America's second worst television program had its fourth little episode last night and a variety of things happened. There were stylist disasters, broken wall sconces, ruined friendships, and, of course, Nazi hunters.
Paul Johnson Calderon
Oh poor little cricket. He had a really hard episode. You see he's not just some out-of-control drunken partyboy. He's also a responsible, intelligent adult with Hopes and Dreams and Perspirations, I mean Aspirations, and everyone should appreciate that. Everyone who is watching this reality show about how he is a stupid out-of-control partyboy. I mean, he is still an out-of-control partyboy. He owes some mean girl two large (large clams) because he went on a crazed drunken anger spree and, with some delightful young lady, tore down a bunch wall sconces or light fixtures or something from some girl's apartment. Terrific! This is exactly what happens when you teach a child about responsibility and accountability and consequences. That's what all well-adjusted, properly raised children do. They become adults who rip shit off other people's walls. And then by giving them the $2,000 to fix the problem for them, you are being a good parent. Lessons learned!
So yes, PJC is a drunken bumble-banger, but he is also a Stylist. Stylists are one of the most important useless jobs of all the useless jobs. Stylist ranks somewhere between Governor of Alaska and Television Show Recapper on US News & World Report's annual list of the 100 Most Useless Jobs. Thus it's very important for PJC to get the right clients to style. Naturally, this means Tinsley Mortimer. Yes the little iguana called up Tinsley and asked if he could style her for a big opera party and after a harrowingly long pause she finally said "Yessss..." She had so much enthusiasm in her voice! Energized, PJC set out to find dresses. Tinsley said she wanted color, so naturally PJC went to the Gray & Black Dresses store in the Gray & Black district of New York (which is to say Manhattan) and collected some garments. There was an ostrich-feathered tutu dress, a black velvet curtain stolen from a high school auditorium fashioned into what PJC called a "tuba dress," and the threadbare brown overcoat of Zeke Dustbottom, a known hobo. And they were all in the wrong size. So he proudly brought them to Tinsley's house the night of the opera party and she looked at them and made a "OMG beetles!!!" gross-out face and the little cricket's face fell and, right in front of him, another gay swooped in with a pink fluffy bird dress that pleased Tinsley and that was that. First Stylist job: failed. Sigh.
Meanwhile Tinsley's mom had put on her form-fitting black clothing, screwed the silencer on her pistol, opened a map of Argentina, and gone Nazi hunting. See she's very concerned that Tinsley's new boyfriend, the dreaded Prince Dachau von Killjew, miiiight be a Nazi. Or not that he was a Nazi, per se, but that his family was back three hundred years ago during dubya dubya too. So she went to the book place and rented a book or whatever you do there. She looked at all the pictures and sounded out the words and realized that she was reading a book about a caterpillar and so had to go all the way back to the book place to get the real Nazi picture book. But it was confusing so she went to see a stuffy genealogist and he told her that Herr Gypsyblood's family weren't part of the Nazi party. They fought in the war, but that was for country, not for politics. This Dale could understand. She'd just been worried that Tinsley's boyfriend was a Nazi. You know, because if his grandfather was a Nazi, he is thus a Nazi. Dale's grandparents were a swamp possum and a half-smoked pack of Regents, so I don't know what she is. But she's something. Oh boy is she something.
In this episode Jules didn't do much. She went to some sort of party and spoke French. It was weird to hear her speak French, because it's such a beautiful, classy language but coming out of her warted filth-mouth it sounded like poop and rocks being put in a broken blender. "Here's your poop-rock smoothie. The Jules Kirby special!" It was nice because when Jules spoke French she was speaking to a Senegalese elevator operator who was black, so it proved to the world that she is not racist. Before that at a bar a tiny white girl told Jules that she is a mean girl and Jules said "No I'm not" and then killed the girl's family and burnt down her house and salted the earth so nothing can ever grown there again. Then she exclaimed "Poop rocks!" and gave the camera a thumbs up and somewhere a baby lamb fell over dead.
Much of our time is devoted to trying to figure out who Devorah Rose is. We still don't know. But whatever it is, it spent most of this episode talking about Tinsley. See Tinsley used to be her best friend in the whole world (not really) and plus Devorah totally made Tinsley who she is today (not really) by putting her on one cover of her made-up family newsletter Social Life and "redoing her hair" (yes really). But now Tinsley's totally ignoring her or something! I don't even know if I can joke about this because it was just the stupidest, most pathetic thing ever. I think these people think this show is going to make them famous or something. Yes, half-hour CW reality shows sandwiched between a test pattern and the nightly news often make big stars out of people! Especially when those shows are more cheaply produced than a Ukrainian snuff film. More cheaply produced than RuPaul's Drag Race for god's sake.
Anyway, Devorah decided to stalk Tinsley at the opera party, so she needed a dress. Her usual stylist, a slightly burnt marionette named Johnny Fashion that she'd found in an empty field after the haunted carnival had rolled through town, was busy that night, so she went to a super high-class place. "This woman has styled everyone from Nicole Kidman to Naomi Watts," Devorah exclaimed. From popular Australian movie star Nicole Kidman all the way to her known good friend, Australian movie star Naomi Watts? Holy fuckbiscuits, Devorah! You're really somebody! After trying on a bunch of dresses, Devorah decided to just wear an old corset that Nicole had worn (this is true, not making this up) and off she went to the party. And when she was there? Tinsley just easy-breezed right no past her! It's like Tinsley didn't even know she was or something! (She doesn't.) And that was it. Devorah stabbed Steven Weber in the eye with a high heel and declared her and Tinsley's friendship dead. They are now sworn enemies. Tinsley remains oblivious to the whole thing. (Lemme just say, for serious now. If your major thing in life is to pathetically claw at Tinsley Mortimer on a bargain-basement reality show, you need to refuckingevaluate your life. Pronto.)
Malik the Sheik
If you are ever alone in your house late at night and you hear the rustling of caftans and mumus and turbans and shawls, know that Malik the Sheik is paying you a visit. Fear not, for he is a benevolent spirit. He is only there to use your bathroom and steal your spectacles. Just let him pass through unmolested, like a nightingale's fart, and he will leave you in peace.
Oh what a week. What a wumpy, lumpy, worrisome week. First Momma is snooping around for hats and mustaches and loogie pistols and asking all these mean questions about her beautiful boyfriend Fritz der Eugenics, and now there's some mystery woman poking her with sticks all the time. Tinsley just does not know what is going on! The mystery woman keeps stomping up to her at parties and saying "Friend! Friend!" all the time and pointing at the magic camera people (Tinsley had thought she was the only one who could see them!) and she just doesn't know what to do, so she just runs away.
She runs out of the parties and down the dark, dark streets and a tree frog or a tweety boid somewhere in the dark, dark park calls out to her, so she goes running to find it. And before she knows it she is just surrounded by dark and strange, creeping noises. Nothing feels quite right, not in her frilly pink dress. Maybe she should have worn the theater curtain or the ostrich feather or maybe she shouldn't have gone to the party at all. Maybe Momma was right about everything, maybe your life isn't going quite right when you're alone in a dress, hiding in the woods from someone whose name you don't even know. Maybe that is not a good place to be.
So she just stands and shivers, huddled there in the inky dark, wondering if anyone will ever come to rescue her.
I'm worried nobody will.