear at the hospital. I’m already sick of Jacqueline and this is really just the icing on my rage cake for her. Who’s going to be looking at you and your sexy PJs at the hospital, J? Fucking idiot.

We have heard over and over how stressed out her life is, what with the disabled child, which, again, as I’ve said on this blog before, I’m leaving alone because, well, just because. But they keep shoving it in our faces how STRESSED she is and how OVERWHELMED she is and how she’s ON THE VERGE OF A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN. Now, I’ve known folks with autistic children and yes, it is a stressor and yes, they do struggle mightily with a myriad of issues around a loved child. But you can’t tell me that someone like pampered housewife Jacqueline Laurita doesn’t have full access to all of the specialized childcare and professional intervention that money can buy. Hey, Jacqueline: try having a disabled child on a waitress’ salary. Maybe then you can cry and moan about how shitty your fucking life is. The ABIB can’t abide these embarrassingly entitled women bitching about how fucking difficult their lives are. Jacqueline: STFU! So, all gussied up with her sexy ‘jams and her much needed break from her dreadfully horrifically stressful life, our little bitch heads out to LA where she is greeted by a much-improved Ashley. Or is it Ashleigh? Or Ashlee? Whatever, little Ash is all growed up and actually behaving…pretty great, I must say. She takes Mom out for dinner the night before surgery, accompanied by her grandparents (J’s parents) where Jacqueline proceeds to slam down tequila shot after tequila shot and eats a plate of some kind of cheesy goo that would choke a rhino. All of which are in direct defiance to her doctor’s orders for what she’s allowed to have in her system heading into this procedure. Ash is distressed; she’s concerned that her mother is submitting willfully to surgery that she doesn’t need and everyone knows that any surgery carries risks. Ash is actually sounding pretty great. Who knew? Stupid-ass Jacqueline doesn’t care; she’s hammered and tomorrow she’s getting X number of pounds of fat and extra skin removed from her midsection so that she can wear a bikini again. Oh woe is Jacqueline…first world problems that even the rest of us first worlders find abhorrent. Then its surgery day and here’s where Bravo really pisses me off. We see the fake surgery set and the fake anesthetized Jacqueline with the fake breathing tube inserted and…how do we know it’s fake? Because the supposedly in-surgery Jacqueline is WEARING A FULL PROFESSIONALLY APPLIED FACE OF MAKEUP!!!

Now the Bravo-constructed “drama” is: OMG!! THE SURGERY IS TAKING LONGER THAN EXPECTED!! IS SHE GOING TO DIE ON THE TABLE SURROUNDED BY HER FAT AND EXCESS SKIN?? DO WE GIVE A RAT’S ASS?? Oh, hell no, because it’s manufactured bullshit. Ho. Have. A. Seat. See this is just plain wrong. To gin up some fake drama around an ELECTIVE SURGERY THAT DOESN’T EVEN FIX SOMETHING WRONG, is an insult to anyone who’s had to endure a surgery because they are actually sick with something. Fuck you, Bravo. And fuck you, Jacqueline you idiotic, narcissistic moronic asshat. See, now I’m completely through with her. Just so you know, dear reader, you will only now hear about Jacqueline in this blog if she is reactive in another storyline because as of right now I am fast-forwarding through any Jacqueline footage. Done and done.

Little Albie’s boyfriend Gregg is moving to San Francisco presumably until the show can find another former hooker to stand in as Little Albie’s “girlfriend” on the show. The last one, a “cheerleader” didn’t work out, I guess, because she showed up and just as quickly was dumped. So, Dirty C throws a farewell party for Gregg and all the usual suspects show up. Dirty C unveils a special gift that she had made for Greggy as a reminder for him of when he and Albie first became “friends”. He unwraps the gift and it’s a custom-made wall hanging that reads: “Take Care of Each Other”. Hmmm….sorry folks, but this is something you’d give to a couple as a wedding gift, amiright? I mean, it’s a lovely sentiment, but WTF? Dirty C also breaks down into wracking sobs as she makes a farewell toast to Greggy and everyone looks kind of uncomfortable and weirded-out at her overwrought display. Dirty C also appears in this EP getting yelled at by Big Albert Sr., to basically say what I’ve been saying to her all the fuck along: STFU! Big Albert is totes annoyed at how DC keeps nagging Little Albie to be more confident and to embrace his hidden greatness. And do exactly what she wants him to do with his life. So there was that. It’s strange that whenever any of the Manzo kids appear in the show they ALL appear in the show and whichever of them aren’t being featured basically sit there like mute statutes staring blankly at the sibling whose storyline is being advanced. They fucking ALWAYS creep me out. All of them.

So there you have it. In the "coming next week" preview we see the newly stomach-stapled and supposedly svelte "Bitch From Hell" Lauren Manzo blowing off her still fat boyfriend Vito when he brings up marriage. Can I say right here and now that I straight up fucking HATE Lauren Manzo? She is everything that is wrong with entitled America. Well, I guess all these assclowns are, actually. Anyway, poor sausage-eating Vito is now ready to get hitched but Lauren, her bored (or is it just dully stupid?) eyes stare mutely at the poor guy and in her coming-next-week talking head shot tells us that she used to want to get married, but now she's so over that stuff. What's the rush? she asks us. To this waste of earth space I say: bitch you better grab this dude while you got the chance because ain't nobody else knocking at your door nor are there likely to be any. To poor Vito I say: Man, you just dodged a MAJOR bullet...now politely excuse yourself and RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIFE!! But in the real “coming next week” piece we see the fake family happiness between the Guidices and Gorgas beginning to head south. The catalyst is a story appearing in some national rag or other with an exceedingly unflattering (YAY) photo of Melissa on the cover and the headline text proclaiming that “a good friend” has reported that Melissa is cheating on her husband, the little ape that we lovingly know as Joey Still The Ape, JSTA. In the preview Melissa and JSTA and Thereser are at some kind of social event and Melissa is confronting her “friend” Jan who is the source of the nasty story and Jan basically blows her off with a toss of her head and a wave of her hand. In its typical ham-fisted manner, Bravo keeps focusing the camera on Thereser’s face throughout this bitter exchange. Yeah, we get it, Bravo: THERESER IS THE SOURCE!! Heading toward the season finale let the downward spiral of family love begin!