Anyway, Dr. Quackenbush says Kim has low hormones because of her birth control, and this is stupid because we know she conceived since then, and I’m too busy worrying about her unborn kid to pay attention. I wonder if that kid has a contract with E! yet. I bet there’s a budget line item for “Baby West.” I used to think Kanye could do better, seeing as he has actual talent (whether it’s your thing or not, dude can make a record). Then I thought about it and realized that it’s not like Amber Rose is some kind of stripper Einstein (although she is marrying a guy called Wiz), and Yeezy’s doing exactly as well as he wants to do. By the time Kim’s face melts off, it will be time for a younger model anyway.
Butts on motorcycles! Ko & Khlo buy like a life-size Chia unicorn or something. The elevator smells like B.O., and first the blurry-faced guy riding it with them gets blamed. Then the Mexican food they ordered gets blamed. But actually the odorama is Kourtney.
Quack’s office. 50-year old ovaries or something. So, shouldn’t she be releasing cat-care hormones by now?
Khlo and Scott discuss Kourtney’s odoriferousness. Kourt is still on her anti-chemical kick and won’t use antiperspirant when she’s breast feeding. All players are tied for stupidest in this saga. Also, I don’t care.
Scott looks for office space to “work.” What does this fool do again? I thought he sold vitamin supplements for Kris. One of the building management dudes is his Scottleganger! This guy calls himself Chapman, and the resemblance is scary. The two men can’t stop grinning at each other. I think Chapman’s veneers are specially engineered to stick out in a friendly way though.
Hi, I’m your wife’s worst non-chemical nightmare!
Chapman likes racecars. Scott visibly drools. “Bromance” is bandied about. I like Khlo’s dress in this scene. I also want to see Chapman made up like a mime. And trapped in a box. Any box.
Kourt doesn’t want Scott to race cars with Chapman. Shocker.
Kim shows up at Choadan’s dressed like she’s going to the Oscars. She’s overcompensating for her slob-kabob stinky sister. Leave the postpartum lady alone, Kim, you jerk.
Date night! Scott and Chapman will be consummating their bromance with some dinner in the presence of their wifeys. Chapman’s wife has matching veneers that stick out even further than his. I wish the camera was following anyone else in that restaurant. Racecars, racecars, deep thoughts, kids, sanctimony, more bromance. Mrs. Veneers hides her face. “You’re not gonna kill yourself, but you’re gonna break bones,” Chapman helpfully explains about racing cars.
And suddenly, Scott has a racecar and helmet with his name on them, and he’s talking about his “natural ability” for this “sport.” Whatever happened to that grand piano he bought? Didn’t he have a natural talent for that? Cars are raced, and then the bros reactivate the mousse on their helmet-heads with water.
I’d hit that from the back.