Now that the voodoo priestess known as Kelly Bensimon is no longer on this show, it is almost devoid of rituals. Well, at least he rituals where she would hold naked babies by their left heel over a stone basin and drain them of their blood which she would mix with jelly beans and contempt and form them into a pinkish paste that she would smear all over her body to preserve her youthful figure. Yes, that was a ritual that was long studied in ancient tomes of black magic and it is now no longer. Instead we’re left with only one ritual: the atonement meal. This is when the housewives get together in various and assorted configurations and have to make amends for some grievous wrong or perceived slight that happened in the last episode. It’s like Yom Kippur, but with less food.
Well, it’s not always an atonement meal. There is the recap lunch, where one Housewife fills in another housewife about a fight at some party the night before. There is also the pow-wow cocktails, where two Housewives discuss how bonkers all the other Housewives really are. There is the supplication supper, where one Housewife throws herself at the mercy of another. And then there is the contentious dinner, where two Housewives try to get over their past problems and just can’t and the thing devolves into a whole different fight. There is the clue-you-in desert, where one Housewife tries very gingerly to tell another one exactly what her problem is and how to fix it. And, of course, there is the exploratory shopping trip, where one Housewife tries to take the temperature of another while standing around displays of bikinis for their next vacation.
We saw all of these last night. That is all the last episode of Real Food Vomiters of the Bulimia Ward was, a bunch of ladies going to meals and cocktails and shopping and talking about shit that already happened. And boring shit. No one talked about how Sonja Tremont Morgan, of the Beaver Falls Morgans (not to be confused with her evil cousin, Pamela Morgan, of the Intercourse Morgans) took it up the butt from a Johnny Depp impersonator. No one talked about Carole’s abiding sadness at reliving her past as a quiet civilian before she decided to don the mantle of “Housewife.” No one talked about Heather Thompson strutting off shaking her rather shapely ass so that she could go “do me” away from the squawking do-dos nest she went on vacation with. No, all we got to hear about was ¡Que Viva! fighting with Somonja. It was like the start of her telenovela, where we saw “Last week, on ¡Que Viva!…” but the plot did not progress it all. It was just marinating in its own past, chewing on the cud of its own failures.
Here is what I all am going to say about ¡Que Viva! versus Somonja (until we get to the end and I take it back up again). They are both wrong. There. That is the problem. Somonja needs to admit that trying to find somewhere for Taco to stay was pretty damn shady and not very welcoming. ¡Que Viva! needs to admit to them that calling them “white trash” and treating them as such was pretty messed up and, while it may have been a reaction to their behavior, her behavior was not much better. They need to do what the guidos on Jersey Shore do and “neutralize it,” a strange ritual where two clans wrong each other, thereby making both of their actions null and void and no longer mentionable. But no. These three are so calcified in the narcissistic behavior of the Real Housewives that they can never admit that they are wrong, so they will just keep winding each other up about the same incidents over and over, like a May Pole of self-righteousness.
That’s it, they’re both wrong, everyone is wrong. This whole thing is wrong. If I could, I would rip out Ramona Singer’s tongue, beat her and the rest of the crew over the head with it and giggle at the dull slurping sounds the slap makes as it knocks each one of them out, hopefully to recover with amnesia and to never want to step in front of the camera again.
So, that’s it, I’m not talking about this fiasco again, instead, there are a few other points that I would like to get to. The first one is something that I missed, but I was on the subway this morning and I overheard Dustin and Jayden, Manhattan’s most obnoxious homosexuals, talking about Heather and Carole, and here is what they had to say.
“Girl, guess who was at Bartini last night?”
“Carole Radziwill and Heather Thompson.”
“Yes, queen, how did you know?”
“Justin told me.”
“Which Justin, the Justin who I used to f*ck but got fat Justin or that guy Justin who passed out in the Meat Rack in a patch of poison ivy and woke up the next morning covered in sores?”
“No, neither. It was Justin who stepped in shit at the Black Party last year.”
“Of course she would be at Bartini.”
“I know, it is the worst gay bar in Manhattan.”
“Troof. It’s so dark and they always play that annoying siren and they have that girl always shouting over the loud speaker.”
“I mean, it sounds like Saturday night on WTRM in Secaucus. ‘Coming to you live from Illusions, this is Saturday dance hits!'”
“Yes, queen. It is awful. But Carole and Heather were hanging out there.”
“With their gays?”
“No, alone!”
“What the hell were they doing in a gay bar without any gays?”
“Right? There should be a law against that. I mean, they don’t let you go to pre-school talent shows without a toddler, Okrrrrrr.”
“For real. But they were just there doing a bunch of shots.”
“Did that jerk bartender Kevin make them do that nasty Godiva shot he’s always making.”
“Yes, queen. What you got against Kevin.”
“He was talking to me on Grindr last week and was all, ‘More pics?’ and I sent him some.”
“The one of you in the assless undies.”
“Yes, queen. That one. And he didn’t even respond. Not even once.”
“That’s cause you look fat in that picture.”
“Shut up, lady. You look fat in that T-shirt.”
“I know I’m fat, you fat too. Then they were drinking these cherry shots and Heather was all, ‘I don’t like uncut guys. It looks so gross. And then Carole was all like, ‘I’m a size queen.'”
“Hello, Carole, are you breathing, everyone is a size queen.”
“Okrrrr. And then she was all, ‘But it matters who that big dick is attached to.'”
“But it doesn’t matter who the small one is attached to. Do. Not. Want!”
“Girl, that is what Heather said too!”
“Really? Hahaha. Oh, I knew I liked that bitch for a reason.”
“Holla!”
“Holla is right, gurrrrllll.”
Thanks, Dustin and Jayden. Now, back to our regularly scheduled recap.
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