Real Housewives of Orange County: The Road To Hell Is Paved With Bad Intentions

I thought long and hard over how to approach this week’s episode. The taste that it left in my mouth was so overwhelmingly bad that I almost didn’t want to have anything to do with these women ever again. But then I remembered how much fun it is to call them out on their famewhoring ways, and I picked up my laptop and gave it another go.

Let’s look at these women for what they really are. Let’s make sure that they don’t get away with any more of their bullshit manoeuvering masquerading as reality. This show isn’t about real lives anymore, it’s about the unravelling of them in the pursuit of fame and affirmation. These people wouldn’t be on this show if they didn’t care about what you and I think of them, so let’s let them have it, shall we? I’m game if you are. Let’s sharpen our claws.We’re back at the lunch table of Magpies, all pecking at each other and their salads and dipping into their martinis like alcoholic Dippy Birds. It’s a sorry state of affairs when you can never get together without downing half the vodka on the west coast. Their waiter should have just left the damn bottle on the table.

It’s the whole WORKING issue again. I do not buy for even a minute that that’s what has upset Mallard Mouth so much. She’s pissed because Crackie faked falling asleep when she was telling her long winded unromantic story about meeting the Pawn Preacher. Giving it to Crackie over implying that nobody works is the only way to get everyone else on board with her.

As much as I hated this entire lunch, there was one teenie tiny special moment. Did any of you notice?

She even manages to get Tamra in on the hate. This is so vile. Alexis knows that she doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to being a hard working stay at home mom. That is complete and utter crap. She has two nannies, for God’s sake, and I’ve never seen her change a single diaper herself, have you? Maybe Jesus told her that she didn’t have to.

Poor Briana sits there, observing all the arrows being slung back and forth and wanting to disappear into the Pacific.

Crackie is getting really flushed and upset at everyone ganging up on her. Tamra siding with Alexis was the last straw and Slurry gets up to go to the ladies’ room. Poor thing.

Crackie gets upset because she feels attacked and Tamra tells her not to play the victim. Fuck you, cunt. Way to have your best friend’s back. She IS being attacked and I’ll tell you why I think it’s not okay.

Alexis should have told her that her feelings were hurt by what she did and said at the party. Instead she turned it into a lecture on how ‘offensive’ Crackie is. Everybody knows that she can be a bit much at times, you have to learn to ignore it if you want to hang out with her. Don’t sit there and judge her and then tell her it’s for her own good, you holier than thou halfwit. It’s not!

This ‘Christian’ wife has an agenda. She wants to be on TV and have people look up to her for being such a role model of beauty and family values. She wants to be seen as a paragon of virtue and acts like her very existence depends on it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jimbo told her that if she wanted to be on the show, this was the path she had to take.

Jimbo is better than everyone else so she is by association, right? She wants to be the spotlight of the show and the only thing that stands in her way of achieving that goal is being made to look stupid by Crackie. Bummer. I’m totally glad that she called you out for being a bore. You suck, Alexis, and Crackie knows it. Need proof?

I sure want to. This may be one of the most irrational conversations I’ve ever had to listen to. Alexis says that nobody’s perfect, she just wants to help her. Lies. All lies. She wants to get back at her, using her virtue as a tool in this stupid social war she’s started.

Crackie says “Who are you? You don’t know me!” and don’t try to turn my own friends against me. “But we’re all friends,” says Sister Jubblies. Uh, no you’re not. Not by along shot. You are an interloper who doesn’t belong. Go back to church in your best hooker finery and leave poor Crackie alone.

Crackie finally makes her escape, saying “I’m out” over and over again. Yeah, you’re out, out of excuses for your mean girl behaviour. Don’t believe for a second that I think that Crackie is innocent. She definitely earns the derision that we send her way but I’ll take her over a hypocrite any day of the week.

Not done being a condescending bitch, Alexis says that Crackie can dish it out, so she should be able to take it. I’m sorry, what? Exactly what did she dish out to you? The truth that you’re a bore who cares more about working off an ounce of lobster meat than spending time with your kids? The truth hurts, whore.

I wish that God had given HER the thyroid problems. Can you imagine how much she would freak out if she put on weight because of an underactive one? She’d panic and put herself on a diet stricter than Rachel Zoe’s. She’d be spitting out communion wafers into her purse at that awful modern church of hers.

Brianna is the voice of reason. Who else would it be? She tells them that they backed her mother up against a wall and she freaked out. What else did they expect when they ganged up on her like that, for her to thank them for shitting all over her?

They’re all, “No we’re not. We’re not ganging up on her” and Brianna says excuse me, but no one else was being talked about. What do you call it, doing her a favor? What a joke.

Brianna interviews that she doesn’t want anything to do with all this crap. I assume she means the show. She says that she has her own life and this bullshit is the reason why she doesn’t hang out with girls. She felt like the only adult at the table and I would like to add that she was the only adult at the table with nothing to prove, and no lust for fame pushing her to do and say stupid things. I think that we can all agree on that.

She may not have lived up to being a buffer but she did inject a little sanity into the proceedings. There’s a clear lesson to be learned from her and I wonder if she’s even aware of it. It’s all about what’s important. If you really want to be a good person, don’t have an agenda. Live your life with good intentions and you’ll be happy. All this concern over appearances is really unhealthy, not to mention unattractive. That kind of negates what people like Mallard Mouth are trying to achieve, dontcha think?

You’re in for another shock, Gasmii. Slurry missed the whole thing and comes back to the table all confused about where Crackie went off to. She didn’t see her in the bathroom, she would have shared her pipe if that was the case, so now she’s discombobulated. It’s her normal state so she doesn’t really seem fazed.

The bitches just won’t shut up about Crackie and Brianna’s finally had enough. She throws her napkin on the table, informs them that she’s well aware of what her mother is like but the poor woman is dealing with a daughter’s serious health problems while being responsible for over 800 insurance agents. Crackie says stuff without thinking, don’t take it personally, you dumb crones. Sheesh. Then she leaves to attend to her with Tamra in tow.

On the way out to find Crackie, they talk about how it’s pointless to try and change her. They find her outside and Brianna wants to calm her down but Tamra starts in again about how Crackie offends people. Crackie says that she’s going to get trudging down that so-called high road of hers and I hope she has fun with all the other people that have had their words come back and bite them in the ass.

Brianna tells her that the high road would be going back inside and she almost says to apologise. Hell no! That lip injected bimbo should apologise, dammit, says Crackie. What a mess.

Instead of staying put and waiting for the others to come back, Gretchen and Alexis decide to go outside. They’re missing valuable camera time, people! Slurry brings up the rear because she doesn’t want to miss a good fight. Shut it, stoner. Quit proving what a waste of space you are. We all get it already.

Here’s a super stellar WTF moment for you. All the gals are outside now and still digging and jabbing away at Crackie. Alexis is so lucky that Crackie didn’t smack her silly with what comes out of that stick with boobs’ mouth next- “You said a lot of naughty things to me that weren’t fun.”

Take a minute to digest that, Gasmii. Consider yourself lucky to be in the presence of such linguistic brilliance.

This woman went to college? Where, at Gymboree with the twin future gold diggers, some game of ‘let’s pretend’ with dolls and backpacks full of Pat the Bunny books and Davy and Goliath videos? Get off my TV set, you make Tamra look like a Rhodes scholar.

I don’t understand the words that come out of crackie’s mouth at this point. I rewound and rewound but the best I can do is translate “bullup, bullup, bullup,” into “bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.”

Slurry is trying her damnedest to come out of her stoner haze and keeps asking what’s going on. I thought that all this drama would be stressing her out but I guess she’s fine with it when it doesn’t involve her. Jesus take the wheel, I want to napalm the Waterbar at this point.

Alexis says that she’s sorry if she hurt her feelings and negates the apology by bringing up how hard she and her husband work. Give it up, woman. Crackie tells her to own her do-nothingness and concentrate on raising her kids instead of trying to twist everyone on the show to her liking.

That’s what she was trying to say anyway, if it wasn’t for the editors. They always take out any reference to these women being on a show, like we’re all stupid or something and aren’t going to realise that that is the real reason for all the drama.

It’s sad. Gretchen tells her that it used to be fun to be around her and Crackie tells her that the fun is gone. They used to laugh but those days are over now. I’m sure that they had an entire conversation about how much this show has moved away from it’s original incarnation and into one long scripted commercial. Nobody’s being themselves anymore. That’s what used to make this show great. Everything rings hollow and phony this season and Crackie is well within her rights to question everyone else’s motives.

How weird. I’m so Team Crackie at this point. I never thought I’d see the day. This episode is number 13, by the way, which is so completely appropriate that I have nothing more to say about it.

Tamra and Alexis are back at the table where Tamra is finally sticking up for Crackie, if you want to call it that. She says that you should just leave some people alone because they’ll never change.

That’s not true, either. Crackie has made some strides this year. She’s made progress in her marriage, unlike YOU, Tamra, and she stays away from people she doesn’t trust instead of pretending to like them out of a fear of losing air time.

She comes back to the table, which is a miracle in itself, to Alexis saying “We were waiting,” in a super- condescending tone of voice. Bitch, PLEASE. Who died and made you the new Queen Bee?

The bitches finally apologize to each other which they should have just done in the first place and then Alexis wants to lead them in prayer. What a dumb cunt. If you didn’t find it annoying enough that a pampered whore would find a public restaurant the appropriate place to attention hog by riding the coat tails of her pretend piety, you’ll be incredibly perturbed to find out that she can’t even do THAT right.

Who prays for someone’s health to improve by bringing up loaves and fishes and the parting of the red sea? Quoting the appropriate scripture is not exactly her forte. What’s really sad is that none of them can do anything about it.
Except for Slurry but she’s too stoned to care at this point.

Brianna can’t stop this farce because it’s kind of rude to call out someone who is supposedly praying for you, and the other bitches don’t want to look like the unGodly famewhores that they really are at their rotten core, so they play along too.

This is the most blatant form of despicable grandstanding that I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing in my entire life. If I were Crackie, I would have grabbed my daughter by the hand and said sorry, but we aren’t going to allow ourselves to be pawns in your pathetic quest for righteousness. Take your piety and go “hallow-ed be thy name” thyself, and by that I mean

And you know how I would have felt afterwards? Like I had been miraculously cleansed of sin and all recharged for the coming week. THAT’S how.

Once again, Tamra has to put her unclever two cents in when she interviews- “How many flavors of dysfunction can you taste in this lunch?” Quit trying so hard to be witty. Just because a psychic says you’re smart and incisive, doesn’t make it so. That ‘color reader’ is probably Miss Andy’s decorator.

Thank goodness it’s over. Brianna calls the weekend a complete pain in the ass. I, for one, am simply shocked that God didn’t strike them all dead when Mallard Mouth decided to pray while drunk.

It’s the little things, right Gasmii? Like being able to keep your balance on your high horse after a luncheon of pure vodka and peanut sized portions of a crustacean. At least she managed that part.

Back home at the Blarney Den of Un-equity, Tamra and Simon are sitting down to have coffee. Poor Simon has to reach out to the coffee table to grab his mug and has the nerve to be a little bitch because Tamra didn’t place it directly into his hands. What is his problem? When some little slight like that becomes something you get uppity over, you need to seriously work on your man card, dude. Your insecurity is showing.

They talk about the lunch and Tamra tells him that she and Gretchen were the only sane ones at the table. She calls Alexis a know-it-all and Simon looks bored.

She tells him that Crackie didn’t want any part of it (the show?) anymore and Simon sides with her. He asks, “What does she get out of any of these people?” and I wish he’d just come out and say it. He married a chick who took to fame like a duck to water and now it has changed her.

He can bitch and moan all he wants about how she doesn’t take care of the kids like she used to, and about how the show is consuming her but it doesn’t matter. Just look at her face when he criticises her, she’d die if we stopped caring about her boring life. She would freak out if she couldn’t be on TV anymore.

She calls her difficulties with Simon “not being able to have a life.” I call it jonesing for fame. She lost her good years to suckling babies at her teet and now it’s her turn. She wants to be adored for her lame quips and hang out with Miss Andy on a couch drinking wine all day, not saddled with a guy that isn’t part of her fan club. He should be shoving autographed photos into manila envelopes and mailing them out to the adoring masses, the stupid twit. HE’S the one that doesn’t know his place, dammit!

She changes the subject and tells Simon about the Curtains getting kicked out of their newly warmed house. She says that she advised Slurry not to jump into a divorce because she very well may get over her initial anger and wish that she hadn’t gotten one.

“Bringing up the D word is serious,” says Simon. Umm hmm. Whatever you say, Simon.

One of us needs to ask her for one. I bet that she already has them ready to go, signed ‘The Hottest Housewife in Orange County,’ with all her liver spots airbrushed out.

Gretchen is up next. She and Slade are taking ride in her Rover, this time to Palm Springs where her parents Brenda and Scott have rented out Merv Griffin’s old estate. It’s $4,500 a night, so put that in your bible and smoke it, Jimbo.

Why are they always riding around in her car? What happened to Slade’s Mercedes? I’m trying to remember how they got to the Valley Ho earlier in the season but I can’t figure it out at the moment. Let me know if you guys figure it out for me. It’s confusing.

They pull up to the privacy gate and Slade makes a joke about being in such a sumptuous place because of ‘knowing people.’

They say hi to the parents and go on a tour of the place and Gretchen’s dad takes one look at the lake and then wonders aloud about it being deep enough to dump Slade’s body where it won’t be found for at least a week.

They look at the horses and her dad makes another corny joke about how that explains the pile of ‘Slade’ that he stepped in when he arrived. You have to hand it to him, he’s not so passive with his aggression.

The weird thing is that he reminds me a little of Slade. They have similar looks and height, and even sound alike. He’s very jokey wokey like Slade, and it’s obvious that Gretchen’s mom is the iron fist in the relationship. She barely says a word to the dead beat.

Meanwhile, Frank is back at the sad empty Laguna Beach house, packing up all by his lonesome. He looks like he’s lost weight and he admits that he doesn’t know what the future holds for him and Slurry. The one thing he does know is that his daughters deserve to be pissed off at him and they should be enjoying life right now, instead of dealing with homelessness.

Too bad you never taught them any decent coping skills, huh? You were too busy packing your one hitter with Merndocino’s finest to care. Now what? Where’s your Youthologist now?

He wanders around their cuff painting-less former home, fumbling in boxes and acting all dejected. He finishes up by placing a framed portrait of his girls in his trunk.

If it wasn’t for this damn show and the desire for fame and implied wealth that go along with it, they might be happy in a little tract house somewhere right now. MAYBE. I can’t put all the blame on Bravo. They got into this mess for their daughters, remember? So they could be famous and have fabulous careers.

We come back from commercial break to another one of those montages of ostentatious Bentleys and huge homes with perfect pools in the backyard. This whole wealth as a backdrop thing is getting kind of old, don’t you think? It’s time to show some trailers and check cashing stores if they want to keep what little authenticity they have left.

At least they don’t segue from that to one of the poorer housewives. Instead they show Brianna coming home from third shift as a nurse and Crackie in the kitchen to greet her.

Crackie wants to know what is going on with Brianna’s biopsy results and she tells her that she doesn’t know yet, and that they’re late. This brings out the crazy frantic martyr that’s always lurking right below the surface as she tells her that she waits up all night counting the hours until she returns home because they are “connected at the soul.”

Hello! THERE’S the insane self sacrificing Crackie we all know and cringe at. Where would she be if she couldn’t make others feel guilty for not loving and caring as much as she does? It makes me want to commission a portrait from artiste Raquel, of Crackie as Saint Sebastian, tied to a palm tree and shot full of blue cheese stuffed olive speared arrows.

Crackie wants to call the doctor right that instant but Brianna tells her to chill, she’s a big girl and she’ll take care of it herself.
Get a grip, Crackie. Can you imagine being 22 and having your mommy call up to get your test results? And she wonders why Michael doesn’t tell her anything.

Good news! Slade still has one form of transportation- his bike!

He and Gretchen’s daddy are pedalling on the open road where sadly, no semis with sleepy drivers are allowed to travel. They chitchat about how slow and painful Scott will make Slade’s death if he goes through with his plan and asks Gretchen to marry him.

I exaggerate, but Scott does tell him that the road to approval goes through Brenda, and he’s going to need a pretty strong suit of armor if he thinks that he can handle her.

She’s back at the Merv Griffin mansion with Gretchen who is fetchin’ up some breakfast for their menfolk. How quaint. Brenda rolls her eyes and goes back to perusing her volume of spells and potions for wayward lovelorn daughters. ‘Not my child,’ she says to herself, unable and unwilling to allow this ineffectual monster to sire any more starving urchins with HER Gretchen, not when there are so many more wealthy and more worthy men out there.

Her lovely daughter gets distracted by her own reflection at the bottom of the shiny, shiny pan, giving Brenda ample time to douse her eggs with the fear of commitment. ‘Work this time!’ she intones, ‘I got rid of the dreaded Photoglou for a while and hopefully the results of this concoction are more permanent!’

She slips back into her chair, uttering a disingenuous “What was that, dear? Slade? Oh, Slade. Sure, I like him just fine! Why do you ask?” as she watches Gretchen take her first tiny bite. She smiles a small satisfied smile, the edges of her lips curling up ever so slightly like the rise of steaming vapor from her scalding hot tea, the smile evaporating just as quickly, before Gretchen could even see.

If only she knew the great lengths she would go for her daughter, if only she knew, but $4,500 a night is a small price to pay for such a valuable opportunity to gain peace of mind. Not to mention the condo in Cabo she has bookmarked and stares at each night before playing bridge with their much wealthier neighbors. ‘You’ll soon be mine,’ she tells the photograph, ‘just as soon as I find a multi-millionaire who’ll sign a marriage license before dying from some pesky form of cancer.’

And who can blame her? She put up with her beautiful daughter’s troubled teen years, and she wants to see that investment pay off, even if I am just imagining how it all would go down.

I am also not going to repeat what Slade said about wanting to spend the rest of his life with Gretchen. That man is desperate. Gretchen knows that and as long as he plays his part, she’s cool with it.

Here comes another scene guaranteed to chap Simon’s ass. Tamra and Crackie are taking a walk up in the beautiful dry hills of their native land and who did Tamra bring along for the child-inappropriate chitchat?

AND she’s pushing her four year old in a jogging stroller. Can’t she walk on her own? Is she using the stroller to get a better workout? If so, couldn’t she put some bricks in the damn thing? Maybe Sophia is her version of a buffer. She thinks that Crackie won’t say anything mean if her precious little jaded preschooler is present. Nice move, Tamra. I’m pretty sure that your mom would have babysat her if this chat was so important to you.

They rehash the San Fran shopping trip like they’re on The Hills or something and Crackie brings up the fact that Tamra didn’t stick up for her yet again, since she heard that the lunch turned into a Donn and Crackie bashing session after she left with Brianna.

“But I’m caught in the middle,” whines innocent little Tamra. “What could I do?” How can you expect me to defend you when it’s not the popular thing to do at the moment? God, what a piece of shit Tamra is. I think that Crackie is finally starting to get it.

Crackie reminds her of how rude Simon was to her at the housewarming party and Tamra’s big excuse for letting it happen was because she can’t go against her big bad husband. He’s the bad guy Crackie, what could poor Tamra do? It’s not like she pitted them against each other in the first place, you know. Gee whiz, shucks and good golly! Tamra is only trying to do the right thing, feel sorry for her and the completely untenable position she finds herself in, otherwise you’re just not human, dammit.

You know what? Crackie really could care less. She tells her that she supports her and if her marriage works for her and she’s happy then that’s all that matters. When Tamra tries to goad her some more with her but, but, buts, Crackie tells her to figure it out and then get back to her. She started this crap and she needs to fix it.

It’s funny. Tamra assumed that she would be able to milk this war over her allegiances forever. Maybe she wanted to be able to blame her divorce on Crackie if she kept the grievances between her husband and best friend alive. Crackie isn’t falling for it, so good for her. She says that she doesn’t need this toxic energy in her life and for once, I believe her.

Too bad they didn’t get all misty eyed over the beauty of their surroundings and accidentally fallen over one of those picturesque cliffs.

Our little vignette this week involves the Pawn Preacher, just like last week. How lucky are we and what good deeds have you sweet little Gasmii been up to in order to deserve such a steady stream of exposure to Slim Jim’s greatness? You sly little creatures must be slipping more than your usual ten percent into those offering envelopes at church on Sunday. Just admit it, you wonderful humble Bellino groupies, you!

It’s date night and the local steakhouse is having 2 for 1 dinner specials for all the sado-masochists in the neighborhood, so off they go!

Could this woman have more issues with food? Once again, lobster comes up as she tries to figure out whether to order that, or the halibut. When Jimbo opts for the surf & turf, she picks the halibut because she can get her nibble of lobster off of his plate and he turns this into another opportunity to put her in her place.

What a dick! Not only did he spread his disgusting blubbery manflesh all over the slimey leather banquette but he has to pick this moment to school her on the fact that ‘surf’ doesn’t automatically mean lobster. It could mean crab, and she would be shit out of luck. He tries to get the waiter in on the fun of humiliating his wife but he respectfully declines to participate in this obscene display of chauvanism. And he was Italian!

All this after she went out of her way to butter his bread for him. One day in the not so distant future, she’s going to wake up sad and horny and dying to feel something, ANYTHING, for a change. This is how poolboys get laid.

They will be waiting and more than willing to tell her whatever she wants to hear for a few bucks shaved off of her spa allowance and tucked into the tight waistband of their bathing trunks. All she has to do is get creative with the household finances and she’ll be swimming in gigolos, so I can’t feel too sorry for her. She knew what she was getting into, and it only gets worse.

Have you seen the size of the pawned rock that Jimbo put into a melted down setting for her? BEYOND. No wonder she couldn’t lift her carry-on into the overhead compartment.

It’s still not as big as Jim’s, though.

I watch her carefully place napkins onto plates at her little round kitchen table and wonder what all the fuss is about. She sure as hell doesn’t do this for the kids so who is worthy of so much fuss? Why, none other than pastor Jentezen Franklin and very nice seeming pious plain wife, Cherise.

It’s funny. This should be a very important breakfast for the Bellinos. They obviously set this up to get their minister’s approval and all Mallard Mouth can muster up is granola and yogurt with pre sliced fruit from the deli department at Ralphs. It looks like something she might feed her kids.

My Italian grandmother would have disowned me, no lie, after she bitch slapped me for dressing like a whore in front of a priest, like Alexis does.

Jimbo fumbles around with the coffee caraffe which he doesn’t have a clue how to open (dumb fuck) and Alexis asks Cherise what it’s like to be a pastor’s wife, you know, when everyone expects you to be perfect and stuff. She very calmly tells her that she doesn’t let the pressure get to her and she stays BEHIND THE SCENES. What, what, what?

Before Alexis blows a gasket, Jimbo chimes in with how hard it is to live up to such unattainable standards of perfection, how hard it is to be judged for being so fabulously righteous and still pull off huge fake breasts, obnoxious displays of wealth and tightly fitting dresses.

PIG. He is basically asking his own pastor to legitimatise his lifestyle. Like, ‘Oh look, the pastor is in my house, I’m feeding him like a good little Christian so I can do whatever I want and Fuck You! You can’t go against the words of a man of the Lord, right?’

If I met this man in person it would take every ounce of self control in my body to keep me from shoving the shiny runbber boot I wear while shoveling my driveway right up his sanctimonious ass. The thing is, he’s so out of shape that he probably couldn’t overpower me. I’d be standing there, inching the tip of my Wellie further and further up his colon while he tried to figure out how to blame this sorry turn of events on his stupid wife.

Pastor Franklin tells Alexis that she doesn’t have to dress like a nun, what she should do is use her amazing beauty to open people’s hearts to the lord. Jimbo smiles and says that Alexis’s loveliness is a gift from God and should be used as such, for His glory, I presume.

Is Jentezen asking them to pimp for his church on TV? Or is he trying to get some side action from old Duck Lips after Sunday services- you know, a nice little pious beej in the rectory hall closet.

And pious, my ass! I haven’t seen them do a single charitable thing since they signed up for this show. They spend their money on fleeting things like Mallard Mouth’s botox, not school books for poor children. They buy obscenely expensive clothing while probably dropping pennies into the Salvation Army kettles at Christmas. I’m willing to bet that the only time they do any giving is when they write a check and slip it into the offering envelope to curry favor with the good pastor Jentezen.

And by the way, minister Franklin wrote a book about fasting for the Lord. I wonder if Alexis read it, and if she uses it as an excuse to make her eating disorder look like a mission for God.

Is anyone buying this crap? If you are then you are a fool. The only reason Jimbo goes to church is to have another way to control his prettier wife. The only reason they are on this show is fullfill their need to legitimasize their petty consumerist spending habits in the eyes of their parish. It’s a big eff you to the members of the congregation that judge them for being elitist show-offs.
End rant.

They wrap up their pathetic brunch with Alexis telling them that she wasn’t as Christian as she should have been in San Fran. The good news is that God spoke directly to her that Sunday when the sermon was about watching your tongue. AND she got to pray for someone.

Back in the desert, Slade and Scott are grilling steaks and bonding over their fear of Brenda the good witch. Gretchy-poo is busy taking healthy swigs from whatever bottle is handy between twirling her hair and trying not to fall into Merv’s lake.

They sit down to eat and uh-oh, drunken daughter brings up the subject of marriage.

Did the potion work? Is Brenda about to be forced to find more exotic local ingredients like eye of newt and unbleached hair? She steels herself against the very real possibility that she may have to kill for real this time, her gaze devoid of feeling as she describes the key to a happy marriage as being “no secret, you just make it work, my dear. You just simply do.”

Her beautiful child, her beautiful, beautiful batty child. She doubled the dose this time and it seems she may have gone too far. The poor dear opines that she thinks that relationships should be on lease with an option to buy or trade in, just like a car. That way, it would keep her from being complacent. She just doesn’t think that she is ready to marry yet. Slade’s face falls to the floor, his proposal plans landing with it.

Brenda feels the tension release itself from her body. Her hands loosen their grip from the arm of her chair and her jaw miraculously unclenches. It worked! The joy and relief wash over her like a warm bath, or what she imagines a dip in the hot tub in Cabo would be like. All is well and Slade will live to see another day.

Poor loser. His pot of gold may be slipping away. Oh well, at least he’s still within reach of one, unlike Frank.

He’s holed up in $150 a night suite at the Ayres Hotel and Spa. How in the hell is he paying for this? Couldn’t he have checked into one of those reasonable extended stay hotels that charge by the week? This must be an advertising tie-in arranged by Miss Andy. I’d be surprised if Frank had a single credit card left after Slurry’s trip to San Francisco.

Slurry and Moon Unit are there to have a talk and Moonie wants to be somewhere else. She keeps muttering about how ridiculous it all is, how it’s like, so fucked up. It’s so cute how Slurry describes her mood as “out of sorts.”

As for Raquel, she declined to appear this week. Being humiliated once on camera was enough for her. She’ll stick to drunken Facebook photos from now on, thank you very much.

Frank tells them that they look pretty and they smoosh themselves into a tiny loveseat still stained with Frank’s tears of regret and shame.

Slurry and Frank look to their daughter to begin the conversation. That is so messed up. This poor kid is reeling with trust issues and homelessness. Can you imagine being 17 and not having a room to call your own, a safe haven from the new adult outside world? I can’t even imagine. I used to freak when I’d come home from college to find that my mother had moved some plants around or removed my bedding. This is just crazy.

She tells them that she’s stressed and sad and doesn’t trust them anymore. Slurry thinks that there is something in his past to explain all the lies he’s been telling. You want an explaination, woman? Look at the sham of a life you’ve been living. You all spend irresponsibly, you all live beyond your means.

The situation is so dire to the poor spoiled hippy that she calls it “a near death experience.” This chick is lacking context, wouldn’t you say? I don’t know where to begin.

Frank apologises over and over, while Moonie looks like she wants to grab the lamp and hit him over the head with it. It gets better, though, so I’m glad she didn’t.

He’s going to try harder in the future, by golly, and this is their year, for sure! Let’s all take a family vacation, what do you say, old pal? Sound like a good idea?

What. The. Fuck. Is he talking about. Where’s he going to take them- pitching tents in granny Marilou’s backyard?

Moon Unit says it’s all bullshit, he’s all talk, and she starts crying because they move so much and she’s never had a real home like most of her friends do. Hell, even Mommy and Daddy’s drug dealer has a roof over his head- Javier told her when he had to give directions to them for the umpteenth time last week.

Frank creeps me out when he tries to soothe her by calling her his special angel and trying to stroke her into complacency. Slurry tries to calm her as well, and Moonie slips out of their slithery groping embraces. Run, child, run! Take your pain and lay it on Gretchen’s doorstep, she said her door was always open, after all. Plus I hear that her mother can fix pretty much whatever ails you. Call it a hunch.

Next week we go to Gretchen’s spooky Beauty Expo and get Brianna’s results. Say a prayer for her, Mallard Mouth commands you!

Love and Kisses,
Twunty McSlore