Real Housewives of Beverly Hills: Lei'd Down the Law

Oooooh snap, girlfriend honeychild, Taylor and Russell broke up. MMMhhhmmm. And now Russell is dead. And we had to watch it. It's just another night here on Paradise Island of the Beverly Hills Housewives, where everything is vacations and parties and too-small bikinis. Yes, no one has a care in the world.

I hate to keep going back to the fact that Russell Armstrong, that bespectacled sack of potatoes, is dead, but that is the reality of this reality program and is really the defining characteristic of this season. The moment where Taylor said that her marriage to that abusive jerkface was over should have been one of celebration and triumph, but it was not. We all said, "Yes, thank god. Ooooh. Oops!" Because it's the divorce and this reality show and all of this stuff. Oh, poor sad Russell. This is not the kind of villain you want.

Anyway, how awful was that limo ride after they left Kyle's homosexual circuit party, The White Party™? Russell is all, "Camille was saying straight up lies about me." And Taylor was like, "Well, they were exaggerations, they weren't straight up lies." And then he said it again and she just rolled her eyes. He face said, "I know you beat me. You know you beat me. I'm not going to say it in front of the camera, but come on, dude." At least that is the context we got from the show. Still, we saw Taylor finally coming to a realization. She and her friends confronted her husband about his abuse and he's denying it. That's actually some really powerful stuff.

Then Taylor goes to her on-air shrink, Dr. Charles Sophy, who has been bumped up from "Doctor of Osteopathy" to "Child and Adult Psychologist" so that we'll think that he's a real doctor. He had some tough love advice for Taylor and told her that Russell was causing all these problems in her life and he basically helped her justify all the reasons she should leave him. I now have to be nice to Dr. Charles Sophy, on-air psychologist extraordinare, because he at least did that one good thing for Taylor.

Later in the episode, when all the ladies were on the beach, Taylor calls and says its over. Oh thank fucking Christ. But then again, yeesh, it's the beginning of the end. Taylor seemed so calm and rational when she called and wasn't at all crying. The past part about her big phone call was as soon as Lisa heard the news she said, "Oh, darling!" like she just told her about a parking ticket or that someone showed up at a party wearing the same dress or she just let a little fart slip out at lunch. "Oh, darling!" It was the best reaction ever. And it was Lisa who was crying a little at the news. It was the most sympathetic Lisa's been all year (I still love her though).

OK, enough about Taylor, let's talk about some fun things. Like the rest of The White Party™. Once Kyle got over her limo confrontation, it was back to the dance floor. She and her husband MMMmmmm shook their booties to the Mexican hat dance. Then Camille and Brandi joined them on the dance floor, rubbing their bodies against each other like they were both on stage at the Blue Parrot on Route 80. Adrienne tried to drag Paul out onto the dance floor, but he was not having it. He would just stand in the corner and cluck about the party. Kim wanted to get in on it too, so she dragged her boyfriend Pumice (who is really a rock that Kim painted a face on) out on the floor with her and lugged it around, swinging it back and forth like dancing. Then she held it up and kissed it and everyone was like, "Gross" and her daughter, Kimberly Jr, was like "Cooties!" It was so nasty.

And that was the last we saw of our tragic heroine Ms. Richards, because she did not make it to Hawaii with everyone else. The next day they were all leaving for Hawaii and everyone arrives at the airport one by one, except Kim, of course. Oh, poor sad Kim. She has an asshole and it stinks and her asshole is an excuse. Actually, if we're using that excuses=assholes analogy, then Kim Richards is completely made out of assholes, like some sort of post-modern sculpture where the artist molded his chocolate starfish and then made a self-portrait out of them. That is Kim. She says that she's going to be late because her driver's license is expired and she can't find her passport and she has no ID. Kyle says, "Didn't you tell me that you got that license thing taken care of?" And Kim says, flat out, "I lied." Well, at least she's copping to it. Unless that is the lie. She's creating a new lie about lying to make her excuse more believable. Oh, Kim. So Kim and Pumice, who she insisted on bringing, miss their flight. No one is really sad.

Speaking of flights, none of these ladies like flying. Well, Brandi has a really hard time flying so she does what an adult does: she takes Xanax. Good for you, Brandi. Kyle, well, she just freaks the fuck out. The whole damn time she is just losing her shit and Brandi is all like, "Pfft. BFD. You wanna rufie? I got an extra. We'll just give you some date rape drug and you'll wake up in Hawaii and it will be great. Your coochie won't even be sore. No one will rape you! Yay." Oh, Brandi. It gets even worse for Brandi in the bus on the way to the hotel where her Xanax high goes from placid to crazy. She starts asking inappropriate questions and talking about cocks and just rambling.

Oh, I fucking love Brandi. Brandi is that trashy friend you have that always gets a little too fucked up and does something crazy, like talk shit about cocks and try to make out with her female friends. It's all just harmless fun and then the next day you're like, "Oh, Brandi got crazy." She's not that friend who gets so fucked up that it's a problem. Like the friend who gets wasted and then falls down on the sidewalk and breaks her face open and you have to call the hospital. Brandi can handle her shit. She's not that friend who is so busy doing drugs in the bathroom that she misses her flight or something like that. Brandi is a fun mess. Kim Richards, on the other hand, is not fun. She is just a mess.

I really don't have much else to say about Hawaii. Brandi said that Pumice looked like a gay bull mastiff, which is funny. But he does not look like a gay bull mastiff or else he'd wear a lot more neckerchiefs liek Fred form Scooby-Doo. Then Kyle, who won't even give Pumice a chance to speak to her, said it was rude. Whatever, Kyle. St. Camille and her enormous tits looked great in her bikini as she and Brandi talked about sex by the pool, while D.D. was in the the hedges dressed as a gardener and thinking of all the ways she could cut off Brandi's head with her hedge trimmers. Brandi was all hitting on Ken in an innocent way because Ken loved it and Brandi only thrives when she has amorous attention from men. She also wore the smallest bikini known to man. It was basically three rusty Brillo pads held together with some twine. Yeah, that's all that happened so far. Taylor called and Brandi was slutty. Still, that's a lot for one vacation.

But just an island over, Kim Richards was waking up at 10:30 for an 11am flight and her solid rock boyfriend, Pumice, had shifted on the bed in the night and was right next to, weighing down the bed and threatening to roll over her. She pulled herself up and let her head hang between her knees, her hair wisping over and shielding her eyes from the harsh Hawaiian morning. She would miss her flight again and she knew it. More excuses, more lies, more harried running through the airport with her stuffed-full luggage and her rock boyfriend on a leash trailing behind her. Oh, she just needed something to make it through the day. Maybe five more minutes in bed, maybe a little pick me up, maybe a downer. Something, because she couldn't stop the ringing in her ears or the cosmic dread that felt like it was tugging her hair into the carpet. She needed something. She needed something so that when she got on the plane she could lie her face against the double paned windows and feel their biting chill. She could feel that. She could feel something else for a change, if only for the length of that flight or until her cheek warmed the plexiglass to body temperature. But then she'd see it, the sand and the surf and Brandi with her tight, young body and the sun beating down on everything. Oh, what a chore. Oh, what a bother. It's time to get up, Kim. It's time. It's time. It's time.