Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Recap: Sisters Ain't Doin' It For Themselves

Oh, these hos! They just don't get it. Some of them are worse than others. They remind me of overgrown babies, but instead of pacifiers, they have flutes of Champagne. You know how little infants are all helpless and need love in order to survive? Well, these ladies never grew out of that state. They grasp and grasp at whatever defines love to them at that moment, whether it's a dress or a child or a giant chocolate bunny. They have a love tank and it needs to be filled, dammit! Now, get to fillin' it!


Kyle is having Easter for her family in Palm Desert. It's a family tradition, like producing vile offspring and grasping at men and fame by any means necessary. Even at the same time, if need be. You know who I'm talking about.

She takes this very seriously. It is important for her that her guests are comfortable, well-fed and hopefully, color blind.

That dye was for the eggs, sweetie.

She calls Kim to invite her, Kim doesn't answer but that's okay. They fight and make-up all the time. It's what these sisters do. Call it sibling rivalry. Not to be confused with nibbling wildly. 

Hello, Mauricio!

Yes, I am still lusting after the Latin stud that married this caftan'd dud. How did she get so lucky? She's pretty, sure, but her face is so botoxed that her smile barely reaches smirk state before giving up entirely. Why God, WHY? Oh, never mind. I have my own anyway. I do have one important question, though. Does it impede blow jobs?

Hmm. Whatever. She has other holes.

I'd rather hang out with Adrienne anyway. She is still my favorite housewife of this version. She has an actual skill set, she's smart and shrewd, doesn't seem unkind or bitchy and when she's in interviews trying to explain how she and Paul bicker, she reaches a point and then shuts her mouth, refusing to discuss it further.

Don't do it too much, though. They'll throw you in a slag heap with Quinn and Wu-Hartwell.

She's going to Vegas during the week to do a shoot for a magazine promoting her family's Palms Hotel and casino. They go out to lunch and he tells her that he wants to tag along, using the excuse that he wants to open a practice out there. Yeah, right. He's going to get drunk and crawl up her ass the whole time. I can't say that I blame him. Married people should not go solo to Vegas. Trust me on this.

He's a little possessive, no? No biggie. He hides it by deflecting and acting up. He tries to force her to eat turkey chili and she refuses because she doesn't like turkey. How does he not know that? He must get discombobulated by all the boobies and baggy eyelids that dance in front of his face all day. That, and he just likes to tease her. They both seem like picky eaters to me. The good news is that Paul turns it into a joke with the waitress, whereas someone like Mallard Mouth Alexis would probably pop a paralyzed facial muscle if you put 5/16ths instead of 3/5ths salt on the rim of her Margarita. 

What I wouldn't give to wait on that Barbie doll. I'd slip so much butter into her lobster she'd be sweating out Paula Deen cookbooks. But I'll save that for another day. For now, I have another question. Why do the swanky swells in Beverly Hills hate their pets so much? Why do they insist on embarrassing them in front of the other doggies? What if Fido gets loose and runs into a pack of pooches from the wrong side of Rodeo? How the frack is he supposed to dig under a fence to get away? It's like Richard Simmons styles all the dogs out there. Oh, the Canin-amity! The humiliation, the horror!!

Next thing you know, you'll be making me live with Ginger Zarin.

Poor thing.

That's okay. We're about to see even more obnoxious footwear- edible footwear. PINK edible footwear. Who's responsible? You guessed it, the pink princess herself, Lisa VanDerPump. She's ordered some chocolate Louboutins for a friend of hers. Oy. I thought the purses on Atlanta were bad. This is just nutty.

They freak me out a little. My grandmother used to collect a ton of these glass figurines and she had a pair of crystal pumps that looked just like those, right down to the precious ball bearing edging. I used to have nightmares about being forced to try and wear them. I think Cinderella was on that night and I got confused. See, Disney was fucking up girls way before Britney.

Lisa orders a giant bunny from the chock-lah-teer to take with her down to Palm Desert for Easter with the crazy Richards sisters. That's right, she will be taking a giant chocolate bunny to the desert. Brilliant. Maybe they can rent one of those refrigerated trucks. Does Mercedes make one? Bentley? If they do, the VanDerTrumps probably already have two.

Lucky to have a refrigerator at all is Kim. Did you see the extras on Bravo.com? Her crib is seriously lacking compared to the other women. It looked like the caddyshack where Mr. McSlore and I golf, or someplace Dennis and Evi Quaid would squat. 

You'll get nothing and like it!

Sometimes I wish I still smoked pot.

Anyhoo, Kimmie the Shut-In is busy getting her posse of children ready for Palm Desert. They pile into the car, all of them lovely and all of them proof that Kim "I'm a mother first," isn't wasting her time. She's churning out future titans of industry all by herself. That is, until Brooke tells her to stop being so fucking rude. That's okay, she still has her uterus. She can still make more!

Back to the drawing board.

Brooke reminds me a little of Tammy Knickerbocker's oldest, Megan. She's all rebellious, and life is just a droopy faced sulk-a-thon to her. Here's hoping that she doesn't get any stupid neck tattoos that poor cash strapped mommy will have to pay to have removed later.

I get it, though. Mommy Kim is pretty embarrassing. She talks to them like they're still in elementary school, wanting to play car games with them instead of just letting them listen to their iPods and playing on their smart phones. She then spots a train and goes into a spiel about how they are all cabooses and how the other cabooses help when one of the others is in trouble, or something. I don't know. Can any of you speak child actor-ese?

Kim interviews that she wants to be their mother and their friend. Please, parents out there. Don't do that. Be appropriate. Raise them age-appropriately and then let them go. This woman acts like life is one giant Neverland Ranch. Without the child touching, of course.

Kim needs to get a hobby, pronto. We've all known people like her. They obsess over things that most would deal with and then move forward from. Their world is so small that they lose part of their frame of reference and revert to non-constructive and even bad behavior. And let's not forget how they become socially retarded. Ugh.

Our little Shut-In won't have time to worry about any of that, not in the desert house with Kyle. The minute that she walks in with her family, Kyle is down her daughters' throats for not scrubbing the floors on hands and knees or cleaning the toilet handles with toothbrushes and magnifying glasses. 

Puh-lease. They're teenagers! You knew they were going to be there the weekend before. You should have called Merry Maids, little Miss Micro-Manager! Gack, I can't stand people like that. It's like the passive aggressive asshole at work that complains that there's a piece of paper on the floor. Pick it up yourself if it bothers you so much, and shut up.

 And get me a donut too, while you're at it, prick. Huh? Who was I talking to? Moving on.

Kyle may be good at telling other people what to do, but she sure doesn't give them enough time to do it. I know, it's hard when you're a hostess and it can be stressful with that many people in the house. I've been there, but why would you decide to make an entire dinner for someone that is arriving in 2 1/2 hours when you haven't even been to the market yet? Order in. I'm sure that the VanderGumps won't be insulted if you get some Papa John's and a box of chocolates. They can have gourmet whenever they want. They can nibble on pepperoni, then go back to their 5 star hotel room and commiserate over how quaint and homey you all are.

Kyle wants Kim to make her famous potatoes and they head off to the market. It's nice. It reminds me of Fresh Market here in Shaker. It probably smells really good too, unlike your average Giant Eagle or Walmart. I wonder how they manage to keep it from smelling like floor cleaner and spills on aisle nine. If there's a special deli/herb plug-in out there, I need to know. It's like heaven.

They aren't in the store five seconds before it starts. Kim smushes Kyle's purse in the cart with her purse.

Kyle doesn't like that. How dare she smush her purse! What does Kyle do? What is her answer to this egregious crossing of boundaries and disrespecting of personal property?

Why, she very maturely smushes Kim's with hers!

I swear, everything she accuses Kim of, she does herself. She's about as self aware as John Mayer on a Twitter rampage. Actually, she kinda looks like him. They both have quizzically tiny smiles and treat the women closest to them like shit.

These sisters don't see eye to eye on anything. It's "I don't like this," and "so-and-so won't eat that." Okay, let so-and-so go hungry or munch on salad. You can't waste time catering to picky eaters, nor can you make everyone happy. If they hate a certain cheese, let them make their own version of whatever without it, you know? Or how about you just shut your mouth? Me, me, me, me, ME all day, all the time.

We do get one really fabulous gem out of this shopping excursion. Kim has a curious way of pronouncing the word 'salsa.' It comes out more like 'salza,' and Kyle rides her ass about it. 

How about I zhove thiz bottle up your azz?

Oh, and the chips Kim pulled off the shelves aren't Mexican enough.

What do they have to do to be more Mexican, sing La Bamba?

Don't get me started on the butter vs. margerinewhateveroilbasedproduct. They are Kim's potatoes, Kyle. Remember? You asked for them. Let her make them.

Does anyone know a good family therapist? How about a decent shoe thrower, cuz it's time to sit and endure another round of "why does Camille have such an awesome life while I'm a good person and live on a quarter acre?"

I keed. You know that I'm happy as a clam. It just ruffles my feathers that such a pretentious ass hit the gold digger mother load. I can't be too mad, though. Kelsey's fucking a younger stewardess right as we speak. That Karma! She sure is a bitch, right Camille?

We meet yet another employee of hers, another plain gal hired from the Homely Division of Hired Domestic Help. Camille Knows. Never hire anyone better looking than you. The nannies and whatnot are as forgettable as she is regrettable.

Maybe ugly rubs off on you?

Isn't it funny how Kelsey ended up with a woman just as ordinary as his wife's hand picked staff? Now, that's irony for you.

We get more defensive bitchiness from Our Lady of Gyration, and more bullshit about how she's her own person, working her pelvic thrusts to the bone while acting as a producer for Gramnet, one of, you guessed it, Kelsey's companies. He has to keep her busy somehow. Did you see how she slithered down the driveway?

Cam-eel

She's taking a meeting with one of the writers that Kelsey she has on payroll so that they can go over some crap that's in production for Nickelodeon. That's right, your child may soon be exposed to the inner workings of the mind of a Club MTV dancer. You might as well just kick them out now and send them to live with Terry Richardson.

I bet that she doesn't look so good walking back Up that long ass driveway. I bet she doesn't walk back up it at all. She probably has guys on staff to carry her up, Anna Wintour-like, arms forming a seat for her perky bottom.

You know what I noticed about the women on these shows? The ones that go on and on about love are the ones that don't actually spend any time engaging in any.

Now, if it said evol, I'd get it

She wrote some tripe based on her daughter's relationship with her nanny. HA! Doesn't that just say it all. I should say that the guy she's meeting with wrote it, she just threw it out there and got somebody to do the dirty work, like make up jokes and come up with plot lines, unimportant stuff like that.

Then she says that she's learned so much from being married to one of the best actors in Hollywood. Is that like being married to the best photographer in the universe? She and Kelly should get together. They'd hit off in a heart beat.

Camille was also the one that chose Patricia Arquette for 'Medium,' I'll have you know. Camille's an individual, a fully formed person irrespective of her husband,

Who is perfectly capable of getting others to do her work for her all on her own.

So there.

Doesn't she make you sick? She wouldn't have a *job* cough, if it wasn't for her husband, and he probably patronizes her in exchange for getting her annoying ass out of his hair every once in a while. I feel sorry for the nice writer, though. I hope he gets the mature content show on Nick at Night. It has to suck to deal with her. She's probably going to want co-writer credit. 

I have another question. Why do they blur out some art and allow other stuff to be shown?

And why can't they blur out Camille?

It's like they're harboring ill gotten pieces like the Nazis in WWII. does anyone know? I wonder if it's a case of the artist or person depicted refusing to sign a release for it to be on the show. This franchise is getting trashier with each passing season. I can't say that I would blame them.

It was nice of Kelsey to call when he only had 15 minutes between acts in his play. He only gave her like two of those minutes, tops. What did he do with the other 13? I'm going to go with throwing the phone at his assistant and screaming at him/her that from now on, he's in the shitter or something when she calls. He can make poopy noises if he has to.

We go from the Grammer compound to Taylor's much more modest digs. Stretch isn't living quite so whole on the hog. Look at that hallway. It's like one of those staged model homes you walk through before you buy your condo, all cream walls and walnut cabinets.

Uh oh, I smell some frontin' going on in here.

Somebody has to be trying to appear more wealthy than they are. Someone always does. It isn't Kim. She isn't hiding anything. My money's on Stretch with her talk of familial $10 million loans to "Heather." People with real money don't throw amounts like that out there, and people with real money don't look like they live in an extended stay Ramada duplex.

Stretch has a stylist and she's come over to show the housewife some lovely designer duds so that she doesn't have to go to actual stores and waste any precious not-eating or nip and tucking time, I mean managing her little company of super duper high level managers.

I'm sorry, but I'd take one look at this stylist's Alexander Julian '81 sweater and put my nose back into the Yellow pages looking for someone a little more contemporary. Then I'd slap her for showing me this-

Then, she shows her some hideous animal print which is just a smoke screen to get her to buy this-

It looks like a label whore knock-off that you'd buy on the Hollywood, Florida boardwalk, not a designer dress! What's the difference, this has more sequins? Tacky, just tacky. Save your money and get some therapy for those body issues and that colossal insecurity. I mean it. She could be really pretty if she just laid off the filler and unfroze her face. What a waste.

If I wasn't convinced that we have another gal living beyond her means, I most certainly am after she says that living in Beverly Hills is expensive, and she hopes that hubby Russell makes a good living. What? Doesn't she know? She's starting to scare me. That bedroom freaked me out too. No pictures, no nothing. Odd. We'll have to keep an eye on this one. Not too close, though. I don't want to you guys getting used to her face and thinking she looks normal. I don't want to do an intervention, but I will. After all, I know where you live, most of you. You should be getting those prank magazines I sent you any day now. I hope you all like Hustler and British Institute of Embalmers Quarterly.

Ain't I nice?

Back in Palm Desert, Kyle is still being a joyless pain in the ass. They have managed to set up some appetizers on the kitchen counter and she gives Mauricio shit for setting a couple of juice bottles down. She's just nervous because Lisa is coming and she wants to impress her rich friend.

Rich. Does that even describe Lisa and Ken's wealth? They live the opulent pampered life of modern royalty. we need to come up with new words to describe the uber-well to do, no?

And the uber-patient.

Mauricio very  nicely tells his wife to relax. If I got that snippy with Mr. McSlore, I'd be relaxing on a bus back to Akron right now. 

Doesn't she have some valium she could take? Oh, right. She's all organic and shit. How about some valerian, then? Some Kava Kava? That shit is the bomb. It's in the *ahem* vitamins that I take for women over 29. I got it from a nice Japanese man in Chicago that ran from me, fumbling and knocking down shelves when I winked and told him that I didn't need any of that cootchie dryness cream to go with it, thankyouverymuch. Silly wabbit, I got Asian guys out of my system in my twenties, pshaw!

Where was I? Oh yes, the desert of midlife hootchies and their offspring. Somebody needs to lighten this party up, and right on cue, Lisa and Ken arrive.

With Champers and toys!

I'm sorry. Can't that dog walk? Is there a way to remove that ability along with their balls? If so, Lisa's found it. But did she have to take her husband's too? Poor guy. Now he's looking like Billy Connolly after he wandered into a slumber party, got his beard shaved and convinced he was toting a gun, not a floofy twee fleabag.

In the kitchen, it's time to attack Kim's potatoes again. This time it's Lisa who butts in about boiling them. Barriers are crossed and Ken makes a crack about how well organised they are. Kimmie the Shut-In does not react well. She tells Ken to get out on the patio with the other guys and then insults him for carrying "a little poodle around."

What a dumbass. Way to insult a decent person you'd do well to get to know better.

Not to mention all his rich guy friends.

Lay off the beer too, Sunshine. She strikes me as the type to lose whatever sliver of a filter she has when properly soused. In other words, only let her get trashed around Camille. THEN it's okay.

What is with these women and the butter? Even Lisa makes fun of the margarine. Is it an organic/restauranteur thing? Do health nuts and Anglo Saxon Saucy-Pants hate the stuff on principle?

Wot do you do with that, love? and it's Easter, not Halloween. Stop dressing like Pocahontas.

Is she related to LuLu or something? Just like her, she wears the same stuff all the time. It's jeans and flow-y tops instead of sweater dresses and suede boots. Don't tell me that gays and ugly French guys flock to her too. We don't need another shabby disco auto-tune. Unless she puts a half naked Mauricio in the video. That'll be okay. After all, I can always plug my ears.

I want to plug them now. It's so uncomfortable, this bitching and fighting right in front of company, someone you are supposedly trying to impress. It escalates into a fight over whether or not Kim implied that she was skinnier than Kyle, with Lisa siding with Kyle. It's so childish. Kim is so wicked accurate with sticking her foot in her mouth, as she does when she says that she can't wait to get some of her own friends around to stick up for HER.

Once again, way to alienate someone who knows lots of rich men.

It's an understatement to say that these sisters have a lot of underlying issues that need to be dealt with. And who are these friends that Kim the Shut-In speaks of? The Meals on Wheels guys? Escape From Witch Mountain fan club members? Gosh, that sounds pathetic. I hope I'm wrong.

After all this drama, and all the potato meddling, this is the result-

That amount wouldn't be enough for a McSlore toddler at the holidays. That serving plate is barely bigger than a gravy boat where I come from. What the? I hope the editors are messing with us, and these are the leftovers.

At least they handled everything with such maturity and grace, like when Kim picks up Portia and tells her that her mommy is a baby.

And you look like her beat great grandma.

Mean, that's just mean! I know. I promise to make up for it. Let's turn this beat around and head off to Las Vegas with Ad!

I love Vegas! The lights! The slots! The whores! The scum that try to fuck your husband and steal your life savings! It's a fantasy land of dreams come true and topless showgirls, a dreamscape of young girls screaming out of the sunroofs of limos and then puking into them later. This is OUR world of Vegas, not Ad's. Hers is a little better than what you and me would expect. Hers is a real life fairy tale out of Grimms or Jonanathon Swift. I am SO JEALOUS.

Lilliputian Adrienne and giant cocktails!

I've had actual dreams where I am tiny and I'm surrounded by giant bottles of Mouton Cadet and I'm too little to open them. Don't judge. I woke up crying. These are ready-made glasses of scotch on the rocks. Why can't I have that dream? 

Wait until you see part two of her fabulous trip. Fuck the other women, I want to hang out with Madame Maloof 24/7. I'd be like Cedric at Lisa's. I'd never leave! I'll even pretend that I'm gay. Their house is so big, they'll never notice that Mr. McSlore is there!

She's meeting hubby Paul and another couple at the bar, and they are already pretty tipsy. The kids stayed at home because school is in session, and the parents are having fun. Ad chats with the woman next to her and tells her that there's going to be a male model at the shoot the next day. Ooo, oooo, guess whose ears perk up at that little tidbit? 

Adrienne met him already and she says that he's nice and he's handsome, and look at her hair!

I think you did more than just 'meet' him, you  minx, you!

That is some orgasmically unkempt hair! A male model will do that to a girl. I boinked one with the IQ of a juniper berry just so I could get a better look at him. It didn't last very long. He got lost on the subway after he forgot that he lived three blocks from me. I hear he sells real estate in Southern California now, just like Tamra. You get the idea.

Paul is schnockered and digging for compliments to assuage his jealous ego. It's cute and Ad gets cuter and cuter the drunker she gets. She has a really pretty smile when she relaxes.

Ah, the model molesting afterglow.

I kid, she's just letting loose since there are no kids around. He teases that she doesn't call him handsome anymore and she says, "I call you, don't I?" You can tell that he loves her TONS and it's nice to see for a change. This guy is head over heels for his wife. I, for one, love it.

There has to be at least ONE couple I don't have to make fun of.

I really do like them. It is so refreshing, like taking a shower after a long, bad bout of the stomach flu. Sadly, more poop's up next.

Camille is at the furniture store spending more of Kelsey's money. She isn't happy with her three homes in California, her place in The Hamptons, or her property in Hawaii. No, she has to fly her decorator first class (Oh, she makes sure we know all about that) so that she can pick out crap for Kelsey's apartment in Manhattan.

And match it to her clothes.

That was weird. Coincidence? I doubt it. This bitch is a calculating condescending exploiter of men that think with their gonads. Doesn't she realize that that which makes her powerful, can also be her undoing? Not yet, but we all know she will. I hope they get it on camera! ....rubs hands in glee....

Bitch thinks that she and this Smart-mouth Sister Parish are going to decorate a three bedroom apartment into a space that can sleep 12. I want some of those delusional happy pills. Maybe then I could fit my size 12 stomach into my size 3 jeans! Wheeee!!!

He reminds her that she is just a temporary guest which I assume is his way of reigning her in. I wonder if Kelsey got to him before he left Manhattan and whispered some instructions into his ear. I wonder if Kelsey had already found his new piece when this was going on. I wonder.

I wonder if the stewardess is watching this right now and laughing. I wonder.

These bitches. There's always one that thinks she is going to come off so much better than she really is. They think that they'll be the Jeana or the Bethenny or the Kandi. It's so much fun to watch them fail!

Apropos of nothing, here's Camille looking mildly retarded while trying to be smooth.

Apropos of nothing, babies have cute feet.

Fat baby toes with a side of puppy paw, my favorite!

Usually when this part of the show rolls around, you know, about a half hour in? I start to get a wee bit fed up and bored. And then...

It's a VanDerHunk!

Nummies!

If you haven't guessed by now, I am a horny woman who ogles younger men in an inappropriate manner. Some think that's weird. Some call me perverted. I call it 'giving my bitches what they want.' Am I right? Of course I am.

Crazy impractical Lisa is transporting her three foot chocolate bunny to Kyle's, not in a refrigerated Mercedes, no, in a convertible Mercedes. In the desert, in the sun. The good news is that she strapped a seat belt on it. The bad news? Mr. Easter Bunny is about to die a terrible violent death.

Easter. What do you do? Get up early, fix a ton of food, hide the baskets, go to church? Did Kimmie and Kyle go to church?

Not unless it's in gypsy town.

Don't you love Ken's rock n roll midlife mullet/shag? He's the guy whose hair never thinned and it became a part of who he is. Men really can be Samson-like which is goofy. I have never once heard a friend say that they were turned off by a guy with thinning hair. Little wee-wees, yes. Bald spots, no. Loosen up, Ken. Stop trying to look like Nick Lowe! He hasn't had a hit since 'Cruel to be Kind.' Maybe Lisa has a fetish for goofy 80s rock stars? Whatever floats your boat. 

Time to kill the wabbit, but not before the younguns kiss on it first. It's a tradition in these here parts! Bunny necking cames first,

Then posing as one.

Who do you think will be first, Brooke? I hope that I'm wrong. Hefner's standards have declined in direct proportion to his viagra use going up. Leather, anyone? At this point he'd probably let Beth Ditto pose. Nah, she's too cool.

Before we get to the murder of the fine chock-lah-teer's good work, Kyle interviews that Lisa has everything, the biggest and the bestest, and she caps it off with one of the fakest laughs ever.

Hahaha, tee hee hee. Bitch. How do I blame my envy on Kimmie THIS time...

Then the murder commences, Kim getting into the spirit most of all.

And all is well with the Richards girls once again, with Kyle insulting Kim and Kim not complaining about it.

Plus, she really needs to replace the purse that Kyle smushed.

Yet another Easter bites the dust, and I bid this gathering adieu with another blurry picture of the VanDerHunk.

just ignore the baby in front. She's teething

The vignette is back, and it brought a scary monster MTV cross-over with it! I am taken back to the olden days of my first lame recap of Bromance, and Brody Jenner's mommy Linda. I cringe, I tell you! I cringe! But that is nothing compared to the visceral reaction of my bowels tightening up at the sight of yet another woman that looks like the Saw puppet.

Game Over.

She and Stretch are having a boring conversation about their kids having way more than they did when they were young. Linda "I fucked Elvis and hatched a douchebag" Thompson makes Taylor look positively natural by comparison. Do you want to see Linda before she stuck the equivalent of an entire Tupperware party in her face?

Ugh, it makes me want to cry. Or break out the Harvey's Bristol Cream.

Not sure.

And I was kidding about Stretch looking normal in comparison.

Who did YOU fuck in the 70s, Mick Jagger?

I bet HE'S been to the room in The Palms where Ad is having her picture taken for that Australian magazine, Kurv. Everyone else has. I've seen the Girls Next Door there, and Hef. So it probably smells like Brylcream and vaginal cheese. That's okay. I barely notice.

I'll give you one guess why.

Holy Mary, pinch me and plug in the fan, I feel a hot flash coming on. Did you get a good look? Do you want another? You do? Okay, if you insist.

Invisible Twunty hug

Does Paul even know what he's up against? He's about to find out. He wanders in to check things out and comes face to face with jaw dropping and pantie erasing hotness of immeasurable ecstasy, ah fuck it, he's HOT.

 By golly, he's the black Brad Pitt!

Miss Andy done good with the casting this time, I must say.

Paul jokes with him that he was cast first but couldn't make it because he was busy. he has a better body, too. Nobody believes that but he has a cute sense of humor. He just needs to figure out how to stop looking like David Guest. One of those running around is more than enough. God, I hope Adrienne doesn't beat him.

The shoot is sorta edgy, I guess? I don't know. If edgy means not looking at each other or touching, then congrats. it's sad.

what a waste of perfectly good man meat.

We all like our shoes here, right? Did you see Ad's? How do you walk in these things?

maybe walking's not the point..

Well, we've gotten almost all the way to the end of the episode without a big plug (The Palms doesn't count. I said so) so now it's time. It's Whitney's 20th birthday and Kim has decided to give her and all the Richards girls a spa day. It's at.....

Over priced goop for nincompoops

You can tell that this is going to be fun. How? Because it's a bunch of women, food and beauty treatments. I love a good massage and manicure as much as the next gal but you couldn't pay me enough to hang out there with a dozen other women at once. Not without more than Mimosa's, if you know what I'm saying (lorazepam).

I'm getting bridal party flashbacks just looking at this gaggle of Fraus. Not the good, drunk in the limo, falling out while you're taking pictures part. The awful up at dawn, stuck at the beauty salon for three hours while sleep deprived salon staff stare daggers into the back of your head, sabotage your hair style and then don't thank you when you tip anyway. God, I hope those days are over, and if any of you bitches out there decide to get married, I'm going to just mail you the gift, mkay?

Now, the next question is; how are Kimmie and Kyle going to ruin Whitney's day? By doing what they do best, silly! And what is up with Kyle asking if the perfectly lovely spread of food is organic? Is her body a temple or something, because I doubt if it's about the environment and sustainability and pesticides. Here's the server's face when she asks him if the pastries are organic. He smiles and nods yes.

Spooge IS organic, right?

I was going to say, "Is this Mexican enough for you," but the dude has suffered enough.

Anyhoo, special sauce for everyone! I bet he wished he had done it, leaked a little of that Baja baby batter into the blueberry blintzes. 

Kyle never SHUTS UP. Then she loads up her plate as Juan watches and his smile gets bigger. The dumb bitch thinks that if it's organic, it's good for you, completely neglecting the fact that if you eat enough of anything you WILL turn into Violet Beauregarde. 

She DOES look good in purple.

What look do you think she's going for there, Demi in the early Ashton days? Isn't Mrs. Kutcher on one of those sawdust and fiddlestick raw food diets? Meh, I would rather get chubby and not date younger douchebags. Wait, I'm doing that already. YAY, ME!

Kim and Kyle klink krystal and toast to being nice today. Yeah, right. That truce last literally ten seconds. They start arguing over whether or not Whitney should be allowed to go to Texas for the Summer to hang out with her friends and stay with her Dad. SHE'S 20. Why is this even an issue? It's not like Kim will be completely alone if Whitney leaves. 

 You'll still have three left, and that's three to many if you ask me.

There's a discussion about Kim misinterpreting Kyle begging to differ with not having her back. I guess Kim only talks to Kyle about her kids to get her to help her make them do what she wants. It's kinda sad, but honey, Kyle is not their Daddy. Shouldn't she be discussing this with him? Maybe she hates him, don't know. He could be like Simon or that vile anti-semitic Count Ugula of LuLu's, so let's be thankful he ain't around.

These two need to learn how to communicate. Kim is insecure and only wants advice if it falls in line with her original plan. Kyle has to always be right and even goes so far as to say that Kim "makes really bad choices," then she goes and undermines her by complaining about her to her own daughter, Brooke.

And YOU are over-stepping your boundaries, Cher.

She is seriously as clueless as Kim is sad and pathetic. Our child star shut-in is over on a chaise crying at this very moment. 

Why couldn't mommy make sister Kathy my guardian instead?

No doubt! You could be living in hotels right now.

She is too attached to her kids. It's really odd to me. My mother was nothing like her when I was young. Heck, I wasn't even in the same state as her when I was 20, let alone living at home. One of us would be dead by now, if that were the case.  I can't even imagine the next scene with Kim chasing after Whitney because she can't bear to be separated for even the 30 minutes it takes to get a massage.

To add insult to injury, the proprietress of this establishment calls Kim Kyle's mother. Was Kyle mortified for her sister? Did she act insulted and injured? Did she demand an apology and check to make sure that Kim was out of earshot?

Nope, I think she just made a life long pal.

Back outside, Kyle says that she doesn't want anymore drama and then immediately brings up going to Houston with Whitney. She gets her to say that she will definitely be coming back in the Fall (duh, she has school!) and then shoots her sister an 'I toldjaso' look.

What a spoiled bitch! She then has the nerve to try and Tweet about it! what the fuck? Why would you do that to your own sister? Oh, I know. it's called Me-me-me-me-itis. Girl has got it BAD. look at her sulk when she doesn't get to humiliate her sister some more in 140 charaters or less.

MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME

Tune in next week when we find out that someone took a huge dump and taught it how to dance.

Now, why would you do that?

Love and Kisses,

Twunty McSlore