For those of you too caught up with watching the recent scuffle between lunatics who want to continue to allow people on a No-Fly list to purchase automatic weapons and decent people who desire some change and chose to squat on the House floor until a vote could transpire or the chaos rumbling through the financial cosmos because of the Brexit vote, I am very sorry to tell you that you missed some other essential news this week. Yes, it was reported just the other day that Vicki Gunvalson – a woman who makes me want to secede from the human race in general – claims to have lost over twenty pounds! And how did she manage to shed one of those thighs? Well, she used a wise diet that included gnawing on grapefruit and lettuce for breakfast (because who doesn’t crave lettuce at dawn?) before skipping lunch entirely and then tearing into an ounce of chicken when it grew dark outside. In other words, Vicki used a diet plan called “Starvation” to achieve her goals and though I’m repulsed that she put such information out into a world where impressionable people might decide to follow in her bullsh*t footsteps, I’m even more upset that her dramatic weight loss did not result in her vocal cords depleting to just a hanging thread of nothingness.
Turns out that Vicki can still speak because the world is just not fair. It also turns out that we start this week’s episode still on that boat where Heather would like to know why Vicki didn’t call everybody immediately after the Brooks-faking-cancer-and-doctoring-medical-records debacle to say, “Holy sh*t, you were all right! I was dating a lying sack of total horsesh*t who was so repulsive that he lied about having cancer.” I feel the need here to say that, whatever Vicki’s response to Heather’s question, that answer matters far less than the fact that she waited until the mother*cking cameras were following her again before she even attempted to craft an apology to any of these people and that kind of scheduling tactic makes me scoff at any of her impassioned pleas for forgiveness. By the way, in this context, “scoff” means flinging something at a wall and wishing the wall was Vicki’s face.
Vicki continues to claim that she cannot defend Brooks’ actions and that she was in no way involved in his lies and she wants to know why everyone was so concerned about his health in the first place. Is this perhaps a rhetorical question – because I have a few responses to such utter nonsense: Because you spoke about his illness and vulnerability every f*cking second. Because you agreed to make it a plotline on the show. Because you employed it as a manipulation tactic to get people who have been repeatedly grossed out by the assh*le to finally be nice to him. I have a few more responses – most of them laden down with hellish amounts of profanity – but let’s allow Heather to answer the question, which she does thusly: “Because we all knew it was a f*cking lie.” Hail Heather. Now toss that blonde lunatic off the boat and then give the captain of the ship a gigantic tip for thrusting his foot all the way down on the gas so you can leave Vicki behind in the water where she can wait to be resurrected by a God she likes to impersonate on a Bravo reality show.
Unfortunately for most of us, Heather is a far kinder soul than I am so she does not fling the idiot overboard. Instead, she tries to reason with a liar by saying, “I don’t care what Brooks did. I only care about your involvement in it.” “He obviously lied to me,” claims Vicki, who was so horrified at being lied to that she crawled down a murky street in the dead of night in an attempt to get her liar back into her brown house forever. Meanwhile, there is another camera crew at the table inside the boat and Jeana and her long hair and her odd Cheshire-style grin wants the rest of them to know that Vicki is very upset that nobody wants to talk to her after she said terrible things about them all on television last year. “You know, love is blind,” Jeana explains – and listen, the woman who looks like the cat from Alice in Wonderland has a point. We’ve all made sh*tty decisions when it’s come to something we believed was love – hell, I wrote a f*cking book about it – but one thing I never did was blame the entire world for my blindness in the way Vicki continues to do.
Tamra, much to my great surprise here, does not go running from the table to console Vicki, though I’m certain that moment is only a commercial break or three away. Back on the port side, Heather soothingly tells Vicki that she cares about Vicki’s kids and wants the best for her, but that she needs to have conversations with all of the women and let the results of those conversations fall where they may. A perfect hostess until the f*cking end, Heather gives Vicki a hug, says she’s glad Vicki came, and then tells us that it seems Vicki just wants to sweep the past under the rug like nothing ever happened. That rug is getting kind of bumpy since already shoved underneath the thing is one of Lynn Curtain’s old bangles, one of Lynn’s porn star daughters, a heap of Gretchen’s faux-leather purses, and Slade Smiley, who – much like herpes – never fully goes away.
In the limo on the way home, Vicki breathes heavily and sobs that Heather wants to keep questioning her about Brooks. Does Vicki not remember – even though you know she watches the old episodes of this show on a loop and uses the ones with Brooks as cheap masturbation material – that she admitted to saying that she lied and claimed that Heather’s husband gave Brooks emergency medical aid all because Vicki decided that she wanted some compassion? Bitch, please. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” cries Vicki, a woman we should all know did not renew her reality television contract at gunpoint. She knew full well that she would have to continue to discuss last year’s mess of epic proportions – a mess that even a hospital got involved in after her loser of an ex doctored letters and invoices from them. What I’m saying here is that there actually is a way to avoid talking about the man and the scam you were intimately involved in and that solution is to fight your revoltingly massive levels of vanity and not put on a microphone or sashay before the camera, you f*cking moron.
I must say this: if any viewer is now waffling on any past animosity held against Vicki because he or she has been impacted by the way she dabs at her eyes in every single scene or was perhaps magically hypnotized by her hideous shirts with the cutouts near the shoulders, I feel so sorry for you that I am prepared to start a Go Fund Me page to help your wounded psyche. With the money raised, a strong person will arrive on your doorstep and slap the sh*t out of you when you open that door so balance can once again be restored to your brain by knocking some f*cking sense back into it. Please, everyone, contribute generously. We have to look out for one another here.
The next day, we are back in the new girl’s house. Kelly is wearing curlers in her hair and applying antiseptic to her kid’s scraped knees while comforting her sweetly by chanting the words, “Suck it up,” to the youngster. Kelly loves being a mom! It’s so awesome to have something just like herself in this world and I guess that means that Kelly too swigs cough medicine directly from the bottle. The kid feels icky – or is pretending to feel icky – and I guess the bow shoved on the top of her head didn’t help her achieve a miraculous recovery. The adults in the room all proceed to fight over whether or not this child should go to school and finally Kelly is the one to make the choice: that kid and that bow are going to learn something in an academic environment today, fake fever or not. Now listen, I’m sure this scene is meant to set up the dynamic between Kelly and her husband and who in that house gets to make the decisions, but at this point I could care less about Kelly. I also don’t really care if her kid goes to school or who in the house wears the rhinestone badge that says CEO and the only thing I know so far is that Kelly met Vicki and she liked her so this new chick is already teetering on the edge of total ambivalence in my head.
At their temporary manor, Heather and Terri are getting ready to head to Turks and Caicos for some quality family time. I realize that I should probably comment on how very cute it is the way the entire family cheers when one of the kids arrives home and announces that she auditioned and got into the talent show at school – it is pretty cute – but all I can focus on is the absolutely perfect light that drenches the Dubrow household. It’s like they are living in a f*cking Kardashian filter and I’ve decided I want to be deliriously wealthy, if only so I can stop wearing Smashbox BB Cream every single day. Tamra calls Heather just then (Heather answers on speakerphone because doing so is in all of their contracts) to find out what happened last night with Vicki and she shares that she just doesn’t know what to do about the woman. We all know Tamra’s gonna cave in her battle with Vicki and that it’ll undoubtedly happen the second the two of them get sloppy drunk and they will embrace messily on top of a bar and Vicki will call Tamra “my sister” and then kiss her cheeks and her ass and she will leave a film of spittle behind that smells like cheap tequila and Brooks’ scrotum. Therefore, it’s a bit hard for me to invest in what this show wants us to read as a mystery of will-Tamra-or-won’t-Tamra-forgive-Vicki? But fine…let’s pretend for kicks that the conclusion to this crisis is still up in the air, okay? Heather then asks Tamra what she thought about Kelly and Tamra explains that Kelly all but shoved her nipple into Tamra’s mouth in the first few seconds of meeting her. When a woman who threw herself a dildo party whilst engaged in a custody war that seemed to be at least somewhat caused by a child maintaining that her mother’s sexual frankness on television had caused her gross levels of humiliation is horrified by the sexual boldness of another, you know that nipple must’ve been really f*cking close to Tamra’s mouth.