Do these women think we suffer from short term memory loss? I have to ask because why else would they be such hypocrites on a weekly basis? Well, you can't fix stupid, to paraphrase
Ron White Tammy Sue Bob, and you can't make what's dull interesting. Or can you? God knows I keep trying.
Isn't there a definition for insanity in there somewhere?
Our first scene this week involves Crackie taking time out of her busy schedule to visit Tamra and catch up on what happened on the trip to Spain. Let's see, what DID happen in Spain?
Oh, that's right, NOTHING.
Have you traveled overseas? Have you spent time in England, Italy, France or ate your way through Spain? I have done all of the above and I couldn't have made my trip as boring as Tamdie's if I tried. Somehow we'd always end up talking to cross dressing prostitutes at taco stands at 2 a.m. or getting thrown out of churches for lewd photography. Talk about a waste of a perfectly good opportunity to at the very least, eat a shit ton of tapas. What does Anthony Bourdain call Spain? Oh, right, the land of food porn. Guess what? Tammy Sue Bob hated the food. MORON.
For some reason Crackie gifts Tamra with a framed cross.
Framed so it won't burst into flames.
And Tamra gives her a rosary that she bought in a convent gift shop. Crackie says she's going to put it into her car.
To protect her on the way to
her boyfriend's house WORK.
After some blather about how Tamra's new apartment is peaceful and 'blessed,' Tamra gets down to the real nitty gritty, that Greggy told Simon that she was in Spain with Eddie. This was such a travesty because Simon had the nerve to come over and hang out with his kids at her gothic cross festooned abode. That evil, evil Simon. How did HE keep from bursting into flames? Pfft. Maybe she's afraid that he'll keep coming by and find Eddie in the closet.
If that's all she has to complain about, if the biggest problem is that Simon said he would have liked to have had the kids instead of Grandma, then what is the big deal? That sounds pretty civilized to me. I think she's more upset that he has a much younger girlfriend who he probably actually penetrates on a regular basis without pulling weave out from between his fingers or wondering why he smells like eyebrow pencil afterwards.
And her cootch is probably more closer in size to a studio apartment than a city block, always a plus.
Crackie informs us that she is going out of town on
monkey business for an entire month without Donn. He'll be staying in a van down by the river at lake Havasu because Crackie sold everything out from under him and has decided to fly off to have all the insurance codes surgically implanted in her brain. The other four weeks in Chicago are for roofie-ing college students at Northwestern.
Tammy Sue reads the phone text about the mace to Crackie and then calls Alexis a RUH-tard, which is true so I'm not giving her any shit for it. I have it on good authority that Mallard Mouth doesn't even really have a driver's license. They just shoved some water balloons in the nanny's blouse and then slapped a Donald Duck mask on her and SHE took the test for her.
Crackie tells Tamra that she heard that the Bellino Boobie Monastery is in foreclosure, Oh my! Take up a collection! Pray to God for some miracle, Tammy Sue, we all know how hard this was on YOU, after all.
Or you could just giggle with glee. That'll help.
What a fucking hypocrite. I don't remember Mallard laughing at her for losing 'the only home that little Sophie Richter knows' as she sobbed in her Faux Tuscan hotdog-less hallway. Why the bitch face? Oh, right. Mallard's actually pretty and has a great body and a husband and no Rapey Eyed children. The only housewife that's more jillous is Jill.
The conversation moves on to Jimbo and the mystery of how he makes his money. He has to be making some money, right? Someone has to pay for all of Mallard's Judy's Fashions to be altered and regular tetanus shots for the Future Gold Digging Twins.
Must be all those Greggy Playing Cards he's been selling. You can get them signed and everything!
You know what else you can get if you are so inclined? A beautiful array of Gretchen Christine Bow-Tay Cosmetics personalised to your specific skin tone and preferences, Ron Anne-less to boot.
Dust bunnies included free of charge!
There's our lovely scammer, sitting on the floor taking inventory of her make-up to make sure that Slade isn't skimming off the top, or eating it.
Or feeding it to the dogs.
Maybe that's why they're so fat. Gretchen blames it on her ex who shares 50/50 custody of the chubby buggers with her. He's over at his house pouring lard on their kibble in the hopes that it will DRIVE HER INSANE. She did once have an eating disorder, remember? She was binging and purging and hurling into trash cans while empty bags of Ho Hos and Cheetos piled up in the corner, or so she would have us believe.
I'm inclined to see a different scenario, one in which she LIED about having an eating disorder. Why? Well, because I have never, ever ever known someone that had an eating disorder that went around making fun of people for being fat, as she does with Slade in almost every scene.
He's 6'2" and weighs 211. How is that fat? Maybe they have different standards in Orange County because here that's considered sveldt. Of course, here in Ohio you are considered a communist if you don't eat meat at every meal and our cheerleaders throw their male counterparts into the air. You're also not allowed to vote if you wear a size zero. Unless you're an amputee, of course.
They have to take the dogs to the vet to weigh them and see if they're obese, which they are. One of the little buggers rolls right off the table, which Gretchen blames on Slade. It couldn't be because she was busy shoving the other dog at him, could it? Also, what kind of gibrone Veterinarian has a freaking scale on a push cart?
The free ones, I guess?
If that wasn't humiliating enough, how about we follow Crackie to the spa for his & hers massages with Donn. Straight off the bat, she gives him shit for drinking Chardonnay in the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday. What's he supposed to be doing, praying for a miracle, like you stop being a raging selfish bitch?
Jesus, if you let me drink all day every day, I promise not to kill her for the insurance.
Well, you know she's gotta have a killer policy. I mean, HELLO.
How come we never see her at church? She's always going on about her faith but I can't remember seeing her enter a sanctuary. She could at least give disco bible school a chance with the Bellino Bimbo, but maybe hers is a more private faith.
She goes on and on about work while Donn sleeps through his massage in the next room.
Or maybe he killed HIMSELF. Both scenarios would be a happy ending, in my book.
A celebration is in order! Greggy and Formica have invited Gretchen and Slade to dinner to fete Greggy's new tits!
And the fact that they're both facing forward again.
Gretchen is wearing some sort of flouncy negligee and Slade forgot to comb his hair again. Shocking.
Everyone's all drunk and fancy and admiring Greggy's hairy cadaver fingers and the jewelry she slipped off a dead lady and onto her own last time she went to the mortician's for a fill-up.
That embalming fluid makes it really SPARKLE.
They talk about how fun it is to have kids and what a great mommy Gretchen will be one day when she's done being sued and paying all those legal fees. Formicah brings up a charming story about how a friend of his was left holding the bag after his wife absconded with another and abandoned him with his kids, none of whom are fighting brain cancer, thank God!
This makes Slade uncomfortable because he is a tireless fighter in the crusade for children's rights and he has made it his life's work to make sure no child is left behind or suffers because of a lack of child support. Why, he can barely contain his disgust that anyone would do such a thing.
Hold him back, Gretchen, before he hunts this hussy down!
I sure hope Slade didn't offer to pick up the check or they're going to be in that kitchen WAY past closing time.
Gretchen whips out some lipgloss for Greggy to try out but first she has to do this weird allergy test on Micah. He holds the tube (completely wrapped and closed, mind you) in one hand while Greggy sees if she can pry open the fingers of his other hand. If she can, he's not allergic.
That is the dumbest shit I ever heard. Lipgloss is Micah's kryptonite? Bullshit! We all know he isn't allergic to synthetic parts or else he break out every time Greggy blew him. This is all an elaborate plot to sell holistic crapola from Granny Tanous and her medicine bag of stickers and piss cups. Pretty soon she'll be selling her hocus pocus all over California at huckster kiosks in malls and tupperware style parties where the hostess gets to pick the free fountain of youth gift of her choice, estrogen tin foil or, if that doesn't work, hot pokers to blind your husband.
How about you people work for a living instead of trying to bilk poor suckers out of their money? I am not buying this tale of riches and push presents from Greggy and Micah. This reminds me of the same line of crap Pawn Preacher and Sister Tittycaca Immaculata tried to shove down our throats last year. 7 carats!
7 carats of crappy pawned melted down engagement rings, but still, 7 CARATS.
Did you see how panicked Gretchen got when Greggy said she had to test the lip gloss on Micah? She threw out one of those, don't go there, oh fuck! faces.
I have to support Slade, remember?
Just so you know, the reason Slade isn't working is because the bottom fell out of the mortgage market and now he's over qualified and no one's willing to pay him what he's worth. Too bad no one's hiring deadbeats to guzzle gallons of booze,
because he seems pretty damn good at that!
Talk finally turns to Tamra and how she lies and Gretchen hates her and, by golly, so must Greggy! Not so fast, Gretchen. Greggy will make up her own mind, thank you very much, plus she needs the older broads to sell snake oil to.
Greg meets the old piece of white trash the next day so she can show off her Frankenboobies. You are not seeing things. She wore the most low-cut top she could fine so she could flash everyone her new scars and bandages. Who knows, maybe Tammy Sue Bob asked her to so she wouldn't be able to keep any of her food down.
It sure worked on me!
And why does Greggy lean so far over to read the menu that she has to hold her hair back?
Did you forget your bifocals again, Nanny McPhee?
She apologises to Tamra for telling Simon about Spain, but in all fairness, it wasn't her fault. Little Lisbon got a hangnail that morning and she just wasn't thinking straight.
They laugh and giggle because they both share such a bonding love of laughing at others, then trash Gretchen and Alexis. Why Alexis? Because she didn't stick up for Tamra when Tamra made Gretchen call her an evil bitch. Gee, Tamra. I just love your sense of logic. It's right up there with Teresa and how nice she is.
Then she calls Jimbo a douchebag and everyone in America falls face first snoring into their bag of Doritos for the umpteenth time this episode. Dear God, these people suck, sol let's tag along with Crackie and Donn and watch the paint dry in one of Orange County's finer eating establishments.
Let's tally it up- Crackie doesn't know that Donn prefers white to red wine. She also doesn't know that he is 57 years old. What she does know is how to speak in slogans, like 'life is a pie and you have to carve out the different pieces of your life' or 'We have an accordian style marriage, sometimes we're out here, and sometimes we're in here.' It's just a bunch of mumbo jumbo and allows her to disconnect from the fact that she more than likely cheats.
She asks him what his life plan is for the next five and ten years. The answer?
Retired. And banging someone else.
Our vignette this week has Tamra showing houses so we believe she works.
Marcos is holding her hand again which means she can't get shit done on her own or he wants to make sure she doesn't steal everything that resembles a cross, including the ceiling fan and letter opener on the hall table.
Gretchen and Slade decide to run the dogs. Slade has a heart attack and Rocco or Tony or Vito or whatever that fat Chihuahua's name is, gives him CPR and he lives to stink up our screen another day.
Wake up, Fatty or I'll eat you!
I don't get how Slade has no time to work out. I'm sure that being Gretchen's mood penis is awfully time consuming but I'm also pretty sure that In 'n Out will let you work in four hour shifts if need be.
He gets fed up with being called a tub of lard and she says she'll stop humiliating him in public as soon as he finds another source of income. Plus, how mean to make her look like shit in public!
Only SHE'S allowed to do that!
Like a little piggy, he runs all the way home. I hope he also did some freeway parkour. It's a great work-out if you don't die.
Let's put this shitty episode to bed with Tammy Sue Bob walking her two-bit hooker's ass over to the Bellino Fortress of Stupidtude. She's never been there before so Mallard gives her a tour.
My wineglass painting is bigger than your wineglass painting
That is STUPID. Who has pictures of wine all over their house? Is that supposed to make them seem more cultured and sophisticated because it doesn't. It just makes you look like you buy your artwork at Michael's.
Tammy brings up the foreclosure as soon as she's through the door. I'm sorry. Why doesn't she have an actual wine glass sticking out of the side of her head right now? Oh, right. Alexis is a good Christian sheep and Tamra's classy and nice this year. I must have heard wrong.
The place is 6,500 square feet and I'm really glad that Jesus's Go-to Bimbo gets to show it off one last time. Plus, there's the added bonus that you could fit Tammy Sue's entire apartment into their bedroom.
And still have room left over for Eddie's assless chaps collection.
I LOVE Mallard's closet, all except for one tiny detail.
Her photo of Joey Fatone.
They sit down and start to argue over the mean texts Mallard sent and how she needs to grow a sense of humor. Blah blah, but you're getting in the way of me making up with Crackie! But it was a joke! But it perpetuates a senseless rift between two caring rational sentient human beings! Okay, I made that last part up but what I'm NOT making up is the senseless lack of continuity in this scene.
Tamra's beige nails-
Tamra with no nail polish-
And why is she wearing that weird wristband? Did Eddie tag her and bag her at the airport to save money?
Tammy Sue Bob finally doles out a half hearted apology if she offended Old Tits for Brains. DULL. The only thing keeping me watching is the promise of Jeana raining on Tamra's parade next week.
And not a moment too soon.
I sure do hope she stirs some shit for us all to swallow because this, the 'crown jewel' of the housewives franchise, is becoming mundane. Earn that Tamra thrown cocktail, Jeana! We're counting on you!
XOXO, Your Twunt