HOUSEWIVES PHOTOCAP: It's On Like Donkey Kong! (assuming Donkey Kong has big fake breasts and a giant wig)

Well, I’ve done my last traveling for the summer, and now I am finally finally getting back up to speed here with the blog. That means catching up with last week’s Real Housewives of Atlanta, which I had missed due to a raucous wedding in rural Michigan (not exactly the sort of place where you’d find Bravo on the hotel TV). Anyway, I checked out the latest episode last night in the comfort of my own apartment, and once again, we were left with quite the explosive final ten minutes. Kim, Nene, and Sherayay all attempted to bury the hatchet at a classy joint called “FAB,” but since these are the Housewives we’re talking about, the situation ended up as anything but fab. “Loud” or “cantankerous” or “like a drag show gone HELL TO THE NO wrong” would be more apt descriptors.
Yes, Nene and Sherayay joined forced to become Nenayay and confronted Kim about all her alleged lies, and even though she knew this was exactly what would happen, Kim still freaked out (perhaps justifiably) and soon the women were all yelling at each other. Actually, it was mostly Kim and Shereee-ay, with the latter diva calling the other “traaay-lah TRASH!” (which, as you may have gleaned, is quite the opposite of “FABUHLUS.”) Part of me was really hoping Sherayay would bust out her now classic “Who’s gonna check me, boo?” line, but then I remembered that it’s no longer funny after Andy Cohen spent literally a week on Twitter abusing the catchphrase and therefore ruining it for the rest of us (do yourself a favor, and resist the urge to follow him).

Unfortunately, I can’t quite tell you how the brawl ended because the good people at Bravo decided to milk this weave-tuggin’ fight for all they could. That means before any wigs could come flying off, those dreaded words appeared on the screen: TO BE CONTINUED…
Oh well. I’m sure the outcome will be amazingly anticlimactic, but that’s okay. Any Housewives fight is usually enjoyable in some way. And maybe if we’re lucky, Sherayay will pull out a gun and step things up a notch. That’s right, the She By Sherayay visionary took a trip to the local shooting range to get out some aggression, and I think I was not the only one was afraid for everyone in a fifty-foot radius. Not only did Sherayay freak the hell out after shooting her first bullet (a rare glimpse of her not being all strong and tough), but she then excitedly pointed her loaded gun in every which way as she laughed and screamed all at once. Heck, i was hiding under my pillow, and I wasn’t even in danger.
Elsewhere in the Housewives universe, we learned more about Kandi, who seems to be existing in her own island of a show. She has yet to really interact with anyone else in the cast, but that seems about to change next week. For now, her only drama has stemmed from her fiancé, AJ, and the fact that he’s spread his seed in many places. The man’s got kids, all from many different women apparently (something that was not made evident last week). The gaggle of Baby Mommas understandably upset Kandi’s mom, who expressed major reservations about the upcoming wedding. Kandi’s aunts, however, were totally supportive (and awesome)— especially that one lady, who told us all about Aunt Nora and Aunt Hazel and few more aunts and uncles whose names I couldn’t quite understand. Turns out that marble-mouth runs in the family because half of Kandi’s words were subtitled in the episode. I hope she never gets pulled over late at night because quite honestly, sister’s got a slurring problem — wouldn’t want her to get an inadvertent DUI. That would not be, to quote her new song, good good good.
Meanwhile, over at the Wu-Hartwells, Lisa and Ed were taking part of that hallowed Housewives tradition: tryin’ to get preggers. Ed — who continues to be the best husband of the entire franchise (narrowly beating out Bawwwwby of New York City) — cooked up his wife a whole romantic dinner replete with candles and rose petals. I just didn’t know why he set everything up in the foyer. I know to some the entryway of a house might be the most intimate of living spaces, but it felt a bit odd to me. Not that it mattered — the action soon moved upstairs where Ed gave his wife a massage before announcing that he’d be her “masseuse.” Unless Ed had some sort of exotic operation in Thailand recently, I think the word he was looking for was “masseur,” but that’s really just a technicality. Anyway, the photogenic twosome then headed into a monster bubble bath where they smooched for a second before Bravo panned away and let the lovebirds DO IT in peace. Now that’s what I call drinks and dialogue.

Ed: “I wanna do you in your Lady Foyer.”

“Nom nom nom Hartwell & Associates nom nom…”

“BAM! I’m stranded on a kitchen island!”

“Hey look at me! I’m wearing my implant!”

“I want you to make me something that’s real classy-like. You know, leave something to the imagination. And if you could make sure my boobs are 97% exposed, that would be great.”

“Oooh, I like this. But do you have something that maybe shows off my vagina more? In a classy way.”

“I don’t want no blogs! A blog is a website that can’t get no love from me!”

“Oh well. It’s like they always say: bfbrrr brbw fsdbbdbe brwweeb booop bddd.”

“Heeeeeyyyyy!!! Let’s get some Drinks and Dialogue up in this bitch!”

“BAM! I’m wearing a cape!”

“Kim, you making my leg fall asleep! I think you gained weight, girl!”
“It’s my boobs, bitch.”
“BAM! More margaritas!”

“Hey, I opened this menu. I think I deserve a party for that. Do you know of any poets that are available?”

“And so I said to my momma, brbarsralkj;lk asrb;lkaer asdfb;lkjaaerjerlkjdfg. You know?”

“basfjhkwerhj sdfjhkaewb adsfhjawerhbj adsfbvnasdfjh (sniff sniff) asdljksdafhljk dsfkjl.”

“Ooh, I like this. I feel more manly than ever.”

“New plan: instead of an Independence Party, I’m just gonna shoot my ex in the head.”

“I think this calls for a celebratory Shot My First Gun Party. I’ll invite a thousand of my closest friends.”

“Wait, so all this time when people were saying that cat is spelled c-a-t, they weren’t joking?”

“So let’s recap: I’m an NFL star, I’m being forced to have sex every day for the indefinite future, and everyone likes me. Hahahaha, awesome.”

“Check out this hot tune: ‘bawerkjlbasdb ewrbalrlkj asdfbwer asbndbkjwer abnwerljksf bweradfasd good, good, good.'”

“Sorry I’m late. I thought we were meeting at that restaurant with the crazy guacamole stuff. You know, the green junk that’s made in a ROCK. Barbarians.”

“Kim, I don’t know how you can expect to show up late and not even bring a poet OR a helicopter with you.”

“I didn’t lie! I told the God’s honest truth! And as a Not Cancer survivor, I’d think you’d be a bit more empathetic to my personal challenges!”

“And if I did lie, it was ONLY because I have a special type of cancer that infects my brain lobes and makes me lie.”

“Well, it’s not really cancer. I don’t know what it is. But the point is that as a Not Cancer Not Liar, you should trust me!”

“And how DARE you call me trailer trash! I am a classy woman who just so happens to chain smoke, swill booze, and show off her titties.”

“There’s a tightrrrooope… between me and trailer homes…”

“Oh lord, she’s singing again.”

“Do you want me to call Pookey? Because I will if you don’t shut up.”