All of the bottle blond birdturds in the O.C. were obsessed with sex last night. Tamra even had some. On camera! Then everyone went on vacation. Sadly, we had to follow them and watch them cavort and howl like sex banshees.
I wasn't paying super close attention to the Real Housewives of the Orange County last night as I half watched it in a Cadbury Creme Egg induced stupor, but my beloved cohort Richard Lawson is feeling a little
under the weather today so as Chairman of the Real Housewives Institute it's my duty to step in and share some of my observations on last night's episode.
Yes, everyone was very very horny last night. Talking implant Alexis took Gretchen (is it just me, or does her skin get worse and worse the longer Gretchen Christine Beauté has been around. Is she showing all the signs of aging and somewhere there is a painting that gets prettier and prettier by the day?) shoe shopping and they met up with Peggy, the new one. They tried on boots and talked about how they were going to knock those boots with their significant others. There is just something totally unseemly about monogamous couples talking about their sex lives.
I am not a Peggy fan. There's something about her were she looks perfect but entirely fucked up at the same time. Peggy looks like a run in a stocking, and not one of the little ones on the calf or the shin that you can kind of conceal, she is a giant run right up the thigh that everyone is going to notice or that some goth chick would make worse for effect. Peggy is the human equivalent of one of Taylor Momsen's outfits. She all starts talking about her man's johnson or some shit and how they have to do it in the closet because the kids are around and the Alexis is like "My husband is in the closet...I mean, we do it in the closet all the time. Millions of times. In fact, the closet is now so boring that I put the kids to bed and then put a chair in the garage and I tie my husband into it with silky scarfs and ropes and pretty things and I tie his dick to the garage door opener and I push the button over and over so that the garage door goes up and down and jerks him off. Yes, that's how kinky we are. Can you top that?" Obviously Peggy can not, and she retreats into her little plastic L'Eggs egg and cries.
Gretchen says that Slade has a magical penis and it gets harder and softer depending on her mood. We have a feeling it gets harder or softer based on how much booze he's had at dinner with her. Being a complete drunk her "mood" is dependent on how wasted she is and being a complete narcissist, she thinks she controls Slade's whiskey dick. Man, it has got to be hard to be Gretchen.
But it was nasty Tamra who was really getting dirty. She has this new boyfriend named Eddie who is five years younger. She called him her "soul mate" like 473 times in one hour. She was like the video of Sherri Shepard saying "Ham" for 15 minutes straight, except she was saying "soul mate" and it wasn't a Real Housewives spoof, it was the real thing. But we don't blame her because Eddie, as you can see, is scramp. Oh, Tamra, he seems very nice and sweet, but we don't think he's your soulmate. You're just dickmatized. It's OK, girl. If I had to have sex with Simon for all those years and then some hot piece of Latin ass with abs and (probably) a huge wang hopped on me, I would think he's Jesus' gift to the world too.
Tamra and Eddie went out with Marcos, Tamra's business partner, and the whole time they made out and fondled each other under the table. It was like they were band geeks in high school making out against the lockers. It was just fucking nasty. I hate touchy couples. We get how happy you are. We get that you're both getting laid. We get that she's your property (or he's yours) you don't need keep rubbing it in our faces every two seconds. Just stop necking and eat some damn tapas and talk about world events or the new Lady Gaga single or reality television programs or whatever adult people discuss over tapas (I don't know, because I don't eat tapas, because I have self respect and stopped living in 2004 several years ago).
The real nasty was when they got home and Tamra poured her up a big old bubble bath for Eddie and then invited him in and they wet humped—which is dry humping in a tub. This is entirely awkward for everyone. Tamra got naked in front of her cameramen, then made Eddie get naked in front of the cameramen (which he doesn't even know. "It's just like the locker room, honey" Tamra said, "or when you made those gay porn movies in college"). They make out in a bubble bath by candle light like this is one of those plot-driven porn movies made for ladies or a really bad episode of Red Shoe Diaries. It was kinda gross, but it also gave me a little bit of a Skinemax boner. Yes, Eddie's abs have dickmatized the entire audience. We are all under his spell.
Tamra also had lunch with Vicki and they decided to go to Mexico together next episode and Whoo-hoo it up. We also got some sad foreshadowing for Vicki and Donn-with-two-Ns inevitable divorce and it made me a little queasy. Sure, Vicki may be a margarita brought to life and she might talk to the Mexican workers in her house in a pidgin English that makes my skin crawl, but I sort of like her and feel sad she's getting the Camille "divorce on the horizon" Grammer edit.
Is that everyone? OH! Wait, people went on trips. Gretchen went to visit her best gays in Palm Springs with Slade and his magic penis. She rode a bike with a woven basket lined with red gingham with a tiny dog in it while wearing a bikini and she looked like a Barbie doll come to life and I wanted to fucking die. Does she realize that she's like an extra from Warrant's "Cherry Pie" video? "She's my cherry pie. Put a smile on your face ten miles wide. So un-self aware she'll make a grown man die. Sweet Cherry Pie."
The best event of the whole episode those was Alexis' visit to San Diego with her husband, Earth Jesus (as Mr. Lawson likes to call him). Earth Jesus is the fucking worst. He lives on Jesus lane and drives a Jesus car and says blessings in the name of Jesus over his kids when they get into a car that is not the Jesus mobile because every other car is possessed by Satan. Now Alexis is a materialistic moron for packing 10 bags for five people for three days (their nanny, Holy Mary Stand-In Mother of God only packed one bag like a sensible human) but Earth Jesus is a fucking asshole for publicly mocking her for it.
I just can't even explain the ways that he's an asshole, but I'm going to try. For going on vacation and making his wife do all the work, he's an asshole. For ordering his wife to get him toast and eggs and coffee and pastries when she hasn't eaten yet and he has two functioning legs of his own, he's an asshole. For not being able to work his voice-activated phone, he's an asshole. For going to a jewelry store and spending $27,000 on two limited edition Ed Hardy watches, he is an asshole. For ordering a bell hop to remove a chair from his hotel room for no good reason, he is an asshole. For staying at a hotel where the bellhops wear knickers, he is an asshole. For only wanting to play with his son and not his daughters, he is an asshole. For losing 20 lbs between the last season and this one because he realized how fat he looks on camera, he is an asshole. For being a lazy, fat, tacky jerk who masks his misogyny in religion, he is an asshole. Ass-motherfucking-hole.
And inside their little suite on the golf course, Alexis finally got a minute alone to sit on the bed. She lowered herself down on the corner of the mattress, careful not to muss the linens too much, because that really upsets her lord god Earth Jesus. She lowers her head a little bit and her blond hair falls about her face and she feels that sandpaper scratchiness in the back of her throat, the water welling up inside. Her smile has finally cracked and quivers just a little bit when she hears laughter outside of the window. It's her son, named after his father, outside the window with his index finger pointed out and his thumb cocked to the sky. "Piu piu. Piu piu," he says making shooting sounds and laughing, aiming his finger gun at daddy, giggling when he clutches his heart and falls to the ground. She dabs her manicured finger next to that soft pink part of her eye, keeping the tears inside, because there's nothing her god hates more than messy makeup—or emotions. And she wishes, for that one second, that her son's finger was a gun. A real actual gun and he could shoot it, laying out her husband there on the ground, freeing her from everything. She thinks about Tamra, wet in her tub with her new soul mate, and Gretchen, working Slade's magic wand to her hearts content. She thinks of them happy and laughing just like her son with the gun. And she hopes that it was real. She really really hopes it. Actually, it's stronger than that, much more intense. She puts her hands together and prays.