RHOA: Thirsty Little Beavers

Hi Gasmii—

We’ve been apart for three long weeks and I know you’re all ready for some riveting, shocking, monstrous entertainment!

This episode completely craps out on those fronts, but I just saw a horror film from the UK called Outcast about a demonic cult stalking a single mom and her troubled teen son through the urban blight of a Scottish housing project. The movie is dark, disorienting, brilliantly acted and packed with nastiness and it will definitely get an eventual DVD release in the US. But if you like offbeat horror movies like I do, it’s so worth it to pick up the Region 2 DVD from Millennium at Amazon UK. A multi-region DVD player can be had for under $100, and you can get an all-region Blu-Ray that will play any disc from anywhere in the world for around $200. I have a Momitsu 799 and it’s the best electronic device I’ve ever purchased apart from my two vibrators, which I lovingly renamed “Man O’War” and “The Alien”.

Phaedra‘s tract mansion. Phaedra’s slicing peaches to make preserves for her Sip-N-See Party. This is apparently a very time-honored Southern Belle custom in which friends and family get lubed up on copious amount of booze (“mimosas or blinis [sic]“) then coo and caw over a newborn, most likely while trying to ascertain what fraction undesirable ethnicity the child might be. According to Phae, little Ayden Adonis is a quarter white-trash, so expect some catty remarks about store-bought canned preserves. Has Phaedra completely given up on the pretense of being a top entertainment lawyer? Maybe the Georgia Bar Association has been watching this show and revoked her license for sounding like such a goddamn moron. Honestly, how many lawyers do you know with English as a first language who think there’s a dessert filling called Barbarian Cream??!

Speaking of big semen-squirting lugs, Phae’s trophy-bride Apollo is looking fine as shit, Gasmii. Maybe he IS an ex-con raised on a diet of Wonder Bread and Spam, but he was smart enough to knock this one up and I guess enduring her phug-naciousness in and out of bed beats a real job. Phae tells us that people used to seeing her “be a little Johnny Cochran” in the courtroom would be surprised that deep inside she’s “Martha Stewart“, if Martha couldn’t pronounce bellini and told easily disprovable pregnancy whoppers. Apollo asks why Phaedra seems pensive and she says she’s concerned her party guests won’t act like “grown women”– specifically Kim, who confronted her at the spa last episode. Phae IS smart enough to spin the spat as Kim insulting precious little AA by calling him “an alien”. (Just like my vibrator!) All Kim really said was that it was impossible to grow a human fetus to term in 6 months, so maybe Phae was having some kind of space critter. Is it really so outrageous? Look closely at Phae and you might think she’s the product of her mother Pastor Regina mating with a chubby-chasing humanoid bullfrog, possibly from outer space– from a planet where proper diction is punishable by death.

The Russian whorehouse called and they want their vase back.

Then, Phaedra continues, Kim made vicious-but-truthful comments about Apollo’s prison record! That’s what happens when you’re Atlanta‘s top gorgeous “suh-sess”-ful couple– you attract jealous hata’s like a gooey jar of peach preserves attracts Pastor Regina and her spoon. Apollo pouts cutely about his perception as an “alleged” car thief. He says he’s not that at all. I’m cutting him some slack just because I think people would give him cars for free. Phae interviews that she pays no attention to “gossipers”– “Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future!” Where does she find this crap, on Jackie Collins dust-jackets? Apollo thinks serving 6 years in prison has paid his debt to society– so I guess he’s saying he’s an EX-car thief. Phaedra thinks the only answer is to have Kim come over, see AA for herself then presumably drive away in the same obnoxious white Bentley she came in.

Casa Cynthia. I think Cynthia’s a sleek, sweet-tempered stunner and I would totally go shopping with her, or even invite her over for one of my infamous Girls-N-Gays Horrorgasm Pajama Parties, but I SOOO can’t get behind this bone-headed lavish wedding to elderly fiance Peter. He’s a controlling mess with bad investments and anger issues and who the fuck needs him? Cyn deserves a guy who’s SO amazed and grateful that he’s snagged a model that he’ll cherish her, obsessive friendship with NeNe or not. I need the same guy, only substitute “ex-teen model” and “Flipit” where appropriate. Speaking of Gramps, here he is joining Cyn for a sensible dinner of salad and wine. He immediately uncorks his other whine, grousing about how hard his day was zzzzzz Uptown Supper Club ZZZZZ desperately needed investors snore and how fake people in Atlanta are, unlike “New York or L.A. or Miami“. OK, with the possible exception of Sedona, those are the three fakest cities in America. And this is so incredibly dull I’m tempted to call my niece Emilia and ask what she did in school today.

Then Cynthia interviews that when the restaurant needs money she’s “a 100% partner” but “when things start falling to pieces, I’m in the dark.” Let me flick the lights for a sec and advise you against marrying some old fart just so you can declare bankruptcy together! Cyn mentions that everyone’s RSVP’d yes to their natural-history-museum wedding, because how often do you get to see a gal marry one fossil while standing under another? As scary Housewife music chimes ominously in the BG, Gramps tells her that the Uptown is upshit– creek, that is. Cyn rather air-headedly reveals to us that she’s, like, totally over Grampa and his boring supper club and he needs to, like, move on and sell it or they won’t be able to pay for their million-dollar nuptials. OK… so grouchy insecure Gramps has been pressuring her to marry him and the only way she’ll do it is to passive-aggressively spend a million bucks (and I’m not exaggerating– that’s the budget, ladies) while “their” troubled restaurant is about to go under?!?

“Wait, Peter… let me cut your lettuce for you so you don’t need to put your dentures in…”

Is she really as fucked in the head as everyone else on this show except Kandi??! I’ve had it with her, how ’bout you, Gasmii? It’s easier for me to relate to the guy on Hoarders this week with 2500 rats, despite my newfound unwelcome knowledge that thirsty rats will try to gently suck the moisture from your eyeballs when you’re asleep. So anyway, Cynthia has invested “a big chunk” of money into the Uptown, but Gramps snips that she doesn’t know his pain. Well, he’s “turning into this bitter man” and their relationship “is like a prison sentence”, she tells him. Gramps: It’s killin me! No, it’s killing us. Seriously. I have a lot of shit I could be eBaying right now.

Phaedra’s tract mansion. It’s the day of the Slurp-N-Stare and Phae’s thoughtfully provided valet service just in case there was some risk of her enormous relatives getting three minutes’ exercise. Kandi & Cyn arrive and are greeted by Phae’s phave phag, Dwight. As Bruce Vilanch-a-like photographess Spark St Jude snaps away, Dwight announces Phaedra, Apollo and circumcision survivor Ayden Adonis as they come preening down the stairs into the party. What scarred Phae during childhood and left a gaping hole that even Apollo’s well-paid penis can’t possibly fill? Phaedra prize-models the baby and points out his “tuxedo” designed by Dwight– it looks like a onesie with a dickie slapped over it. It’s pristine snowy white. For now. (I had SO many e-mails expressing sheer delight over AA’s projectile diarrhea during that recent photo shoot that my in-box exploded.) Phae admonishes the crowd to keep their “germy” hands off the baby just as Sheree arrives, telling us that she’s never heard of a Sip-N-See and that Phae probably made up the whole thing. But there’s free wine and brunch, so WTF, right?

The most shocking arrival is of course Kim, who recently lambasted Phaedra at the spa for trying to obfuscate her preg-details. That’s right, I said obfuscate! Not bad for a gal who’s had sex with a Menudo, right? Kim interviews that she’s attending under the producers’ direct orders duress. Since it’s a classy event, Dwight’s right there with a cordial “Look at those melons!” before offering her a bellini. “She’s like Jessica Rabbit gone bad,” Phae snips, like she doesn’t resemble Petunia Pig herself. They exchange an air-kiss, then Phaedra says she needs to “show” Kim “to the baby”. When he sees those big jugs coming toward him, AA perks up like a tile-installer spying a taco truck. Kim pronounces the baby “pretty”. And his parents are lucky since, Kim confides, many babies just aren’t. Then for some reason The Editors cut to a shot of Pastor Rotunda grazing at the buffet, which looks like it could give the entire ATL heart disease.

“Whatchoo talkin about, chile?! Apollo ain’t your daddy! APOLLO!!!”

Phaedra asks Kim to join her in the backyard “for a smoke”, which ironically is Phae’s way of trying to “clear the air” of the stink of straight-up bustedness. “I just wanna see if Kim and I can have an adult conversation widout da peanut gallery around,” Phaedra remarks, all mature in her bubbled Oompa-Loompa Bridesmaid dress. They sit down on the patio and Kim praises AA’s looks AGAIN, before wearily re-stating that as a nurse, she knew it was obstetrically impossible to deliver a full-term baby in 7 months, but whatever… like the rest of us, she no longer cares that Phae lied. Or why. But she does have a certificate for Phaedra to inspect– apparently in June 2001, Kim became a licensed practical nurse. So in your phroggy face, Counselor. But Phae got her revenge by plopping Wiggy down in direct sunlight, where she looks like a middle-aged courtesan caught in tragic proximity to Mount Vesuvius. Kim’s clownish drag-queen visage is so whorific that her near-admission to possibly working as a stripper to feed her obnoxious daughters barely registers. Big deal. Go dig up a Wicked Pictures release with Nick Manning dropping loads on Kim’s pouty puss and let’s talk then.

Phae’s cool with Wiggy as long as Kim makes “an honest living”, Phae declares with a straight face. Phae says she’s not judgmental like that. In fact, Phaedra knows the pain of being the subject of hurtful gossip since she married an ex-con. It sounds like Phae might be about to accidentally tell us something true but it’s the same old bullshit spin about how she knew Apollo before he got into trouble and he was innocent but had a bad lawyer and ended up doing enough hard time to make her seem remotely fuckable. Based on the timeline that’s slowly revealed itself this season, they had to have banged in the car on the way home from the prison. Phaedra’s all about redemption, you see. And Kim kinda likes what she’s hearing. So it’s another fleeting RHOA truce. But, as Kim reminds us, the bitch do lie.

Now on to the storyline we REALLY care about– NeNe’s career as a local entertainment reporter. Just kidding. This is also super who-gives-a-shit. NeNe’s already the star of a national show! It would be like me getting excited over being in a newspaper ad for The Ocala House of Unfinished Furniture after my 17 cover. Her segment is going to be called “Keepin It Real with NeNe”, real shallow, awkward and pointless. Ain’t nuthin remotely juicy about softball questions pitched at local celebutards… but NeNe seems really into it. NeNe “wants to realign the bidness” and make herself the go-to-gal for disposable celeb fluff pieces. But if this paycheck helps finance the abortion of even one of little club hoochie knocked up by Bricen, It’ll be so worth it!

“I can’t believe I called Tyler Perry a hacky, cross-dressin bottom, y’all!”

Kim’s tract mansion. “SWEEEEEEETIE!!!” Kim, lounging listlessly on her bed, bellows for her personal assistant. Kim needs the clearly underpaid gal to administer B 12 injections to keep “her energy up”. Luckily for us, we’re spared the sight of an ass-injection as Sweets pops her in the arm. Kim says it’s REALLY hard to be away from her kids on this grueling four-day tour, but chubby tween Ariana and chastity-choosing teen wienie-tease Brielle will be fine staying with Kim’s parents. Why is she going? “You’re not even that famous,” Ariana snips. Yeah, but you’re fat, Kim thinks but doesn’t say. Ariana flounces off in search of Fritos as Kim gravely explains to her elder, abstinent daughter that the trip lasts seven days and Sweetie will be going with Kim to attend to her every need. Surprisingly, Brielle, not Sweetie, breaks down in tears at this.

Kim explains that she “makes a very good living” phoning in lip-synchs for crowds of drunken gays and “I don’t really have a choice”– when Miss Andy says tour, you don’t argue. Because if you do, she’ll just put together a super-group with Salahi, Staub and The Cuntess and call it The Black-Livered Peas. Brielle is especially broken-up that Sweetie can’t stay behind and Butterfly McQueen for them. “You’re killin me,” Kim tells Brielle. Kim doesn’t want to go on this tour anymore than the girls want her to– only in Kim’s case it’s because she totally sucks and has refused to rehearse. “My two passions in my life are my children and my music,” Kim tells us, surprising the millions who’d have guessed “faux-hair and rich cock”.

Radio station. Kandi & Kim appear on some terrestrial hip-hop radio show in Charlotte, NC to promote their opening concert at Club Tempo, where “grown folk” go to get dey groove on. Kandi interviews that since it’s been 10 years since her last solo album, the record company wants her to test the waters at small venues to see if anyone likes her new shit! How insulting. It does seem bizarre to include talent-free, lazy-bones Kim in any type of live show NOT specifically aimed at drunken gays. What the hell are straight black people going to think of her?!

“Are we passing through any towns with a one-stop doctor who does DNA tests AND abortions… in that order? Just curious.”

Zada Jane’s Corner Cafe. Don Juan is Kandi’s attractive young tour manager and she wonders how Kim will respond to having an assistant around who says things “she doesn’t wanna hear”, unlike Sweetie, who’s also there. Kim bristles as DJ runs through the not-rigorous sked– when will she have time to rest?! It’s hard to tell if Kim is REALLY this annoying or they told her to play it up for the camera. Everyone (well me anyway) always says Kim reminds them of a retired porn star, but I don’t think she has the work ethic for it. DJ says Kim will be sleeping on the tour bus and there’s no smoking around Kandi and her vocal chords. She’ll have to wait until they hit a truck stop. If there’s time, maybe she can even earn a few extra bucks.

The big black tour bus arrives and Kim acts like she’s never seen the inside of one before. In all fairness, she might have had her face squashed into the seats while The Oak Ridge Boys took turns. Kim pronounces the bus “a Motel 6” and is horrified by the bunks, bathroom and constantly repeated ban of smoking. She amusingly tells the driver he can drink on the job if he’ll turn a blind eye (and lung) to her smoking. Kandi and Don Juan decide they should funnel all communication through Sweetie, who can “passively” get Kim to comply. Right now the poor neckless gal is busy showing her bewigged boss how to flush the bus toilet. I’m just worried about what will happen when Kim’s gay fans go to straight black clubs and run into all the guys they’ve met online for sex who are out with their wives and girlfriends. Now there’s a reality show!

Jermaine Dupri‘s Studio. “Lock your doors,” NeNe’s younger, cuter son Brentt advises after she parks the family SUV before her big interview with apparent superstar Dupri. Young man, that’s racist! Jermaine is “a munchkin” (NeNe’s words, not mine) holed up in a recording studio crammed with collectible merchandise, including action figures and bobble-heads. So he’s either super-famous and has spawned an entire eBay category or he’s a geek with bad taste, or both. Apparently he fucked Janet Jackson pretty hard and regular at some point, but his publicist Saptosa has forbidden NeNe to ask about the rhythmically national coffee-enema fan. NeNe confides to us that she’s going to “wing it”, so that could mean she IS going to bring up JJ… if so, prepare for a virulent case of saptosa (which, if diagnosed in Stage 2, isnt always fatal), Gasmii!

“The fans want to know, Jermaine– is it racist to call you a ‘Midget’?”

Jermaine can barely tear himself away from his laptop to focus on NeNe and her questions. He grunts monsyllabic answers but seems to warm up when NeNe winkingly brings up “Tardy for the Party“. Then everything’s swell and he gives her a tour around Munchkinland, which includes a basketball court and a strip club. Charmed!

Sidewalk. Sheree & Phaedra power-walk and discuss their buttocks. Phae says before the baby was born, she had “a big ole donkey-booty, like a big reindeeah”. In fact, most of Phaedra’s relatives have “big ole stanky booties”. Well when you’re the size of Pastor Rotunda, it IS difficult to wipe. Phae tells us that black men like donkey-booties and advises any of us interested in nabbing a brutha to inflate our rear ends. Um… DUH.

Thirsty Beaver Saloon. Oh, yes, that’s really the super-obscene name of the “local bar” in Charlotte where Kim & Kandi’s tour-bus makes its first stop. I don’t know about you, but I want the t-shirt to wear to yoga. You’d think Kim would be happy to be in a honky-tonk boozeteria run by a cute young guy, but she’s in a nasty mood and it’s about to get worse. Kandi asks the barkeep how he arrived at the name for the place: well, it was either Thirsty Beaver or Horny Hippo. Did you hear that, Kim? They almost named the bar after you, DJ says. Yikes! Or “The Monkey with a Wig On”, Kandi adds, referencing an insult NeNe flung at Kim last season, to Kim’s great non-amusement, both then and now. Then DJ mentions the “risque” factor he finds inherent in Kim’s new song “The Ring Didn’t Mean A Thing”– Kim’s ring came from a married man. Strike 2! “Mind your own business,” Kim interviews. “You don’t know my situation with Pig Boppa, so shut your mouth. Period.”

Don’t be a pussy! Come on in!

Then Kandi pisses her off by pointing out the ridiculousness of Kim’s statement that PB “never cheated on me”– after all, he was married to another woman the whole time they were together. Kandi tells us this is just plain “delusional”. Kim takes Sweetie outside for a cigarette. It’s gonna be a long, LONG 7 days.

Casa Cynthia. “Actor/Relationship Expert Hill Harper” arrives, hopefully to counsel Cyn and Gramps against making the biggest mistake of their lives. Who better than the star of CSI: NY and The Skulls to tell you you’re stepping onto a marital minefield. He’s also a law-school grad and a personal friend of Barack Obama and has written a series of self-help books for black people. Cyn explains that when she met Grampa he was building his swanky dream supper-club and she willingly invested dozens of thousands of her model money into it and now when things are hitting the skids, she gets no acknowledgemt for her contribution. In fact, Peter dismisses her as someone who’s given jobs by her agent and manager, and when they get married he doesn’t want to hear “I did this” and “I paid for that”. There’s not going to be any “I” in their marriage, just “we”.

Dr Hill senses “communication issues” (he does, after all, have a head) and wants them to look into each other’s eyes and say what it is they love about each other. Peter loves “her eyes… soul, and… pushing her buttons.” Cynthia would love to have another session to give her time to enumerate all those wonderful qualities of Peter– like his control issues, his verbal abuse, and his minimizing her as a person. See, I’ve gotten the ball rolling. Now stitch it up and kick his grumpy, broke ass to the curb. Then take your million-dollar wedding budget and take a vacation with Kandi.

“After my beaver drinks, it always wants a cigarette.”

Club Tempo. The bus rolls up and meets Kandi’s entourage, including lovable mom Joyce, and Aunts Nora and Bertha, who try to attend all of Kandi’s performances. They take the old bats onto the bus for a little tour and Kim is finally happy– she’s gotten a medium-size floral arrangement and a bottle of Dom Perignon from bootily gifted butterface NFL boy-toy Kroy Biermann. And best of all, Celebrity Wig Stylist Derek J is there, too, because, as Kim interviews, “Nobody does porno-hair” quite like her cross-dressing wig-wrangler.

Kim annoys Kandi by disturbing Kandi’s pre-show quiet-time and drinking, smoking and cackling gossip at Derek “right before she goes onstage”. If Kim sucks, it’s going to make them both look bad. Kandi points out that this isn’t Kim’s key demo– chemically altered gays– and if she fucks up, they WILL boo her sloppy white ass! Kim finally shimmies into her black show dress and takes the stage with a tipsy “Wuzzup, CHARLOTTE!?!” She dispenses with those pesky dance steps and just walks back and forth crooning “The Ring” for a seemingly appreciative crowd. Then she almost becomes emotional as she thanks her mentor and BFF Kandi for making her dreams come true and asks Kandi to join her onstage. Kandi does her “Since You’ve Been Gone” ballad a cappella and sings another song quite effectively. The crowd went with her on her brief but heartfelt emotional journey. Slut-N-Pepa 2011 are a hit!

Back on the bus for the 9-hour trip to Orlando, Kim and Sweetie are the two obnoxious gals at the slumber party as everyone tries to get bunk-rest. Kim is of course claustrophobic, so has to take her pillow and blanket out to a couch so she can drift off to diva dreamland and shut her fucking mouth.

“Just drop me off at the nearest truck stop. Don’t worry, I’m already pregnant.”

Next week: Cyn’s wedding plans hit a snag. Kim and Sweetie work Kandi’s last nerve. NeNe visits the bus and lunges at Kim.