The Angriest Bitch in Baltimore

The Last Word Emailer

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Mon, 26 Oct 2015 17:51:00 +0000

The Last Word Emailer. You know them; hell you might be one. Everyone knows at least one of them and they are So. Fucking. Annoying. The moniker says it all; they have to, absolutely HAVE to, have the last word in an email thread. No matter how short, how final, how conversation fucking ending your email is, the LWE has to have, well, the last word. To wit: LWE: That was a very nice gesture; made my day! You: Cool; glad I could be of assistance. LWE: If there’s anything you need just let me know. You: Will do. LWE: OK OK? Really, LWE? Was that even meaningful? Sometimes it’s just an emoji, if even they are forced to admit that they’ve run out of words to use in the endless continuation of the email thread. LWE: Good to hear from you! Have a nice day! You: Same here; you too! LWE: :-) It’s a sickness, folks; a need to get the last word in no matter how ridiculous, desperate and batshit crazy it makes them look. In my daily dealings I’ve learned who the LWEs are in my world and, I’m not proud to admit this, folks, but I’ve been known to fuck with them every now and then. Yeah, not proud but boy does it feel good when it goes right! Me: Hey thanks for the info; I’ll keep that in mind when I write the paper. LWE: Excellent! Let me know how it goes! Me: Will do; I’ll keep you right in the loop! Have a good one! (BIG HINT: For a normal person this would be the concluding transmission) LWE: You, too! Me: Thanks! LWE: No problem! Me: Here either! :-) (Here I upped the ante with MY OWN smiley face emoji - HAH! At this point I can almost hear them sweating as they, beginning to be panic-stricken, cast about for something else to say. Here’s where it gets fun.) LWE: OK then, later gator! (The lame attempt at levity can’t begin to hide their growing confusion - WHO IS THIS FUCKER - they think) Me: Later! (The tension is palpable; the LWE is almost crazed with the need to FUCKING CONCLUDE THIS CHARADE! I AM THE EMAIL ENDER! WHO IS THIS INTERLOPER!?) LWE: ;-) (A WINKY FACE?! HAH! Pathetic. I declare victory and let them off the hook just because I’m getting bored with this game.) No response forthcoming from me, the LWE’s breathing begins to return to normal and the flop sweat my outstanding challenge created drips onto their still steaming keyboard. I, on the other hand, relax at my end with a delicious chocolate bar as reward for giving that annoying asshole a reminder that sometimes, not always, but sometimes, the last word isn’t what it seems. I give it a few minutes of false relief and then, wait for it...wait for it...

Me: :-D (Send!) AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Please Listen Carefully As Our Menu Options Have Recently Changed

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Sun, 05 Jul 2015 17:59:00 +0000

Liar, liar pants on fire! How many times have you heard that insipid recorded directive? Conservatively I've heard it about a billion times. OK, slight hyperbole; conservatively, about 900 million times. Regardless of how many times I've heard it (seriously, at least 50 million times) it's always a baldfaced LIE! Because you know what? The fucking menu options NEVER change...ever. I've been calling service provider numbers for years, YEARS people, and every time I have to wait through that fucking command, telling me that their menu of options, so dynamically changeable, has in fact, recently changed and well, hell, you wouldn't want to assume that customer service is option 7, as it has been for eternity, and push it before hearing all the other six fucking options and end up in , godforbid, Billing. So here you go, listening to the droning, recorded voice slowly step through all the fucking options, beginning with what language you want to be served this pointless drudgery in, saving, OF COURSE, Customer Service as the last option.

So you wait, and listen and frankly, I, being The ABIB, boil because well, that flat, metallic voice has not changed her tune in minimum, MINIMUM, five years. Don't know about you but I've tried to scream through the wait:

To receive this message in English, press 1
Please listen carefully as our menu options have changed.
For Billing, press 2
To hear the last five charges on your account, press 3
ME: CUSTOMER SERVICE!!
For technical assistance, press 4
ME, pressing frantically, 77777777777
For account balance information, press 5
For claims, press 6
ME: CUSTOMER SERVICE!!
For customer service, say or press 7
SEVEN YOU FUCKING BITCH!!

I don't know which is worse, the aggregious waste of my time, since I knew way back at selecting English, that I wanted option 7, that I've ALWAYS wanted option 7, and that I've been SELECTING option 7 every time I have called in for the last FIVE FUCKING YEARS. So, yeah, the recorded slow talking annoyance is wasting my time in a big way. But maybe I'm equally pissed off at the whole "recorded disembodied voice telling me what to do" agita. Because, really, this robotic presence is, for the time that I'm stuck on this call, contolling my life. She's the keeper of the end game, she's got the goods waiting for me at option 7, and still I have to listen through all six previous options because, well, that's the way she wants it. I think that, as we approach The Singularity, this is one among many ways that our future robotic overlords are paving the way for our emerging status as patient supplicants, doing as we're told, waiting for the sake of waiting, even though our human brains KNOW that the goods await behind option 7, we wait because we have to in order to learn our new status. Yeah, that's it! They're slowly cowing us into submission with the forced passivity of waiting until we're told to press the button. Come to think of it, maybe the insipid lie of a warning that HOLD UP MOTHERFUCKER: THIS MENU HAS CHANGED, when it really hasn't, is just their way of turning the screws a little more. Yeah, THEY know that WE know that the fucking menu hasn't changed since Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone. Anyway, it's their game, people, because when you need option 7, there ain't nothing to do but wait. The question is: what will it mean when the menu options DO actually change? Mindfuck. Skynet: I'm onto you.

Owner of Olive Garden Endless Pasta Bowl Pass Now Addicted to Andes Candies

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Tue, 05 May 2015 22:33:00 +0000

Anne-Marie Remington of Naperville, IL purchased an all-you-can-eat Endless Pasta Bowl pass to her local Olive Garden with an eye toward sampling all conceivable combinations of the Olive Garden pasta menu.

“The endless soup and salad are really just a tease for me, you know, to get me in the door. What I’m totally fixated on is the crazy selection of Olive Garden pasta dishes. That’s why I bought the pass; just thought I’d dive in head first. I mean, with the Cucina Mia Create Your Own Pasta Bowl it’s pretty much sky’s the limit!”

What Anne-Marie didn’t expect was to find herself growing addicted to another Olive Garden enticement, something so easily forgettable; an afterthought. She found herself getting hooked on the little Andies Candies mint and chocolate treats that Olive Garden slips into the leatherette case that holds the bill.

“I guess you could say it took me by surprise. I always fancied myself a carboholic, bread, cereal, chips…pasta, obviously. But after about a half dozen visits to The Garden I realized that I was just mindlessly chowing through the endless pasta bowls to get to the check. And those little, green foil wrapped bites of heaven. I began to ritualize eating them, slowly unwrapping that perfectly folded little envelope, revealing the rectangular brown and green vision inside. The snap of that first bite, and then it was all over; I just wolfed the rest. I found myself asking for seconds…and thirds. I knew I had a problem.”

Soon she was at her local Naperville Olive Garden in the Fox Valley Mall seven nights a week. The wait staff even held a table for her and the seating hostess made a little folded name card that said “Reserved for Anne-Marie Remington – Endless Pasta Bowl Awesome Customer”.

“Of course I was gaining tons of weight, but I didn’t care, I really didn’t care. It got so bad at one point that I found myself standing in the local Staples Office Supply staring at a 250 count jar of Andes Candies meant for like, someone’s desk or something. When I came to and realized I was still standing there, just staring, an employee was asking me if I needed help. I didn’t know how long I had been standing there like that. I just whispered, “Yes, I need help” and ran out. I could see his red employee shirt out of the corner of my eye as he followed me out of the store asking what I was looking for, his little name tag “Friendly Staples Associate Mitch How Can I Help You?” bouncing on his shirt. I just kept running. I had hit rock bottom. I was so ashamed.”

It’s been six months since Marie has been inside of either an Olive Garden or a Staples Office Supply store and with the help of “Overeaters Anonymous” she is beginning to gain some perspective, and new friends.

“I found like five other “Endless Pasta Bowl Pass” owners at my meeting and we’ve pretty much bonded together as a group of survivors. Survivors of the most delicious and insidious festival of gluttony since Potbelly’s A Wreck.”

One thing Anne-Marie has kept to herself, however, is that her particular fixation wasn’t on the Bucatini and Five Cheese Marinara or the Giant Rigatoni with Spicy Three Meat or even the Whole Wheat Linguini with Asiago Alfredo but the little addiction bombs wrapped in green foil like some kind of a pre-Christmas gift from food addiction hell.

“Yeah. Everyone else in my little OGOEA crew, that’s Olive Garden Overeaters Anonymous, by the way, is hooked on one of the dishes from their menu and I front that my addiction is to the Cavatappi with Creamy Bacon and Sun Dried Tomato. I don’t want them to feel like I don’t, you know, belong so I keep the Andies Candies part private. I’ve made tons of progress; I basically won’t go within five miles of The Garden and that’s been super helpful. And the thought of a Staples Office Supply literally gives me the shakes.”

Anne-Marie grows contemplative, her face taking on a dreamy, slightly troubled look.“I still dream about them, you know. In one I was actually inside that desktop jar of all those little green monsters and I was swimming and yelling and just as I was about to unwrap one I woke up. That night I didn’t get back to sleep. But I won’t give up…I won’t give up. It’s a journey.”

Mad Men Recap: Hello, I'm Don Draper With McCann-Erickson

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Mon, 04 May 2015 22:55:00 +0000

OK, first things first because Mad Men NEVER does this, but in last night’s episode, Lost Horizon, they engaged in a little fan service. At one point, in his new digs at McCann, Don leans toward one of the large plate glass windows lining one wall of his office and tentatively tests the security of said window. SHOUT OUT to those of us who have been watching him fall through the air in the graphic at the beginning of every episode for the last seven seasons. Later, we watch Don gaze out of the McCann conference room window, watching a jet trail the skies past the Empire State Building in an homage to one popular end game theory, namely that Don is the mysterious DB Cooper. We get it; you’re paying attention to us. Thanks?

Anyway, for me Lost Horizon was the episode that really began to get things into high gear and with two episodes left in the show’s run that’s a good thing. The SC&P offices in the Time/Life building are nearly empty, save for Harry’s precious computer which is being loaded out of its private room and, according to Harry, retired for good as McCann’s got an entire staff devoted to research. A few eps back I officially named Harry “the worst” for his sleazy hit on Megan and tonight’s colors are no better on him. Harry’s exchange with Roger is smarmy and superior, now that he has nothing left to fear from the newly defanged old lion. Roger has always despised Harry and has never tried to hide it. This last exchange, highlighting the newly upended power dynamics, only serves to make Harry look, if not worse, certainly no better. Since I’m pretty sure this might his final bow, it looks like Harry’s going to go out a douchebag. Bye, Felicia!

One of the themes of this episode was the bright line dividing those who would find a way to fit in at McCann (hello, Ted, Harry and Pete) versus those who, for various reasons would not (hello Don, Joan, Roger, Shirley “advertising is not a comfortable place for everyone”). So where’s Peggy in this line up? Well, Pegster’s making do at the increasingly creepy empty ex office of SC&P, trying to be productive in spite of her previously-on-assignment staffer making calls all day to what sounds like Russia and basically not giving a shit when she tells him he’s still employed by her. Even Peggy knows that’s weak tea and finally bids him farewell with a promise to call when she gets settled at McCann. Peggy is stuck at the old building because the knuckleheads at McCann, seeing her name, just assumed (of course they did) that she’s a secretary and don’t quite have an office ready for her. Wankers. No matter, Peggy is nothing if not resilient, so she comes to work each day, dressed and coiffed and refusing to occupy any temporary work space at McCann (that secretarial pool was actually suggested) until her office is ready. You go, girl.

Sadly Joan is not faring so well. Keeping her chin up Joan receives the McCann welcome wagon, a small group of fellow women workers who bring her a plant and an invite to join them at the Oyster Bar where it’s promised just to be fun “absolutely only consciousness lowering”. When next we see her Joan is on a call with her client at Avon and is stuck with junior account rep Dennis, one of the McCann Neanderthals who, in a previous meeting, suggested that Joan should sell bras. Anyway, the call goes disastrously as Dennis blunders his way through with Joan frantically trying to mend each fence that he breaks. With the tone deaf bluster of a drunken frat boy, Dennis suggests that, when they are next in the client’s hometown of Atlanta, that they get together for a friendly nine holes at Augusta. Do you like golf? Dennis asks. The client delivers an icy “No” and the call ends. A furious

Joan informs Dennis that the Avon client is confined to a wheelchair and demands to know why he didn’t bother to read the brief that she had spent the entire previous night preparing for him. They argue and Dennis storms out, finding a way to pin the blame for the disastrous call on Joan. So now we see, as does Joan, that this is the way it’s going to be for her at McCann. Nicht git. She appeals to Jim Hobart’s second in command, Ferg Donnelly, asking him to set Dennis, as a junior account man, straight and ensure that he gets an attitude adjustment. Ferg, more oily and less obvious, but just as odious, as Dennis, instead informs Joan that he’s going to partner with her himself and insists that their first order of business should be a trip, just the two of them, down to visit the client in Atlanta. Ferg says it will give them a chance to get to know one another better. He follows up, the next day, with flowers whose card reads: Pick Any Weekend, Ferg. Oh, Joanie, your collective fan base is so sorry that after all you’ve been through, the thanks you get is to end up with these human turds.

But Joan is not one to give up and raises the stakes by approaching Jim Hobart himself. Jim, the outwardly hospitable, oozing-bonhomie McCann dream-crusher-in-charge, tries to initially placate Joan by slow talking to her as if she were a child, giving her the new lay of the land, as it were. Basically, Joan, you’re fucked here at McCann, we don’t particularly give a shit who or what you were at SC&P, you don’t work there anymore and our plan doesn’t include you, at least not in the way you seem to be expecting it to. “Besides”, Hobart says, “you can’t expect Dennis to work for a girl.” This will be a scene that will launch 1,000 GIFs, as well it should; Joan, not one to be intimidated, meets Hobart without fear or apology, informing him that she will bring the righteous rage of the nascent feminist/EEOC/ Betty Friedan tornado of hurt upon McCann. We finally then see the real Jim Hobart, as he demonstrates that the misogynistic tone at McCann begins at the top. He tries to threaten Joan and shame her but our girl does not back down.

Finally he offers her fifty cents on the dollar to buy her out of her half-million partner’s stake to get rid of her. Joan stands firm and Hobart sneers that he’ll ruin her and then orders her from his office, demanding, like some kind of ancient Pharaoh, that he’ll not see her face again. This was one scene among a few where I actually cheered at the TV. In the year 2015 it’s probably hard for younger viewers to believe that such an exchange would have actually taken place, but Mad Men is nothing if not period true; Jim Hobarts were, sadly, among the dominant majority. At the end, Hobart dispatches Roger to deliver the news to Joan that the half price sell-out is all he’s offering. Roger tells her: “He’s not afraid of you.” To which Joan replies: “Then why did he send you?” Burn! In the end, though, Joan decides to accept Hobart’s offer. She takes her photo of Kevin and her Rolodex and leaves McCann. Fuckers.

Back to Peggy at the old digs. As she tries (and fails) to make herself a cup of instant coffee, she hears noises coming from another part of the deserted office space. Mad Men playfully adds an old timey, scary movie organ soundtrack to accompany Peggy as she warily walks through the empty space, calling out “Is someone there?” Someone is indeed there, and it’s Roger, playing an organ. HAH! The scene that unfolds between the two of them is among the more sentimental and affecting we’ve seen this season. Roger tells Peggy an old story from his days in the Navy and, as he scans the empty space around them, announces that SC&P was a good, old boat. Cue the waterworks, as this exchange between Roger and Peggy, steeped as it is in nostalgia for the old days, works on three levels, one of which is directed at viewers as a kind of reminder to and for us, that the show we’ve been devoted to for these seven seasons, has been, as Roger says, a good, old boat that will be missed by the actors, their fictional counterparts, and us.

The two of them drink Vermouth, the only bottle left in the deserted office, and Roger gives Peggy one of Cooper’s paintings, a 150-year-old Japanese work depicting a woman being sexually pleasured by an octopus. Peggy worries that, should she hang it in her office at McCann, the men she works with will get the wrong idea about her and it will undermine her credibility. In one of the sweetest exchanges of the series, Roger kindly assures Peggy that she doesn’t have to worry about how she acts while working with men. He might as well have said, Kid, don’t worry; you’ve got the chops, go out and do good work. As the scene ends, a drunken Roger is playing the organ and a drunker Peggy is roller skating through the empty SC&P hallways, a delightful visual. When last we see Peggy it’s the next day and, wearing dark hangover glasses and with a cigarette sticking out her mouth (ala Betty as she shoots the neighbor’s pigeons in Season 1), she’s walking through the gray halls of McCann to her now ready new office, her belongings in one arm and Cooper’s painting under the other. The camera shot is in slow motion as Peggy struts down the hallway, cutting a swath through the men of McCann who scurry to either side of her as she mows through them like a hot knife through butter. I want to believe that good things are in store for Peggy and that last scene makes me smile. For the second time in the hour I tell her out loud: You go, girl!

Finally there’s Don. He gamely arrives at his new office and, as mentioned above, peers out the window and tests the strength of the glass. He is welcomed by Jim Hobart and Ferg Donnelly, who upon Hobart’s insistence, does a very bad impression of Don. Apparently Ferg is McCann’s resident impressionist. Douchebag. Jim Hobart reminds Don (and us) that it’s been 10 long years that he’s been trying to get Don over to McCann. “You’re my white whale, Don.” Jim tells him, then reveals that he wants Don on a new account with Miller beer, something about a diet beer. As Don opens the door to leave Jim’s office, Jim prompts him, insisting really, that Don say his new tagline. Don obliges, and like a well-trained animal says: “I’m Don Draper with McCannErickson”. He looked like he wanted to take a shower and frankly we all did, too.

The next day as he enters the Miller meeting, Don is surprised to see a conference room filled with all of McCann’s creative directors, uniformly clad in white shirtsleeves and dark ties, each one grasping his roast beef sandwich box lunch. Don sees Ted who has saved him a box and everyone sits down and is introduced to Bill Phillips, the McCann head of research. As everyone sits around the conference table, pens poised over notebooks to capture what Bill is about to say, Don finds himself, again, the odd man out. Dressed out of uniform, in a blue suit, Don is shocked to find out that the Miller diet beer account isn’t truly his at all, he’s just part of a much larger team who have been brought together to collectively sell Miller’s new drink. As Bill Phillips begins to address the group of men, weaving the story of who, according to his research, their target customer is, (the kind of thing we’ve seen Don himself do many, many times before) Don’s attention drifts, gazing out the window at the aforementioned jet cruising past the Empire State Building. A few moments into Phillips’ pitch Don gets up and leaves the room. He heads over to the Francis house, ready to pick up Sally and deliver her back to school, only to find Betty there alone, reading Freud. Betty tells Don that Sally has already left, having gotten a ride from her friend. At first miffed that nobody thought to tell him, and after learning that his sons won’t be back for several hours, Don leaves, but not before offering Betty a genuine wish of good luck in her new studies (Bertie, you knock ‘em dead) and a quick shoulder rub.

We see Don in his big boat of a Cadillac take an exit west off of some freeway and we know that Don is pulling a Don and heading out to points unknown. Of course, where he’s headed is to Racine, Wisconsin, in search of the mysterious Diana. As he drives, late at night, he’s joined by Bert Cooper, in the shotgun seat, telling Don that chasing after mysterious, troubled women is not what he should be doing. Thanks, Bert, but you know he will anyway. Daylight finds Don in front of the home of the former Diana Bauer. He knocks on the front door and it’s answered by a woman in an apron, clearly not Diana. Don identifies himself as Bill Phillips and that he’s there to deliver a prize to one Diana Bauer, a new refrigerator full of Miller beer. The woman, somewhat confused, tells Don that he should really speak with her husband and invites him in to wait. Once inside Don is approached by a dark-haired girl, clearly Diana’s surviving child, who tells Don that if her mother won a prize that it should rightfully go to her. Don sadly agrees and then the girl walks out.

When the husband gets home Don tries to keep up his ruse but Diana’s ex is having none of it and calls Don on his subterfuge. Flustered, Don apologizes and tries to change his story to one of a humble bill collector, but again, the husband calls bullshit on him. Don retreats back to his car but Diana’s ex follows him out there, leaning in the driver’s side window to continue berating an abashed Don. “Your fine suit, a Cadillac; you’re no bill collector. Do you think you’re the only one that’s come looking for her? She’s a tornado and leaves people in her wake.” Shaken, Don apologizes again and leaves, but not before the ex-husband tells Don: “God took my daughter and the devil took my wife.” He then offers Don salvation in Christ and walks back to the house.As the episode ends Don is still driving, to where we don’t know and likely neither does he. The terrain tells us it’s still the Midwest; flat road with fields as far as the eye can see on either side. As he drives a hitchhiker appears and at first, from our distant vantage point in front of the car, he appears to be a hobo, harking back to Don’s encounter, as a boy, with the hobo at his father’s farm, the hobo who had left a wife, and a job to roam the open road in order to be able to sleep again. As Don slows the car to pick up the hitchhiker we see that he’s a hippie and that he’s headed for St. Paul. Don shrugs and tells him “I can go that way.” David Bowie’s eerie “Space Oddity” plays us out as the car heads off into the distance. Don is unmoored and with two episodes left that’s a fun place for a fan to be. I’m all in.

Mad Men Recap: Sit Down, Don

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Mon, 27 Apr 2015 23:50:00 +0000

Jim Hobart, the chief of McCann Erickson, quietly gives Don Draper this directive just as Don is winding up for one of his patented Hail Mary pitches to save SCDP from oblivion. The look that crosses Don’s face is almost one of confusion, because few, if any, people in the 10 year run of Mad Men has ever addressed him in this openly dismissive manner. But sit down he does, joining the other partners at the McCann conference table to hear of the demise of their company. McCann is absorbing them lock stock and barrel, rewarding each partner (except Joan) with a monster account as compensation. Don’s, is, of course, the jewel in the crown, Coca Cola. “Stop struggling”, Jim Hobart finishes with,” you’ve won.”

But this is not a table of winners by the looks on their faces and when next we see them they’re commiserating at a bar, drinking to the Titanic of their company. All of this has been precipitated by the discovery that the lease hasn’t been paid for the SCDP space in the Time-Life building which leads to the back door discovery that Mc Cann hasn’t paid it because they’re going to absorb SCDP within 30 days. Don receives a call from Lou Avery in the SCDP LA office telling him that he’s moving to Tokyo because a Japanese animation company is making a cartoon out of his comic “Scout’s Honor”. Lou calls to gleefully say goodbye to his New York nemesis, ending their relationship with: “Well, sayonara my friend. Enjoy the rest of your miserable life!”

After Don hangs up he begins to conceive a plan to save SCDP from McCann’s great sucking machine. Now that the LA outpost will be empty, and with enough in loyal billings to make McCann pay attention, a handful of them can relocate to LA and save the company. It makes sense to Roger and Pete and Joan but Ted has just re-met the love of his life, an old college sweetheart, and she wants to stay in New York. Roger and Pete begin the hard sell with Ken Cosgrove, to get the biggest prize, Dow Chemical, to commit to the move. Armed with Ken’s favorite very expensive wine, Roger and Pete pitch the idea and are shot down in short order by a vengeful Ken who, although he hates McCann, he hates Roger and Pete even more. It’s a big blow to the plan but not a deal breaker, so with just enough in billings to make McCann pay attention, the partners head over to the pitch meeting to sell Jim Hobart on the idea.

Don begins slowly and we’re reminded of his tone in “The Wheel”, but where that story began on a slow note but built to a masterfully emotional crescendo, this one ends shortly after it begins. Jim Hobart tells Don to sit down, it’s over; these guys are going to “advertising heaven”. They are beaten; once chiefs of all they surveyed, they are now just employees and their faces reflect that shocking change. Joan voices her fear that, at McCann she won’t be taken seriously and her fear is justified, since Jim Hobart glossed over her as he named the prestige accounts that will be cherry-picked for the SCDP leadership team. One by one they each leave the bar, everyone having somewhere to be and someone to be with, except Don. Roger is the last to go and finally confesses to Don that he’s been seeing Megan’s mother Marie. At first aghast, “She’s crazy, you know”, Don finally figuratively throws up his hands and, for the second time that day, admits defeat.

There follows a genuinely affecting scene between Roger and Don where Roger tells the younger man, “You’re OK”. These two have always had kind of a big brother/little brother relationship, but with Bert Cooper gone Roger is now the elder statesman of the group and we sense an almost father/son shift in his affection for Don, affection which is clearly sincere on both sides.

Again Don finds himself alone and goes in search of Diana, who has called his service twice but left no message and, in fact, even requested that the operator not tell Don that she has even called. Don heads over to her apartment and finds that Diana is gone, her apartment now occupied by a gay couple who have no idea where she might be. Homeless, alone and now faced with having to relinquish captaincy of his career ship, Don continues to drift, each week losing another mooring that previously anchored his life.

Perhaps the most poignant scene in this week’s episode, however, goes to Peggy and Stan. Peggy slowly reveals to Stan the story of the little boy she carried and gave up for adoption. As I watched Peggy speak of the ache that never really completely disappears I was reminded of what Don told her at her bedside after the baby had been taken away. “You will be surprised at how much this didn’t happen.” Apparently he was very wrong, because, although not driven by the memory and its attendant regret, Peggy tells Stan that, although she hasn’t forgotten about her son, she’s had to build a wall around her feelings out of self-preservation. “I’m here. And he’s with a family, somewhere. I don’t know, but it’s not because I don’t care. I don’t know because you’re not supposed to know, or you can’t go on with your life.” A beautiful piece of writing and an Emmy-worthy reading by Elizabeth Moss. Peggy also intones what may be the first feminist manifesto of the 1970s, wondering aloud why men get to escape unscathed from emotional entanglements and how women should be equally able to get on with the lives in the face of such drama. Peggy is a survivor and someone who has fought for, and earned, every inch of success she has achieved. I hope the Mad Men writers reward Peggy with good stuff before the series ends.The episode closes out the next day as the partners gather the SCDP troops to deliver the news about the McCann merger. In seasons past we’ve seen these kinds of calls to action before and Don always serves as the general mustering the soldiers to fall in behind the leadership line. This time nobody is buying the false patina that Don tries to paint on the news, “This is the beginning of something, not the end,” Don shouts over the growing din created by staff panic. Nobody can hear him and nobody is listening. How the mighty have fallen.

Mad Men Recap: Now We Have To Find A Place For You

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Fri, 24 Apr 2015 21:36:00 +0000

Don is drifting. We've seen him go from sadly dismissive, handing Megan a check for a million dollars to "finally end it", to tonight's closing shot. As the dolly slowly pans away, Don is left alone, outside of his own apartment, which is being sold as he stands in the hallway and Roberta Flack sings "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face", a song that is a coin with two sides, one side a dreamy paen to deep love and memory, the other side deeply sorrowful regret of remembered, but lost, love. Don looks bereft and again, the lighting around him, so dark and shadowed, only emphasizes that visual cue. Don is in a dark place and is drfiting farther from the light with each episode of this final seven. Just that morning his realtor, worrying that she won't be able to sell his apartment, tells him that it "reeks of failure". Don insists that "alot of wonderful things happened here" and we get the feeling that he's trying more to convince himself than her. In spite of her pessimistic outlook she manages to convince a young stockbroker and his wife, with a small child and a baby on the way, to start a new life in the ruins of what had been Don's home with Megan.

Don arrives back at the apartment just as the deal is closing and catches a glimpse of the young couple, the wife clearly pregnant, before being quickly ushered out into that dark hallway by his realtor, as if his presence will somehow spook the couple and screw the deal. As he stands, hat in hand alone shut out of his home, he is clearly reminded of the new beginnings represented by the young couple, which stands in stark contrast to his growing despair. I'm sure it was no coincidence that the casting director chose a brunette actor and blonde actress, so like Don and Betty, adding to his sad regret for things lost and years of his life that are gone

At the top of the hour Roger gives Don an assignment: to write his "Gettysburg Address" for Roger to deliver at an upcoming McCann retreat in the Bahamas. Don needs to write 2500 words on the future of Sterling Cooper, an assignment that the old Don would have slapped out with ease and panache. Struggling, we see Don scanning popular magazines of the day for clues of what other visionaries see for the coming decade. He tries to sneak some assistance from Ted Chaugh, who is quick to realize what Don's real mission is and calls him on it, telling Don that Roger had already tried to get Ted to write the speech but that he told Roger he was too busy with staff reviews. Plus, Ted tells Don, "you're way better at this kind of stuff anyway." Indeed. Peggy comes into Don's office asking him to review her past year's work and Don sees an opportunity to pump another unsuspecting staffer for the inspiration for his assignment. Under the guise of questioning her about her performance, Don begins to ask Peggy guided questions to lead her to ostensibly think about her future, trying to get Peggy's fresh take on what the future holds. With each wide-ranging question such as, what do you see in the future (Peggy wants to be the first woman creative director in the agency), Don seems more and more derisive of her answers, as if he's trying to warn her that his growing hopelessness is a signpost to her, warning of the ultimate emptiness of goals based in achievement at work. Peggy becomes increasingly annoyed as Don continues to ask: "then what?" until she erupts with, "why don't you tell me your dreams and I'll shit all over them!" and storms out of his office. We see him speaking to a dictaphone, prone on his office couch, telling no-one in particular, "it's supposed to get better." Don is drifting downward.

When Mathis, a copywriter on Peggy's team, following up on Don's alpha male advice on how to fix the fallout of an outburst in a client meeting fails miserably, (Don tells him the story of how he verbally battered Lucky Strike scion Lee Garner Jr only to have Garner Jr apologize to him) he furiously accuses Don and his poor advice of being the cause of his removal from the account (we see the squirm enducing scene wherein Mathis tries and fails to "pull a Don Draper" telling the Peter Pan cients: "I'm surprised you had the balls to show back up here"). An angry exchage ensues with Don firing Mathis. However, not before Mathis tells Don that Roger also regales people with the same story Don told him, only in Roger's telling, Lee Garner Jr played along with Don because he was fantasizing of engaging in gay sex with Don. "You only get away with things because you're handsome!" Mathis shouts before storming out of Don's office, leaving him looking oddly chagrined. This is Don getting some serious comeuppance from those close to him as well as the Mathis' in his life.

A quick check in with Joan finds her enjoying a business trip to the Sterling Cooper LA outpost, staying at the Beverly Wilshire and ordering room service. Clearly Joan, as Account Executive and Partner, has reached her career goal and is reveling in her new-found status. Through a mix-up at the office she meets a man in the suite looking for his optometrist. Older, divorced, with grown children, and a lucrative building empire, Richard is exactly the kind of man that Joan finds attractive and they immediately begin sleeping together. She tells him that she is not married but withholds information about her son Kevin. When Joan receives a call back in the New York office she is delighted to hear that Richard is in New York and they plan to meet for dinner that night. Dinner goes well and Richard presses Joan again about being married since she insisted on meeting him at the restaurant. Joan confesses that she is not married but that she does have a four-year-old son. Back in Richard's suite he confesses, somewhat angrily, that he can't have a relationship with the mother of a young child, telling Joan that he's already raised his kids and can't do it again; that he wants to be free to go at a moment's notice. Joan leaves, telling Richard that he's "such a disappointment". The next day, as she hurries to leave for work, late because the babysitter arrives late, Joan shouts at her and Kevin, "you're ruining my life!" Later that day a contrite Richard shows up at Sterling Cooper, flowers in hand, and apologizes to Joan, telling her that he's going to invest in property in New York and that he wants a relationship with Joan and her son. When he asks if he can call her Joan says "yes".

The episode revisits the Sally/Betty/Glen triangle, bringing Glen back to tell them that he's decided to enlist in the Army and is shipping out to Vietnam. A furious Sally demands to know why, considering how committed Glen had been to the antiwar movement. He makes up a reason, but reveals later to Betty (in an uncomfortable reminder of that icky relationship) that the true reason is that he was flunking out of college and enlisted in order to avoid his stepfather's ire and disappoinment. Betty bids him farewell and we see a tearful Sally leaving a sad message for Glen before she leaves on a 12 state 12 day trip for school. I have a feeling that's the last we'll see of Glen Bishop, which, frankly, for this recapper is for the best.

As Sally and her friends prepare to board the Greyhound for their trip Don treats them all to a Chinese dinner, He asks the girls what they want to do with their lives and two of them give an appropriately lofty answer: senator, UN translator. He advises them that, whatever they dream of doing they should write it down as they might forget as they get older. Again, a pretty clear hint as to what's preying on Don's mind these days. One of the girls begins to openly flirt with Don, calling him by his first hame and asking for a cigarette and where he lives. Sally is clearly angry with her father as she perceives that Don is responding inappropriately to the girl's clumsy flirtation. As she prepares to board the bus Sally confronts Don, telling him "you just can't help yourselves, you and Mom. Whenever anyone pays attention to you, and they always do, you just ooze everywhere." Pretty acid stuff, but it's something that Sally, now a teenager, has been observing her whole life and is now finally able to put words to. Don responds angrily, telling Sally that she's just like her parents, "you're a very beautiful girl, you can do more with your life." Sally looks at her father for a few moments and then boards the bus, leaving Don standing alone, offering a wan wave as the bus doors close, his expression distressed. It's the second time in the episode that Don has been presented with an ugly truth about himself and whereas the old Don would have shaken off such truth arrows with nary a blink, this Don is clearly now suffering the wounds of those arrows, the troubled pain clear on his face.

Which brings us back to the beginning of this post, as Don retreats back to his apartment which is no longer his home, to a giddy realtor who, as she adjusts his tie, tells Don: "now we have to find a place for you."

Mad Men Recap: A Twinge in the Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Wed, 15 Apr 2015 02:02:00 +0000

So I’m saying it right up front: I’m going to miss Megan. She of the much maligned lovely and abundant mouth full of teeth and crazy-ass mane of black hair (doesn’t anyone remember the chic, shoulder length bob that she wore?). She embodied an innocent yearning to stand alone, outside of Don’s enormous shadow, and be someone. I’m going to miss her because I liked the character of Megan, in spite of the fact that she was not all that well defined by the Mad Men writers, especially in comparison to other women on the series (I’m thinking of you Peggy and Joanie). I think the character was the only genuine, good person on the show and, not unlike in real life, she got eaten alive for it. Megan was trusting and loyal and devoted to her husband and, at least from what little we saw, a good friend to her fellow fledgling actresses.

In this respect I am in a very small community amongst Mad Men viewers. Week after week Megan was excoriated in discussion forums and even in editorial recaps. But I liked her because she was wholesome and radiated optimism in a dark cynical world. So, now that I’ve outed myself as a Megan Calvet-Draper Booster, let’s move on to this week’s episode: “New Business”. Don is now officially stalking the waitress who we learn is named Diana, employing a PI with a long Greek name, mangled by Don’s secretary as she delivers the message of his return call. He’s got the PI working the case because Diana has left the Twilight Zone diner and moved on to a slightly less seedy (but no less dark) Bavarian-themed restaurant. Don appears at her table one evening and wants to know when she gets off of work; he wants to buy her a drink. When next we see Don he’s fast asleep and his bedside phone is ringing…loudly. As a child of the sixties so much of Mad Men is one big trip down memory lane for me, and that screaming, jangling phone ringer, so unlike our quiet digital versions of today, reminded me of the particular startle reaction of having one ring in the middle of the night. Don, however, casually answers and its Diana, she’s off work and already kinda drunk, wanting to know what he wants. What he wants is what Don always wants: to sleep with her, so he invites her over…at three in the morning…for a drink and even more bizarrely, answers the door…at three in the morning…in a full suit and white shirt and tie ensemble. She asks him if he sleeps like that and he responds: “No, just vain.” They almost immediately hit the bed and for some reason, we are treated to another view of the wine stain on Don’s bedroom carpet. Now I know that Mad Men loves its symbolism, but other than the obvious comparison to blood I think that this wine stain schtick might be a, pardon the pun, red herring ala Megan’s red star T-shirt. We’ll see; but if it is some kind of foreshadowing it’s awfully heavy-handed for a show as sly as Mad Men.

Post sex Diana can’t sleep but doesn’t want to leave, either, so they just lay in the dark and as Don buries his face in her hair, commenting on its wonderful fragrance, she tells him it’s just shampoo, from Avon, that she bought in the living room of her ranch house with the two car garage and Diana’s backstory begins to emerge. Later, as Don is coming out of his morning shower, Diana has found her way into the room that Bobby and Gene share every other weekend when they visit, Sally being away at boarding school. Diana is creeping into the room in kind of a dazed state and as Don finds her there and inquires if she’s all right, she sits down on one of the twin beds and tells Don her lost soul story. Apparently she had a daughter who died and she left, unable to bear the pain of life in Racine, Wisconsin in the aforementioned ranch house that she shared with her husband and daughter. She refers to the pain of the loss as a lingering twinge in her heart, a term that any true Mad Men fan recalls as Don’s touch phrase in his pitch to the Kodak people in the iconic episode “The Wheel”. Don, being a fellow traveler along the lost souls road, and at least sometimes, a demonstrably devoted father, offers Diana words of both sympathy and empathy, and he sounds truly sorrowful on her behalf. Diana tells Don that being with him brings her relief from that twinge and we’re meant to believe that’s a good thing. They part, as Megan is due to appear that day with the movers to recover her furniture, and agree to meet again that night but this time at Diana’s place.

One flaw in this episode was that it seemed to be somewhat disjointed, the editing was choppy and we are jarred from one unconnected thread of story to another. Also, and this is something that many other recappers have noted, it’s kind of late in the game to be introducing new characters, is it not? The Mad Men universe is already chock full of interesting people. With only a handful of episodes left in the series, why take us down this rabbit hole with Diana now? Haven’t we seen Don with a few other Dianas already? And lots of the episode’s real estate was used on the Don/Diana storyline. At this point I’ve grown to trust the Mad Men writers room and Mr. Weiner’s sensibilities, but I sure hope they’re going somewhere meaningful with this. Anyway, we get a peek at some SCDP drama with the insertion of yet another new character, a photographer named Pima, who has been hired by Peggy to shoot the stills for a Cinzano spread. Stan, as the SCDP art director and a photographer, is miffed but finds himself wanting Pima’s approval in spite of himself. Turns out Pima is a bit of a sexual chameleon, one who challenges people with direct, oddly personal turns of phrase. She tells Stan: “I can feel your desire for my approval.” Whatever; it works, and she and Stan have sex in the SCDP darkroom. Later she approaches Peggy in her office, choosing which shot to use for the print ad and tries to ply Peggy the same way, with a frankly sexual advance which Peggy, being Peggy, rebuffs. Later, as Stan is boasting of the connection he had with Pima, Peggy bursts the bubble of his male ego by reporting that Pima tried the same stunt with her but that it didn’t work because Peggy saw Pima for what she is: a hustler. Which is why Peggy won’t be hiring her for any more SCDP work. Chagrined, Stan slinks out for home. I’ve read many Mad Men fans want Stan and Peggy to connect on a relationship level before the series ends and I could not agree LESS. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that if the Mad Men writers bring Peggy and Stan together as a couple I will be very disappointed. They’re friends and colleagues and should stay that way.

I also felt that the Mad Men team spent way too much time this week on the Calvet women. Marie, who we’ve met before, and a sister of Megan’s, also named Marie-France. I may be an inattentive viewer but I never knew until now that Megan even had a sister. Again, new characters; why? Anyway, Marie and Marie-France are in a state over Megan’s divorce. Being Catholics they are opposed to divorce and Marie worries over what Don “has done to our family.” We know from previous exposure to Megan’s parents that they are most unhappily married and both engaged in sexual liaisons outside of their union. Megan has a lunch meeting with Harry Crane to seek his advice on getting a new agent since she’s been without work in LA for several months. As she leaves the two Maries in Don’s apartment to deal with the movers she instructs them as to which pieces of furniture she’s interested in taking back to California. Marie, angry at Don’s treatment of her daughter, instructs the movers to load ALL of the furniture into the truck, something that she is told will cost her more than the agreed-upon price. With Megan gone, and no money of her own, Marie calls Roger, pleading with him to come over and bring the needed cash. He does as requested and pays the movers. Marie, now alone as Marie-France returned to the hotel where the three women are staying, throws herself at Roger who weakly protests but quickly responds to her advance.

Megan and Harry are at a hotel restaurant with a bottle of wine and Harry is telling Megan that “she is every man’s fantasy” and that he can’t believe that “Don threw her away.” He also tells Megan that he’s got a room upstairs and they could retire there and he could “make a few calls.” Megan, immediately understanding Harry’s intention, pulls away and angrily prepares to leave the table. A rebuffed Harry chides her as she gathers her things, his advice being that if she were more open to these “kinds of discussions” perhaps she would be having more success at casting calls in LA. And with that Harry Crane officially becomes the worst.

Megan and Don meet at the attorney’s office to sign the papers and finalize their divorce. As they wait for the attorney to arrive Megan bitterly calls Don out for ruining her chance at a career, since it was at Don’s insistence that she leave her role in a New York produced soap opera and head with him to California. Megan has been badly used by Don and, again, I feel all the feels for Megan because she trusted a snake and got badly bitten as a result. She bitterly calls him “an aging, sloppy, selfish liar” and who could disagree with her, really? Don then writes Megan a check for a million dollars, telling her: “I want you to have the life you deserve.” Megan takes the check and leaves her diamond engagement ring on the table and exits. Again, I felt bad for Megan because she trusted the wrong person and who among us has not felt that regret, even once? I do think that “New Business” may be Megan’s (and Jessica Pare’s) swan song and, if so, I will miss her.

The final two threads of story for this week were a glimpse of Don making Bobby and Gene chocolate milkshakes at Betty and Henry’s house, since the diner (was it the Twilight Zone diner and had he been looking for Diana there before hiring the PI?) was not open. As Don is serving the boys their milkshakes Betty and Henry come back dressed to the nines and Betty tells Don that she’s going back for her master’s degree in…wait for it…PSYCHOLOGY! I cannot imagine a worse choice and woe to the poor, confused souls who end up on her therapy couch. As Don leaves, oddly after Henry insists that he doesn’t have to rush off, he takes one last look at the boys with Betty and Henry and his face is filled with regret, this was one of the lives that Dick Whitman/Don Draper threw away. Regret for the path not taken is emerging as a powerful theme so far this last half of the end of the series.Our final curtain call in “New Business” is devoted to Don and Diana. He shows up at her shabby one room apartment, as arranged, with a gift in hand. Having heard Diana complain that she still doesn’t know her way around New York, Don brings her a New York travel guide. Diana offers him vodka as thanks. She then tells him that she didn’t just leave her husband in Racine but that she had a second daughter and left that child behind, as well. The twinge in her heart is something that she needs to go on feeling and since being with Don gives her some relief from that pain she wants no more of him. This self-flagellation has become her ongoing penance, which makes Diana one of the saddest characters yet on this Mad Men journey. Choosing pain over comfort, choosing alienation over connection, so far these are the themes that are driving this end of series Mad Men train. At episode’s end we see Don return to his now empty apartment and again we are reminded of “The Wheel”, when he returned to his empty house on Thanksgiving. How much more stripped down can the Mad Men team make Don Draper before there’s nothing left at all? As I wrote last week I have been hopeful for Don’s ultimate redemption but now I worry if we, and Don, are going to get that.

Don Draper: The Dinosaur Trapped In Amber

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Fri, 10 Apr 2015 01:28:00 +0000

It’s baaaaaaaacckkkk! And I’m so very glad. Yes, Mad Men’s last seven episodes launched on Sunday with “Severance” and there’s lots seemingly going on, but all of it is going on around our protagonist as if he’s frozen in the amber of this post’s title. I realize that there are several key characters in the Mad Men universe, but for this posting I’m going to focus on Don because Mad Men is, after all, chiefly his story and it’s now approaching its end. Mad Men has spanned an entire decade. Episode One, Season One was set in March 1960 and, as of last Sunday’s episode, we’re into April of 1970. Men at Sterling Cooper are sporting hideous muttonchops and awful porn ‘staches and the women are all in miniskirts and white boots. Except for Don, who hasn’t changed his style since the first time we saw him on screen back in that fictional March of 1960. His dark hair is still short and slicked with Brylcreem, his ties are still skinny, his shirts white and his suits dark. He still doesn’t leave home without an overcoat and his ever present fedora. Except…inside he has changed and it’s been a change that was brewing throughout the first half of this last season but seems to have accelerated as of the beginning of this second half. Don looks ill. He’s sweaty and his increasingly present five o’clock shadow gives him a sallow, tired, gaunt look. Gone is the sleek, suave womanizer; he has been replaced by this haggard husk of his former self who’s taken to fucking hooker/waitresses, propped up against a slimy brick wall in the filthy alley behind a diner. Don is, in a word, spiraling, calling to mind the free fall animation we’ve all grown to recognize in the opening credits of each Mad Men episode.

Every scene of Don in “Severance” is darkly lit which only confers a deeper sense of isolation and dreary alienation that has come to be his life. His apartment, still filled with Megan’s decorative sensibility, appears to be almost under a dust cover, frozen since she left and appearing unused. In one scene Don even turns out the lights as he walks in the front door, as if he can’t bear to see anything clearly. He feels better in darkness. Don’s characteristic promiscuity has reached a fever pitch, even for him. Now he consults a messaging service by phone, checking to see who has called seeking his company. We watch him laconically select the company of a stewardess, in town on a layover, and even Don seems bored with the plan. No matter, when next we see him, Don and the stew are drunk, she clad only in her underwear, and they’re stumbling into his bedroom. Staggering and laughing the girl trips and spills her red wine all over Don’s white carpet and it looks unmistakably like blood. Rather than bother to clean it up, Don drunkenly pulls the comforter from his bed and covers the stain. As he does so Megan’s earring falls out of the folds, Don telling the stewardess that the bauble belongs to his ex-wife. I found myself wondering just how long it’s been since that comforter was washed; Megan’s been gone from New York for many months. Yuck. Just another signpost of Don’s detatchment. That and the ever-present refrain of Peggy Lee singing "If That's All There Is" threaded throughout the episode, a jaded accompaniment to Don's downward journey.

“Severance” reeked of death. From the anachronistic and shadowy diner that finds Don and Roger treating three young women to pie and leaving an oddly familiar waitress a $100 tip, to an actual shiva house where mourners are gathered for the wake of Rachel Menken Katz. Rachel has appeared to Don in a dream, draped in chinchilla, seductively looking over her shoulder to tell him that “he missed his flight”. When Don calls a few days later to set up a lunch meeting with Rachel, he is informed that she has died. A stricken Don visits the shiva house, cake in hand, to pay his respects and that (also darkly lit) place is a sad reminder to Don of how much he has missed in his life. Rachel’s sister, upon recognizing Don, bitterly tells him that Rachel lived the life she wanted, subtext of course being, as opposed to you. The loss of Rachel seems to finally pierce Don’s detached exterior and he is shaken deeply at what her death represents. Was she the “one that got away”? Perhaps; we do know that Don begged her to run away with him. Wisely, Rachel, knowing Don for what he is, refused his plea and moved on with her life.

Rachel’s death drives Don back to the diner and the oddly familiar waitress, who, eerily resembles the artist/heroin addict Midge from Seasons One and Four. They’ve cast an actress that, though not a dead ringer for Midge, shares a similar look and attitude. Don can’t place how he knows her but finds that he’s drawn to her anyway. The aforementioned assignation in the alley is her way to thank him for the $100 tip that actually was left by Roger. One recalls that Midge also offered herself sexually to Don for money when she reappeared in his life as an addict. The diner where Maybe Midge works is a strange place where everyone, customers and employees alike, move slowly and speak slowly, or don’t speak at all. It’s creepy and I actually found myself thinking that it could be a diner out of The Twilight Zone, a place where, when you walk through the door, you go back 30 years. It had that kind of place-out-of-time feel to it. Either that or some kind of portal to a place halfway between life and death.

Matthew Weiner cut his writer’s teeth on The Sopranos, so I don’t see him ending the Mad Men series with a definitive outcome for Don Draper. That is to say, I don’t think that Don will die at the end of the series. But with all of the dark portent that Mr. Weiner has thrown at us in this first episode of the beginning of the end, I wonder if anything good can come of Don’s stagnation. At the end of Season Six, as Don stood with his children in front of the dilapidated ruin of the brothel that was his childhood home, telling them: “This is where I grew up”, I had hope for Don’s redemption. There he was, bared down to his essence, opening his past to his children in an effort to be authentic and honest with them and, in so doing, perhaps rebuild himself more in their image of him. But with “Severance” I worry that it’s too late for Don to reach any kind of true redemption. I hope I’m wrong.

We've Been Here Before, People...LISTEN UP!

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Sat, 28 Mar 2015 01:06:00 +0000

Several years ago when The ABIB first started this blog, she wrote a post about how being funny was about as rare as a...oh, I don't know...Obama-loving Republican. Apparently the message didn't get disseminated widely enough because I find myself back here again having to school you folks on the whole "most people are SOOOO not funny" rule. Here we go, PUHLEEZE listen up as I'm going to start with a question:

Having a better sense of humor than everyone else: blessing or curse? Tawk amongst yourselves…OK enough talking; the answer is: CURSE!

Why, you may ask would it be a curse to have a better sense of humor than everyone else? Surely that means that everyone turns to YOU for a good laugh, they seek our YOUR advice when they want to know what’s currently funny on TV, they know that YOU will be able to bring the party wherever you go. All true, all true, however, those reasons are all out-weighed by something you’re forgetting: the other side of that hilarious coin is that SO MANY PEOPLE THINK THAT THEY ARE FUNNY, TOO! Which to a truly comedically gifted person is anathema. OMG, how many times a day do I hear some inanity masquerading as “humor” followed by the guffaws of some dipshits who, for whatever personal reason, wish to encourage this moron. Comedy isn’t for everyone, comedy is HARD, please people, leave the heavy lifting to someone who fucking knows what they’re doing, would you? As George Costanza said about teaching someone else to lie like him: “It’s like asking Pavarotti: teach me to sing like you.” I’m constantly amazed at what passes for “funny” amongst the throngs of average idiots one encounters on a daily basis. At work, at social gatherings, in line at the supermarket. To wit:

Jackass One: Hey, how you feeling today?

Jackass Two: Not so great…getting old sucks.

Jackass One: Yeah, but it’s better than the alternative…amirite?

Jackass Two: You sure are! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Silently gritting my teeth I aggressively flip the pages of the glossy magazine that I’m clearly not reading (or buying) hoping that someone, ANYONE, will rescue me from this reprehensible, fucking asshat and the immensely lowered comedic expectations of his conversational partner. It’s only been made worse by Jackass One’s generational appropriation of the term “amirite”, a classically millennial sentence-ending question that, coming from Methusela’s older brother sounds beyond preposterous. Uh, Jackass One: you’re not fooling anyone, motherfucker, you’re OLD SO STOP SAYING SHIT YOU HEARD FROM YOUR GRANDCHILDREN! I have found that there is no moronic riposte (Brrrrr…you call this SPRING?), no hackneyed, overused bon mot (Hey Dude: WHAZZZZUPPP), no thinly veiled attempt at cracking wise (anything that begins with [insert a name, time period] called they want their [item, clothing, hairdo…what the fuck ever] back) that is below the average unfunny shithead’s radar and outside of his/her repertoire and which will, astonishingly, MAKE OTHERS LAUGH. Here’s ME calling YOU, MOTHERFUCKER and I want those last 15 IQ points I lost just overhearing your crappy “jokes” back. Folks, here’s a tip: if you find yourself quoting Sheldon Cooper, fuck, ANYTHING from The Big Bang Theory (itself the height, or depth, of hackneyed “comedy”), know that there is, or has been, or will be a truly funny, witty, clever person that is mentally aiming the Death Star at your ass. Truly funny people, on a regular basis, lament the demise of The Gong Show or just a vaudeville hook because then, at least, we knew that we weren’t alone, that others (even if it was Chuck Barriss) embraced that same fantasy of being able to make the untalented buffoons among us shut the fuck up and go the fuck away. And if they didn’t we got to lower a loud-ass GONG on their mediocrity [sigh]. Those were the days…

So seriously people, as someone who knows what’s-what in the glorious world of funny, from the bottom of my heart, I seriously wish you would stop the insanity and SHUT THE FUCK UP! Trust me; we can handle it from here.

God Wonders: When Is It Going To Be About ME?

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Mon, 16 Mar 2015 23:49:00 +0000

Lord God, Ruler of Heaven and Earth, was heard to grumble aloud, “So, when is it going to be about ME for a change? I get it, being that I’m God there’s a certain responsibility to all living things on earth and their daily struggles and triumphs, but Holy Crap even I’ve got limits! I mean, just yesterday I was feeling kind of out of sorts, you know there’s lots going on that requires a certain level of attention on my part, I mean, the whole shitstorm in the Ukraine? Please. And don’t get me started on Boko Harum and Ebola and global warming and…well, I’m God, the list goes on…well…forever! Not to mention my ONLY BEGOTTEN SON…Jesus Christ is it so hard to pick up a PHONE and call your Heavenly Father every once in awhile?

So anyway, as I was saying, yesterday I was feeling kind of out of sorts and could have used a good bitch session where I got to just plain vent and not have to be The Heavenly Ear. For once! I was just about to dial up the Pope, asleep at the time - always easier to dial into a dream - when out of the blue I get this beseeching from Keith in Little Rock, praying to get his ball into the cup on the green of the eighth hole of some fucking golf course or other and then another one chimes in, someone named Josie and Josie was begging me to intervene so that she could buy a new house and before I could even THINK I get nineteen trillion others pouring in pleading for lottery wins, daily doubles at the track, snow, Grammy wins, new car financing…well, the list goes on and on.

By the time I got done with all of that noise the Pope was awake and up and having breakfast. So fuck, what the hell people, do you think I’m just an ASKING machine? Did you once, EVER, think about ME? I have feelings, too, you know? Just once I’d like to hear a voice, any voice, drift up here and say “Hey there, Lord God, Ruler of Heaven and Earth, how’s tricks? How you doing? Anything on your mind? Anything I can HELP with?” Shit, I’d probably fall off my throne. Which, by the way, could be a lot more comfortable; sitting on clouds for eternity only goes so far. A pillow would be nice. Something homemade, with a nice little message stitched on it, “God’s Ass Here”. Because I SIT here CONTINUOUSLY, listening to you all ASK FOR SHIT. Yes, a pillow would be very, very nice. And a box of Ring Dings. And an ice cold Dr. Pepper. As if you care.

The Real Housewives of Atlanta Recap: The One Where Cynthia Cements Her Status As Bumbler-In-Chief

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Thu, 05 Mar 2015 01:21:00 +0000

Holla! My DVR fucked up last week so I wasn’t able to get my regular dose of Atlanta’s best showin’ their asses, but have no fear I tweaked a few things and all’s well again. So here I am with my weekly recap of the world’s craziest wimmin, namely those gals in Hotlanta. In spite of this post’s title I have to start this recap with Phaedra, or wait, APOLLO! At the top of the hour we get an Instagram video from Apollo presumably as he’s about to relinquish that iPhone to the warden at the check-in to his eight year stay in lovely rural Kentucky. Apollo signs off with this last blast that looks oddly and creepily, like some kind of lost (or chucked) footage from The Blair Witch Project VIII – Penitentiary. Apollo tells us that he’s “about to go asunder”. Well, look on the bright side, dude, maybe you can finally get that HS equivalency in jail. And hopefully learn what “asunder” means. So bye-bye Mr. Nida, no more drilling for you. Well, wait…maybe not.

After we watch Apollo get LOCKED UP we join Phaedra and her entourage checking out of yet another deluxe hotel where she’s been holed up with her security detail, her assistant, her kids and her luggage waiting for the ex to finally report to the Island of Incarceration. Once back home Phaedra’s first order of business is to invite over her most trusted exorcist to cleanse her house of “demons”. Demons presumably left in the wake of the man she married to whom she bore two children. How quickly they forget…So this holy roller husband and wife team of spirit frighteners arrive at Chez Phaedra and immediately get to work, scurrying through room after room, praying, shaking some kind of organic weed (a lulav?) and invoking the name of Jaysus in an effort to exorcise the house, including the back gate. They complete their task to Phaedra’s approval and exit, leaving the older kid to proclaim “our house is changed!” What must having two strangers traipsing through your house scaring away unseen evil spirits do to a five-year-old? Phaedra tells us that she’s going to enroll her oldest in therapy to “deal with the situation with his father”. Yeah, well, maybe there’ll also be a little bit of chat around your demon-infested house, Phay-Phay. Phaedra is the worst kind of “Christian”, hiding her snide and petty little snipes behind a veil of “holiness”. Still can’t stand her.

Kandi, meanwhile, is worrying that her marriage is in trouble (already?) because she and Todd don’t do the dirty deed nearly often enough. I suppose if you’re a sexy-time entrepreneur having a boring bedroom doesn’t really help the business much. Anyway, Todd’s back from LA and meets the wife over at her Kandi Koated Nights set where Kandi’s assistants “were just leaving” but not before they fling yet another short person insult at Todd. This time it’s something about his approach to sex being like a cocker spaniel. Todd is the most cuckolded of all the husbands on the Real Housewives franchise and with Grigg hanging out as chief Nene-complimenter/chauffeur, that’s saying someting. But wait, he DID grow an Afro while out in LA, it’s just hiding under his baseball cap. Anyway, Kandi wants them to go to counseling and after an initial moment of hesitation, Todd agrees that counseling might not be a good idea. Kandi also makes the supreme mistake of asking her husband if he had it to do all over again would be marry her? Giiiirrrrlllllll…NEVER ask a question unless you are ready to hear the answer, ANY answer. When Todd hesitates, Kandi exclaims her dismay, but he was just messing around…OF COURSE he’d marry her again. Kandi also stopped by Phaedra’s place to sit on her room-sized purple wrap-around couch and get snide passive aggressive digs thrown at her about how “Nene has called me every day during this difficult period…SHE’S been such a GOOD friend!” Subtext of course being: in comparison to you. Phaedra is THE WORST.

Moving right along to...Cynthia! Uncle Ben, in a car convo last week with the Boy Scout otherwise known as Apollo Nida, learned that...according to Apollo, who stole Phaedra’s phone...Phaedra was engaged in some serious sexting with a mysterious African prince with the codename Chocolate. Um, first of all, who the fuck are all of these African princes roaming the streets of Atlanta in search of over the hill matrons with seriously checkered pasts? First Kenya and her’s and now, allegedly, Phaedra and her’s. Anyway, Uncle Ben, dumbass that he is, and TOTALLY OVER IT with that hussy Phaedra (nobody plays his home-boy playas, especially when they’re about to report to prison for a long, long time) tells Cynthia the whole sordid story. He tells her how Apollo showed him the incriminating texts and how Apollo was so HURT and ANGRY and READY TO ANGRILY DRILL HOLES IN THE WALLS OF THEIR (BUT SOON TO BE ONLY PHAEDRA’S) HOME. Cynthia is shocked...SHOCKED...to learn this news and immediately invites Kenya and Claudia out to a wine and cheese tasting place to bring them up to speed on Phaedra’s newly revealed whorishness. Kenya, being Kenya, is OUTRAGED and immediately makes it about HER by bursting into tears of fury that Phaedra had dared to ruin HER LIFE for two years only to CHEAT ON HER OWN HUSBAND which is way worse than what she accused Kenya of doing...WHICH WE NOW KNOW SHE DIDN’T DO!! I actually have to say that, should this whole Phaedra is a cheating whore story pan out true, I’d kind of be on Team Kenya on this one. Both Cynthia and Claudia console the inconsolable Kenya and all three make their way out with the plan to use an upcoming all-RHOA dinner planned by Kandi, to shame Phaedra and make her CONFESS! Also to buy some of that seriously kick-ass fruit flavored cheese. Way to go, Cynthia. Have any of you learned anything about this goofball Apollo Nida? I mean, you all can't stand Phaedra, but seriously, this dude is a two-time felon who has ALREADY BEEN OUTED AS A SERIAL LIAR ON THIS SHOW! Whatevs. Luckily everyone accepts Kandi's dinner appointment, even Nene, in spite of the fact that she is BUSY, BUSY, BUSY “studying” for Broadway. Man, that girl knows how to work a shill. Plus, don’t you mean, learn your lines? Again, whatevs.

Dinner is at some Brazilian meat emporium where they apparently circle your table shaving off slices of a whole bunch of different cooked meats until you’re full or pass out or meat sweat through your clothes or maybe all three. All the ladies show up, starting with Kandi and Porsha, which is like: again, WTF are you doing here, Porsha? Why does she keep showing up? SHE’S NOT ON THE SHOW ANYMORE! Air kisses ensue in earnest as the two competing girl gangs show up, first Cynthia, Kenya and Claudia, followed by new besties Nene and Phaedra. Porsha of course immediately joins the Nene and Phaedra block and the sides are established with Kandi, as usual, stating how impartial she is. Which as we’ve learned over and over is never true; Kandi loves a good girl fight as much as the rest of them.

Earning the rep that gave her the title of this post, Cynthia, seated directly across from Phaedra, begins to haltingly explain that, well, you know, she wants to put it out on the table, that, well, you know it’s kind of like this, we need to all know and talk about and...and...and...Cynthia, unable to ever make eye contact with Phaedra simply cannot bring herself to state the obvious: WHAT’S UP WITH THIS PIECE OF ASS NAMED CHOCOLATE THAT YOU’RE FUCKING, PHAEDRA? APOLLO SAID SO! So rather than allow Cynthia to continue to stutter her way to J’ACCUSE! Kenya helpfully shouts across the table that Phaedra has been unfaithful to her husband with an African prince named Chocolate and now everyone knows it and by the way Kenya is still waiting for that apology, BITCH! Phaedra’s had a tough day, what with the moving back into the house with her retinue and having to immediately drive out a bunch of Apollo-hangover demons and she straight up goes bonkers. Phaedra jumps up from her seat and lunges across the table, handbag at the assault ready, and reaches for Kenya with clear intent to BEAT THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF HER. Pandemonium ensues and Nene and Porsha both successfully restrain Phaedra and drag her from the restaurant all the while cussing out Kenya and assuring Phaedra that all will be well. Kandi follows them out, being Kandi, not wanting to choose sides or anything. Yeah, right. Plus, nobody even got any meat!

Outside Nene, Porsha and Phaedra are inexplicably just hanging out in the parking lot which is like, shouldn’t you gals be on your way? Not what the producers had in mind, apparently. For one hot minute I was picturing a real, live rumble with wigs and nails and Jimmy Choos flying here, there and everywhere. Sadly not to be. Instead the two groups just stood around sniping at each other from a safe distance until Porsha loaded Phaedra into her car and they drove off into the night. Nene disappeared and so did Kandi. The three left behind walked away congratulating themselves on their triumphant stand-off and continuing to audibly trash Phaedra and her cheating, whorish ways. As Phaedra herself would say: Save Me Lord Jesus!

The Real Housewives of Atlanta Haiku Recap: Shade is Thrown All Night - Wigs Are Worn Parties Are Crashed - Hos Again Prevail

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Tue, 10 Feb 2015 03:45:00 +0000

There's no reason why trash can't be classy, amirite? With that noble end in mind, here's The ABIB's eastern take on bringing all of you up to speed on the Hotlanta Ladies. And, as always, I use that term very, very lightly.

Phaedra
Pitiful whiner
Married a felon and now
Bitches about jail

Porsha
Fake boobs on display
Dish TV Boss throws party
Frenemies gather

Nene
Me Me Me Me Me
Shrimp and grits fried egg pork chop
Me Me Me Me Me

Kandi
Short hubby fucks up
Picks wrong promoter ruins tour
when will the bitch learn

Kenya
Wanna be player
Brings Roger Bobb crap ideas
Kryptonite she is

Claudia
Stealing thunder from
Dumb ass Porsha is OK
But the wig must go

Cynthia
Absent tonight's show
Likely screwing Uncle Ben
As her net worth drops

That's the show this week
Stay tuned for more crazy shit
Cause these hos be whack

Thoughts on THOTs: Real Housewives of Atlanta Recap

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Thu, 22 Jan 2015 18:16:00 +0000

Hellleerrrrrr!! The ABIB has woken from her holiday-induced sugar miasma - hey! BACK OFF - MLK day counts - and is ready to re-engage with ya'll on the RHOA scoop. A few housekeeping items first:

NENE LEAKES DONE LEFT THE BUILDING! OK, readers, you three know me to be a staunch Nene Leakes fan. Hell, I even bought her book. Ironically, of course. ...crickets... But seriously, I have been in Camp Nene since the Kim and Sheree days. But sista is all kinds of out of order this season. Not one to rest on her laurels, Ms. Leakes has successfully brushed off her sweet but cancelled gig in The New Normal and has gone on to...ahem...other things. Namely, a live sex show masquerading as a Cirque De Soleil in Vegas and, shockingly, a short run on BROADWAY as the Wicked Stepmother in Cinderella. Now I give my girl her due props, she does have her fair share (and most of Grig's, as well) of big 'ol lady balls but Nene better be building a prayer shrine in her home to whoever her agent is. That boy (he appears as a disembodied voice on her cell in one EP to tell her about the Cinderella gig) is some kind of fucking magician. He got A REAL HOUSEWIVES D-LIST REALITY STAR onto a legit Broadway stage. I know; I was up in NYC at the time and saw the fucking marquee. So serious shout-out to Nene's agent. But anyway, apparently all this crazy good fortune has gone to the already swelled head of Ms. Leakes and is feeding the fuck out of NayNay who lives in there and is kept in abeyance by all of Nene's good vibes and success. Yeah, right; not so much. Never the most erudite out of a gang of un-erudite wannabes, Nene has gone off the reservation this season with the patented finger point/wag, the patented shout-down, and the patented "I'm rich, bitch...very rich...Trump rich" brag. She has drunk the Koolaid, bought her own press and is fully convinced that any minute now she'll be in a three-way bidding war with Spielberg, Lucas and Abrams and the decider will be which of them will give her top billing over some lady named Streep. Actually, now that I think of it, Nene would be great in the new Star Wars. Wouldn't even need to do a whole heckuva lot in the way of hair and makeup. Which brings me to:

Can. We. Talk. On second thought, no discussion can adequately cover what is happening on this woman's head in this photo. And let me just say that this wig has been on her head for the past three episodes, so, it's like, she THINKS IT LOOKS GOOD! Also? The five o'clock shadow? What up with that? Nene, as rich as you say you are, and have said, like 1,245 times, GURL, get yourself to a laser skin care center and get that...whatever it is...gone! Also, fire your wig person because they clearly DON'T LIKE YOU! If you need further proof:

What is that marcelled monstrosity that is sitting on top of her head? I mean I know that it's cool that you can tell its a wig; heck that's the whole point, to be able to have some fun and change up your hair at a moment's notice. I get it. But seriously, shouldn't it actually LOOK LIKE HAIR? Yeah, well, Nene, if you're reading this which is like crazy but not entirely impossible since I hashtag the shit out of the link up on Twitter, but pulllleeeezzzeee girl, rethink the hair, rethink the makeup, unless this is all a part of a diabolical plan to get that aforementioned call from JJ?

Onward to the rest of the R-HOE-As. See how I did that? Yeah? Alright, ABIB, calm down. As insufferable as Nene has become her heels are being closely nipped by two little attack rats by the names of Phaedra Parks and Porsha...what the fuck is Porsha's last name? Oh yeah! Why should I care...SHE'S NOT ON THE SHOW ANYMORE!! EXCEPT SHE IS! The bitch won't go the fuck away and let me just say this about that: second shout-out: Andy if you're reading, I beg of you, as a loyal RHONJ and RHOA viewer, get that helium balloon masquerading as a person named Porsha OFF THE SHOW! Every single time she's on scene you can feel the IQ points dropping like flies all around her. And I don't need to tell you that this is an IQ-starved cast to begin with so NOBODY on this show can spare the grey matter. Still, the little bitch persists, showing up randomly to snipe and throw shade and be basically the most useless sack of shit to ever grace a TV screen. BE GONE YOU EVIL LITTLE TROLL!

On to Phaedra. Phaedra, Phaedra, Phaedra. Basically you've always creeped me the fuck out and this season you're finally just showing yourself plain. Between the beleaguered mother act (I've now counted four mother's helpers and that's just the ones who've made the edit cut onto the show), the over-worked lawyer, budding embalmer (ewwwwwww), exercise impresario (really? with that fat azz?) and harried soon-to-be-ex-wife-of-a-felon-who-you-knew-was-already-a-felon-when-you-purposely-got-knocked-up-by-him-figuring-he'd-at-least-help-to-make-decent-looking-kids, one would think that Ms. Parks would be just "too overwhelmed" to keep up the hectic pace of the RHOA's most bitter, mean and downright spiteful shade-thrower. Nah, bitch; Phaedra's just get-in started. And that's saying something, honey. This is a show that positively cultivates bitches, it worships bitches, it's the bitch capital of the world. And yet, amongst this crowd, this season, Phaedra is the clear leader. Where Nene is the bull-in-a-china shop shade thrower: loud, aggressive, bullying, Phaedra is the sneaky, underhanded, truly mean-intentioned shade thrower. Phaedra's the worst. One new potential HW has met the creature that is Phaedra Parks uncloaked and we've all been privvy to that encounter. Demetria from some Tyler Perry show or other has been the unsuspecting target of Phaedra's smarmy evil all season.

Scene One:
Demetria: I played a crack addict on Meet The Browns.
Phaedra: Oh? Do you use crack?
Demetria: In real life? No!
Phaedra: Oh, because don't you need to know about something if you're going to act like you do it?

Don't forget folks: this is on broadcast television and this young woman is an actress who would, presumably like to continue being an actress and here's Phaedra Parks making the suggestion that she's a crack user. She'll tell us later that she was "just curious...it was an honest question." Blink, blink, smarmy smile, something about the lord above. Sick bitch.

Scene Two: Phaedra and Nena visit Demetria at the recording studio, uninvited, just to say "hi" and throw shade. They slither into the control booth and take a seat to listen as Demetria finishes her take. Fake hugs and kisses ensue.

Demetria: I'm trying to break into the music business.
Phaedra: How old are you? Aren't you at least in your thirties? Are they really making 34 year old pop stars these days? Shouldn't you be aiming more for folk or gospel?
Demetria: ...stunned silence...
Patentedly evil Phaedra self-satisfied smile followed by the shot of the bewildered Demetria trying to keep up with what is going on with this dastardly duo. Don't try girl, she's straight out of hell. Just say your prayers and let these two creatures slither back out the way they came.

Cynthia-Kenya-Kandi. They have blended into one person this season and are, franky, kind of boring. Except when Kandi is throwing spectacularly self-serving sex toy parties (she sells the shit), she's really not doing much except being abused by her mother and meddling. She's really good at meddling which is so funny since her tagline is: Drama: Don't Bring None, Won't Be None. What it should say is: Drama: Don't Bring None, I'm Down. Kandi tells us in her talking head that she's all about knitting the group back together and mending fences amongst her once-friends Cynthia and Nene. Uh, I call bullshit on you, girl! You just like to stir up trouble and then walk away. You throw the "truth grenade" and then leave the room. Cynthia is clueless as usual. Uncle Ben, who just successfully fucked up the one business he wasted her money on, Bar One, has now connived her into shelling out (as partners! HAH!) for yet another bar/restaurant in some kind of scary-ass demilitarized zone in Atlanta. But Cynthia's all about her man so she's all in. Cynthia: beautiful but dumb as a rock. Kenya is still talking too loud, screaming, really, and continuing to make everyone rehash how Apollo lied on her for two years but now he's come clean with the truth but nobody has really accepted her back into the fold yet. Yes, deary, that's because his super-awful, soon-to-be-gleeful-ex, Phaedra From Hell has convinced her underlings to hate on you forever. As they say in Frozen: Let It GO!

Finally, our new housewife this season is someone I REALLY LIKE! Claudia Jordan is a fucking breath of fresh air to this stale, sniping franchise. She's new to town, relocated from NYC to Atlanta and she's funny and smart and so over herself which stands in stark contrast to the others who can't actually be about anything OTHER than themselves. If Nene has Lady Balls, my girl Claudia probably has actual balls; she is nobody's fool and throws the shit right back in Nene's face, doesn't back down and, in fact, in the final scene of last week's episode has the Great Nene Leakes reduced to an eigth grade schoolgirl, whispering and laughing and talking behind her hand because Claudia straight up shut her down in the shade-throw-off that preceded. YOU GO, GIRL! With this sorry cast of over-the-hill wannabes you shine like a bright new penny! Team Claudia! Anyway, The ABIB's back so stay tuned!

Real Housewives of Atlanta Recap: Nene's 'Bout to Put Her Drag Queen Out of a Job

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Thu, 20 Nov 2014 23:44:00 +0000

They’re baaaaack…Yes, kiddies, those crazy gals and near-gals from Hotlanta are back and raring to zoom into another RHOA season. Some new faces are promised and some past faces are gone. Specifically the one face that wondered how the locomotives travelled through the Underground Railroad church visited last season. Yes, I’m talking to YOU Porsha. Although, just like in RHONJ, even though some of the housewives don’t have the official beginning-of-the-show quotation they appear anyway so we do get to see Porsha. In fact we get to see LOTS of Porsha since Kandi catches up with her at some kind of photo shoot wherein Ms. P The Former Mrs. Cordell Stewart is clad in some kind of black body sling that mostly looks like the Unikini that Sasha Baron Cohen wore in Borat. In other words: HIDEOUS. And a little scary. Of course the first thing out of Ms. Kandi’s mouth is to ask Porsha if she’s yet had anyone “suck on them new titties”. Uh, OK…Porsha falls into gales of the fakest laughter in a sea of fake laughers but does not confirm or deny. Only later does Kenya helpfully inform us that Ms. Porsha is reportedly bedding some “old ass married man”. Ouch. But maybe it’s for the best ‘cause if he’s old enough he might be toothless and, well, you get the picture. With the new titties and all.

Nene Leakes isn’t even fucking IN Atlanta as we begin this new season. No, ya’ll, Nene’s in Vegas, baby getting ready to take on the MC role in some Cirque De Soleil monstrosity called “Zumanity”. I’m watching these clips from rehearsals and honestly I used to think of Cirque as a pretty classy gig what with all the double and triple jointed gymnasts floating around on ropes and spinning tent-sized scarves. This Zumanity Cirque appears to be nothing more than a live sex show, so, yeah….Cirque’s on the downstroke, folks. Anyway, Nene has been hired to be the Master (or Mistress) of Ceremonies for this melee and, true to Nene form, in her talking head she’s got it puffed up to be a rival for something with, you know, class. She natters on and on about learning her lines and her wigs and her outrageous makeup. We see her getting all dolled up and when they put the finishing touch on her, a wig that appears to weigh about 50 pounds and would make Dolly Parton blush, Nene’s first response is that she looks like a drag queen. Of herself! Crickets as nobody disagrees. Anyway in the glimpses we get of the show it appears that Nene spends most of her time twirling around on some kind of circular platform that comes up out of the floor to stage level and then slinks around the stage making arch comments (HER LINES!!) to the hapless “volunteers” from the audience who are either too drunk or too bummed out from losing at the craps tables (or both) to understand that they’re being brought up on stage to “participate” in The Cirque De Soleil’s Skin in Sin City Show…aka Zumanity. Also, a quick camera pan out into the audience shows us that there are a few (quite a few) empty seats and that those in attendance are pretty wasted. No matter; Nene Leakes is nothing if not her own best shill and she makes it seem like her performance will soon enough end up in Oscar contention. Also, I forgot to mention that Nene’s new catchphrase to begin the show is “Why be so nasty and so rude when I can be so fierce and so successful?” We’ll see how long that lasts. I give it another one and a half, maybe two episodes.

We’re brought up to date on the newly married Kandi and Todd, who are preparing their palatial home to welcome Todd’s 18-year old daughter (You got a brotha?) who’s coming to live with them. In this sequence we get a quick pan into Kandi’s daughter Riley’s room and it appears that Riley has her own talk show in there. The place is fucking HUGE with her name in eight foot letters splayed across one wall ala Oprah! Plus, girl’s got a TV in there that’s bigger than the screens at my local multiplex. I think she MIGHT be 13. So Kandi and Todd (but mostly Kandi) are fretting that Todd’s kid might be a little intimidated by the Riley Show in the next room so they’re trying to put in a few little touches to make her feel welcome. I don’t know guys, but you might be past “little touches” at this point. I’d start with an Olympic hot tub in her bathroom. Just sayin’. Kandi and Todd are also still not seeing eye-to-eye on one evil MIL, namely Mama Joyce, she of the evil eye and constant threat to cut a bitch. Apparently in the RHOA hiatus Kandi bought her mother a house but Mama Joyce has decided that she doesn’t like that house, so Kandi, being the abused…er, I mean, devoted…daughter that she is, takes her ungrateful crazy-ass mother house shopping. We watch as they tour a seven bedroom house, down the street from Kandi and Todd (we can hear Todd’s hair turning grey) that comes with a built in pool, several full baths, a basketball court (for when Mama Joyce wants to practice her layups, I guess) and, did I mention, SEVEN BEDROOMS! Now remember, Mama Joyce is single and will be living in this monstrosity ALONE. Whatevs, Kandi, you gotta do what you gotta do, but truth be told: YO MAMA IS CRAY CRAY! And kinda scary. But it’s all good ‘cause Mama Joyce is happy. She’ll deign to live in this house that her groveling but wildly successful little girl is buying for her. Hey Todd: is there enough booty in the world to cover this new turn of events? DOWN THE STREET, BROTHER…DOWN THE STREET!

What else? What else? Oh, yeah: Apollo Nida and Phaedra Parks. He’s going to jail and she could not care less. ‘Nuff said. But seriously, I have always had a love/hate relationship with Phaedra so I find myself falling more on the love side during this FUBAR mess. Phaedra’s got two darling little boys to raise and their father has done nothing but fuck up since day one. On the other hand, she KNEW what she was getting when she married him because our Phaedra is no dummy. Anyhoo, the big, new reveal on the Apollo front is that, now that he’s poised to enter federal prison AGAIN, this time for eight years, he feels the need to make things right with those he wronged. Apollo, not bright enough to understand the 12 steps is kind of picking and choosing amongst them and jumps directly to Step 9: Making Amends. The amendee is one Kenya Moore, the pariah of the last two seasons of RHOA, the one witchy, evil woman that everyone, especially Phaedra, loved to hate. Namely because she chased after another woman’s husband. We’ve heard for the last two years about how Kenya chased after Apollo and how she offered him many, many blow jobs (creepily, the Bravo producers chose to refer to it as fellatio, so we got to hear that icky word several times during the episode). Finally, Apollo, on the eve of his new incarceration, and at Cynthia’s BarOne “I’m Old and Still Hot and Here’s My Ebony Photo Spread to Prove It” party, corners Kenya and, face-to-face, admits that he lied about her pursuit of him, that he lied about the sexting, that he lied about the BJs! Wow…what a shock! A felon that lies! Kenya tersely acknowledges his admission but tells us she’s holding out, and won’t be happy, until she gets an in person apology from Miss Phaedra. Hmmm….Hell is actually not scheduled to freeze over for another several millennia, but, whatever. When Kandi, Todd, Cynthia and Old Ass Uncle Ben hear, from Apollo himself, that he made all that shit up, they look like they’ve just heard that news from Mother Theresa, not a two-time felon who earned his second trip to federal prison by doing what now? Oh, yeah: LYING MOTHERFUCKERS!

I give props of the episode to Old Ass Uncle Ben though, ‘cause he ended the episode with the

funniest line of the night: “Shit, we gotta apologize to that woman for calling her a Ho for the last two years.” Ya think, jackass? It can only go downhill from here, right? Shit, The ABIB’s counting on it. Also? I’m taking a poll on how long Nene’s gonna be able to stay true to “Fierce and Successful versus Rude and Nasty” shtick. Everyone knows that Nene positively LIVES for rude and nasty. Maybe she’ll do a hybrid and be Fierce and Successfully Rude and Nasty. Stay tuned.

The RHONJ Season Finale! Fake Boobs! Fake Tears! Fake Feels! Fake Tans! Real Jail Time!

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Sun, 26 Oct 2014 17:52:00 +0000

You could almost hear the director:
"OK, Jacqueline, Kathy, I almost felt it this time. Again...remember you're shocked...scared...sad...Let's go, folks: the jail sentence reveal: Take 30!"

Yeah, it was like that in this season's RHONJ finale. All throughout this entire lackluster season of The RHONJ the running back story has been the Guidice Fraud-A-Palooza and will they/won't they go to jail, get deported, break a nail. Whatever. So here we are at the last episode and, even though the season was filmed several months ago, Bravo had to find a way to shoehorn in the actual legal outcome of T and JJ's future since it was announced in real time earlier this month. So what did they do? They filmed several "reaction" shots spanning three of the housewive's, well, houses. We caught up with Amber and Jim, the Asshole From Outer Space, who, due his extraterrestrial space pack, apparently has some kind of smartphone that gives him blow-by-blow details directly from inside the courtroom. He tells us just as JJ admits to a "problem with alcohol", he reads us verbatim JJ's address to the judge, followed sometime after by T's address. I'm watching this wondering what kind of phone this fucker has that he can give a blow by blow of what's going on downtown AS IT'S HAPPENING! Amber is, of course, adequately SHOCKED! GASPING FOR BREATH! COVERING HER FACE IN HORROR! CONTEMPLATING NEXT SEASON NOW THAT THERE'S A PERMANENT HOLE IN THE CAST!

But nobody can beat Jacqueline in the "I'm Alive So I'm Going To Find Something To Cry About" sweepstakes. We join Kathy, her idiot husband and Rosie the Riveter at Kathy's house also apparently tuned by phone into some special cousins-only broadcast channel, 'cause the idiot husband, just like the Asshole From Outer Space, is filling the two ladies in with minute-by-minute updates. Soon Kathy receives a text from Jacquelinw, worried as usual, and is told to get her and her husband's asses over there. Sure enough, one commercial break later and now Kathy's little kitchen is crammed with her three loons and Jacqueline, her gun-nut husband Chris Laurita, and their special brand of loony-ness. Well, truth be told it's only Jacqueline that is loony, but she's loony enough for both of them.

Astonishingly the minute she arrives Jacqueline immediately focuses the drama on herself. With lip-quivering fake acting 101, Jacqueline, face down in her phone begins to wonder aloud what this whole thing will mean to her "friendship" with T. How can she cope with everything that's going on? WHAT ABOUT HER FEELINGS!? SHE HAS A CHILD ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM!! Can Chris the gun nut at least pistol whip some sense into this whiny, monumentally annoying ninny that he married? Also interspersed throughout this finale was stock footage, accompanied by appropriately police-y sound effects, of T and JJ walking the press gauntlet into and out of the court. But seriously, Bravo? We can see that it's ALWAYS the same 15 seconds of footage...you aren't fooling us just because you throw in some WOOOOOOOO sounds effects of a police car siren. Also? The cutaway shot of the helicopter circling overhead? It's T and JJ; not OJ, relax.

Also featured in this finale was the culmination of all of Dina's season-long planning for her "Ladybug" charity event. Hosted at a friend's "house" that appears to have at least four wings and a central spiral staircase that makes Scarlett O'Hara's Tarah look like a rickety back entrance, also...an elevator. The plus side is that this "house" has three wonderfully huge and adorable Great Danes and one very adorable, stocky as hell bulldog. Having dogs just kinda warms me up to a person from the get-go. What can I say? The ABIB is a sucker for a wet nose and wagging tail. The charity event is mere days away and Dina is putting the final touches on the childrens' fashion show while simultaneously putting the fear of god into both the twins, Nicole and TerESSa, and T, to lay off the family-hater drama still simmering from I Fucked My Mother In Law Gate. The twins are still "incensed" (Rino's been sharing his Word of the Day calendar) that T would pass along such a vulgar rumor once it was heard from Victoria Gotti. T, as is her wont, admits zero wrong doing and in fact insists that, by sharing the rumor with Dina in advance of the Boca Bash, she was PROTECTING the twins since if things got out of hand Dina would be able to quash the troubles. Of course, we know it didn't turn out that way, thanks to big mouth Amber and her Asshole From Outer Space husband. Dina ominously tells us that if anything cray cray gets started at her Ladybug event, the person who starts the bitch fest will lose a friend; namely her. Tread lightly, ladies; my girl Dina is subject to work a root on your assess if you cross her.

Needless to say the drama launches shortly after the Ladybug event begins, but not before we get to see T and Melissa's two little hookers in training strut their stuff down the "catwalk". So cute, two little seven year olds learning early just how important stuff on the outside actually is. These two future little golddiggers can't start learning soon enough. Melissa's kid especially doen't have a prayer as we see her mother, earlier in the episode, drooling over Joey The Ape as he pretends to drive an earth mover, shouting at him above the rumble of the engine to "dig our house! build our house! You're such a MAN!" She tells us that she's just plain helpless in the face of a man in an earth moving machine and that there are none sexier than her very own Joe Gorga. Can I just say here, in case I've not yet made it clear, that I flat out despise Melissa Gorga? She is everything that is wrong with the world in one overly pampered, surgically altered, idiotic package. I mean I just plain hate on her. Melissa the Gorgon is THE WORST.

Back to Great Dane Manor and Dina's charity event is well underway but the twins and T are in the process of "reaching closure and moving forward" from their earlier "I hate her unto death" standoff. Things between them reach a predictable Bravo-scripted resolution (it is the season finale, after all) but not before we get a talking head confessional from TerESSa telling us that all the shit that's going down with T has been brought about by the ill treatment afforded TerESSa's family by T and her part in the Victoria Gotti rumor from MIL hell. I believe the actual quote from TeRESSa is "Karma's a bitch, what can I say?" Oh, kids, she's gonna pay for that somewhere on the upcoming three part RHONJ Reunion. On a side note, can i just say that, it may be the Botox injections, but the twins' mother, Santa, herself the target of the I Fucked My Mother In Law rumor never seems even remotely phased by it whenever the topic comes up. Further proof that Bravo is really grasping for storylines here.

Another little concluding arc that we learn in about 30 seconds is that Dina's daughter, Lexi, she of the NYU reject pile, has been accepted to "a great school in the city". Considering it's unnamed and that these women positivelly live for status statements, we have to believe that the "great school in the city" is actually Wayne Community College. Yeah, not expecting any brainiacs to come out of any of these ladies.

So we end where we began this recap, with the Bravo director, offscreen coaching the fuck out of Jacqueline and Kathy to wring out a few crocodile tears on behalf of the dreadful sentencing verdict that they JUST HEARD on their own, private Guidette Bat Channel. The last shot is of them in each others' arms, dissolved in "tears" as someone, I SWEAR I HEARD IT, supresses a chuckle just offscreen. My money's on that bozo Richie Wakile, but serioulsy, facing that Waiting for Guffman display who the fuck can blame him?

Shit That Annoys The ABIB, Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Wed, 08 Oct 2014 22:54:00 +0000

Fuckers Who Walk and Text

Here he comes! Outta the way! He will crash face first into you before he relinquishes eye contact with his phone. Hey, moron: are you issuing landing instructions for the Space Shuttle? Are you describing the steps in real time for open heart surgery? Are you in the process of securing the launch codes for the Red Phone? No? Then LOOK AWAY FROM YOUR PHONE WHILE YOU’RE WALKING, NIMROD! The ABIB kicks off this episode of Shit that Annoys The ABIB with “Fuckers Who Walk and Text”. You’ve seen them; they’re everywhere. Walking down the street, exiting an elevator, grocery shopping, ordering coffee and never, ever for one motherfucking second do they look up from the critically important movie times, message about who’s going to the movies or checking out their Twitter feed. It’s an epidemic of electronic navel-gazing jackassery that is, frankly, taking over our planet. Don’t you want to grab that fucking phone out of their hands and toss it under an oncoming bus? The ABIB does. In fact, The ABIB has fantasies of crashing into one of them head first and making enough of an impact that their fucking phone goes flying, preferably into a body of water or under an 18-wheeler. That would be outstanding, right? The look of shock followed immediately by utter dismay as they watch their precious phone get sucked under some destructive force, vaporizing for all time that essential message thread about Mary’s shoes or Alan’s latest sushi place discovery. The best part would be The ABIB’s own sorry-not-sorry frowny face: Whoops! My goodness, guess I wasn’t looking where I was going, was I? Dipshit.

Motorcycle Engine Revving

Three words on this one: Cocktail Weenie Dick.

One Word Facebook Status Updates

Ugh.

FML!

I’m done!

Grrrrr!

Yeah, I could go on…but you get the picture. These are relegated largely to young women for whom there is no amount of attention that is enough. So rather than be grownups and actually reach out for support or input or a willing ear (likely dwindling), they resort to these manipulative one word utterances aimed at comments like: What’s wrong? Are you OK? Having a bad day? These well-meaning but hapless suckers get drawn into the 25-year-old-middle-school-drama-queen’s angst, willingly submitting to her need for both attention and control. Her one or two word missives ensure that she remains in control why? Well, because people need to ASK HER for further information so that they can formulate appropriately sympathetic responses. Even more aggravating is that many times these fragile little witches get a ton of “likes” which means that lots and lots of people are actually paying attention, always a bad idea: don't encourage them, you cretins. Yes, those likes seem to say: tell us more you mysterious, tragic figure! We’re waiting with baited breath to hear the next chapter of your monosyllabic sound bites. Me? I’m The ABIB so I’m generally concocting succinct responses to these annoyingly whiny fuckers. Fearful of wrongful prosecution I never actually USE any of them…but they sure are fun to think about.

Ugh.
The ABIB: Mouthful of bad spooge?

FML!
The ABIB: Jump!

I’m done!
The ABIB: About time!

Grrrrrr!
The ABIB: STFU

The Facebook Humble Brag

A close cousin to these annoying one-word FB status updates is the ever-enraging humblebrag, itself a FB status update staple of idiots everywhere. I’ve seen them a million times (at least it seems that way) and each and every time I want to reach through the computer screen and bitch slap the self-aggrandizing asshat. Also, these fuckers are chronic overusers of the ever-annoying emoji. Here’s a sample:

Oh my gosh! I am so exhausted! Between the awards banquet last night and the show rehearsal all afternoon I’m beat. Off for a nap, I’ve got dinner with the husband tonight! Not enough hours in the day! (sigh)(sleepyface)(bug-eyed surprised face)(three different hearts)

What’s up with my director? How am I supposed to learn ALL THESE LINES by tomorrow night? Sleep? What’s that?(angry face)(shoulder shrug)(sleepy face)(winky face)

I am SO busy at work that I do NOT have time to breathe! I mean, are there NO other people that can do all of these jobs? Looks like no…. (frowny face)(sigh)

(fuck face...The ABIB wishes)

You get the idea. These are people who want you to know how delightfully beleaguered they are, stressed by all of this tiresome opportunity and exposure! The ABIB actually has a single response to every humble bragger on FB no matter what they are humble bragging about: Hey motherfucker: drop dead! I know, I know The ABIB says out loud what everyone else only thinks. You’re welcome.

Shit That Annoys The ABIB, Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Tue, 07 Oct 2014 23:00:00 +0000

Following is the first installment in a new feature here called: Shit That Annoys The ABIB. I know, I know…doesn’t EVERYTHING annoy The ABIB is what you’re thinking. Well, truth be told, pretty much everything DOES annoy The ABIB but I’ll try to confine these to things that really, really annoy The ABIB. So, let’s begin, shall we?

“Greetings”

Top of this list is the monumentally annoying response that some people choose to offer when they hear the word: “Hello” or “Hi”. As in:

“Hello, Brad”

“Greetings”

Greetings? Really? Why not just add the word “earthling” to the end of that expression because you’ve clearly ID’d yourself as being a complete geek from another planet. People that do this generally think of themselves as quirky, offbeat or original, that is to say, somehow different from the rest of us. So different, in fact, that they become Mr. Spock when simply saying hello. Guess what, weirdo? You wipe your ass just like everyone else; get over yourself.

Backing In To Parking Spaces

This one is so annoying to The ABIB that she actually covered it in an entire post a few years ago. Right Here. Basically when people choose to back into a parking space what I hear them thinking is one of two things:

I am entitled to hold everyone behind me up while I perform the 80 point turn necessary to back into this space because their time is of zero value in the face of me needing to prove my driving prowess by doing backwards what everyone else does the regular way. Or,

I know I’m just being paranoid but you never know when you’re going to have to jet out of a parking space with no delay. The Popo comes immediately to mind.

The ABIB just watched some idiot back into a parking space today and, true to habit, this moron took about eight full minutes to park her car because she had to back in and out and in and out and in and out about 30 times. A dream of mine is to actually see one of these pinheads scrape one of the cars on either side of their masterful back-in job so that I can report their asses. A bitch can dream.

Quizzes on Facebook

What Color is Your Aura?

How Alike Are You and Your Mother?

What Is Your Spirit Animal?

What is Your Redneck Name?

The list goes on forever. I really don’t know who began these moronic activities, but just like every other mindless meme in social media, they’ve taken hold and won’t let go. Now, The ABIB admits to having taken one or two of these but she realized quickly that, heck, how can someone tell me what Disney character I’m most like? Oh, I see how: one of the questions is: What Makes You Happiest? A. Hanging out With an Old, Talking Tree? B. Living in an Inaccessible Tower and Growing Your Hair Out For 15 Years? C. Sharing a Deep Woods Cottage With Seven Tiny Men? D. Finding a Book to Read in a Dark, Drafty, Remote Castle Owned by an Angry, Large Creature? So, I became disillusioned with the whole Facebook Quiz phenomenon which happened right around the time that I was told that my aura is Pink which is ridiculous; someone as angry as The ABIB must have at least a deep magenta aura, even a royal, holier-than-thou purple would work, but PINK? I was done. So I gave up on the quiz culture altogether and have taken up the cudgels for their full and complete elimination. Right after I read The 15 Reasons Why Pizza Is Everything. Which brings me to…

Lists

Lists are another social media meme that hook you in with gateway lists like: well, The 15 Reasons Why Pizza is Everything, but before you know it the clock says 2:30 in the morning and you’re reading 51 Times Lorde Was Your Life Coach. And it’s making sense. I’m convinced that the whole fascination with Lists, so easy and breezy (who can’t read a list for fuck’s sake?) is geared toward getting us to become numb to moronic, vapid content so that when we’re nice and sated, stuck with an open laptop and an old box of bad Chinese food several hours into a random linking path on Buzzfeed, we realize we ARE actually Pochahontas and have been waiting our whole lives for the ultimate quiz/list hybrid which we can now and only now write: 85 Photos of Corgis Rolling on the Grass and Jumping Into The Pool While You Eat 30 Delicious Totally Vegetarian Roll-Ups Because Your Bad Hair Days Are Killing Your Health And Have Left You Asking: Which Dyson Cleaning Tool Will Answer The Eternal Question of the Meaning of Life. And then you book a trip to Disney World because Grandmother Willow is way behind on gossip. Greetings, earthling; we are now inside your head.

RHONJ Recap: Bobby Emerges From the Bathroom Long Enough to Give Joey The Ape Mouth-to-Mouth...AKA He Kissed A Boy And He Liked It!

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Tue, 07 Oct 2014 22:36:00 +0000

Well, the promised big reveal happened FINALLY on this week’s ep and frankly speaking it was completely blah. Jimmy The Asshole From Outer Space did the honors, loudly stating to an already tearful Nicole…or wait, was it TeRESSa? Anyway, Jimmy came out with it: HE FUCKED YOUR MOTHER! And actually, I was waiting for the Boca house to implode, or at least for JTA to commence a righteous beatdown of Jimmy for daring to invoke a mother…ANYONE’S mother in such a vile manner. But none of that happened. He loudly shared the dastardly rumor and everyone scattered. Melissa made a lame-ass grab for screen time with her fake outrage face. See, Meliss? That’s what too much Botox’ll do to you, dumbass; your face showed nothing, nada, zippo babe. Amber was SO upset with her Asshole From Outer Space that she went outside and HAD A CIGARETTE!! As if to increase the severity of what this meant Amber kept reminding everyone, and us, as she puffed away, that SHE IS A CANCER SURVIVOR! Oy, do these two noodnicks deserve each other or what? Anyway, she’s outside, she’s crying and smoking and crying and smoking and Dina, bless her heart, leans in and tells Amber how sorry she is that Amber is married to a dick. Attagirl, Dina; way to say what everyone is thinking. I think that it’s of critical importance here to stop and remind my readers that by this point in the evening EVERYONE was completely shitfaced and for some people that’s not a very good thing. Jimmy the Asshole From Outer Space? Not so much a nice drunk. Jimmy is kind of a mean drunk. But once they’re alone in their Boca bedroom he repeatedly tells Amber, and us in his talking head confessional, that he did it all for Amber. Uh, what? Yeah, that was our resident Alien’s rationale: these bitches had treated his girl so badly (cue the flashback on camera to the unfortunate hair-pulling incident involving Nicole and a hank of Amber’s hair left in a tangled heap on Bobby’s granite countertop), SO badly, that they deserved to be punished and if nothing else Jimmy is the one to mete that out. Hence his outta-the-gate-hate all evening.

Amber, finally appearing to have a semblance of awareness, is all like: WHAT? HUH? THAT MAKES NO SENSE! WHY? Jimmy the Asshole from Outer Space gets all kinda creepy quiet, lowering his voice and inching closer to Amber on the bed, offering to rub her feet. At that point Amber is struggling to keep from cracking up and it becomes clear that this is a totally scripted scene and I’m done. So the question I pose to Bravo is this: is Jimmy the Asshole From Outer Space as bad as all that or did you hand pick him (with an accompanying bump in salary) to serve as this season’s resident weirdo/motherfucker ala Teresa way back when, and/or Danielle? If so, he’s doing a decent job, although that last scene kinda blew his cover for me. So…

Back to the others and Nicole is packing her bags to leave THAT NIGHT! She cannot stay in this crazy house another minute so will be driving up to hang with potential real life motherfucker, and her husband, Rino five minutes away at “their home down here”. So, all this time Rino’s been five minutes away? Huh. Nicole tearfully begs her to reconsider in the morning, but, well, you know how it is with drunks: they gonna do what they gonna do especially if they’re already prone to be full blown drama queens. Which, actually, every single person in this house from Floridian hell is. So off she goes, taking the big black limo back to Rino when, truth be told, bitch probably could have walked. And frankly, tromping off on foot into the darkness, trailing her giant rolling suitcase behind her would have been way cooler. But that’s just me.

At some point in this melee we’re taken back to Jersey to connect with Jacqueline and Kathy who are having lunch at Jacqueline’s soon-to-be-sold McMansion in Franklin Lakes. Stilted, scripted conversation ensues over bites of, what else, salad, although at one point Kathy, probably thinking she wasn’t going to be on camera for a hot second, put a forkful of greenery into her mouth that would have choked an ox. The look on her face when she realized she WAS being recorded was so awful and in spite of that she managed to get all that stuff in and close her lips around it without even mussing her lipstick. What a trooper! Poor Kathy; I really do like her even though her taste in men is troubling to say the least.

Awkward plot-advancing dialogue follows wherein Kathy reminds Jacqueline for the 18 millionth time how wonderfully she’s been with Nick her autistic son which, again, call me the worst, but I’m SO FUCKING OVER the Nick storyline. Bravo at its clunkiest is when it tries to take an advocacy role to prove that all this exploitation is for the greater good. What with the scenes of Jacqueline’s kid and the cancer storyline over at Chez Amber. It just comes off as what it is: a network whose bread and butter is broadcasting one freak show after another trying to get us to believe that IT CARES. Just makes me want to say: shut up and bring on the dysfunction. If I wanted gratuitous pandering I’d watch the Jerry Lewis Telethon. .

Kathy’s lines give Jacqueline the chance to openly shill her upcoming appearances (with her husband) aimed at raising awareness amongst other couples of disabled children, of how much more challenging marriage under those circumstances can be and how to cope. Yeah, thanks Einstein; what advice are you going to give them? Here’s how to unburden your life and improve your marriage in spite of having the extra stress of a disabled child: be rich. Done and done. Jacqueline is such a putz. Jacqueline, of course, because it wouldn’t be an episode of RHONJ if she didn’t, cries on camera when she talks about her kid or was it when she was talking about missing out on being able to hover over T during these dark, lawsuit times in which she and JJ are embroiled. Truth be told she probably cried for both, sophomoric bitch. Oh, and in a flash to her date night with Chris “I Have An Armada’s Worth of Artillery In My Family Room” Laurita we get to hear him utter some of the most stilted scripted dialogue in…EVER. He tells us about their past and how they met and….I got up to get a glass of OJ, so there you go. Bottom line: since they’re poor now they, like T and JJ, are “downsizing” and it’s going to be sad to move out of their giant home and into a smaller one. Chris has all the feels. As if.

T and JJ are also out on a date night across the bridge in NYC having dinner and spending the night in a big, fancy hotel. T looks kinda worried the whole time, quietly expressing her concern that the whole set-up looks kind of “expensive”. At least one of them is thinking about the, oh, I don’t know, THE APPEARANCE on their part of some frugality, considering their current legal sitch. Which BTW, let’s just stop right here and acknowledge the news this week that both of them will be doing jail time. Kind of shocking that the judge is locking T up, but she is. So, I’m guessing that Andy Cohen is intermittently dancing a jig and looking appropriately somber as he considers the possibilities of exploiting IN REAL LIFE the whole Orange is the New Black vibe that is currently at the top of the A List. You bet he’s got folks working already with the New York State Office of Corrections to set up at least some film time for the next season of RHONJ on the inside with T. Last night was a special Watch What Happens Live with T and JJ that I’ll be blogging about just as soon as I can watch it. But at dinner across the river, JJ offers T a nice toast about being the luckiest guy in the world because he's married to her. Awwww...then he ruins it by announcing that the food here is so good he's getting a boner. Even without the oysters. You got a hotel room for the night, JJ, calm the fuck down; don't wanna peak too early if you know what I mean...wink, wink, nod, nod, say no more, say no more. Thanks, Monty Python.

Back to Boca. Next morning Jimmy the Asshole Alien is up bright and early making scrambled eggs for everyone who are like…uh….OK…didn’t we have a major kerfluffle up in here last night of which YOU, Mr. Eggs, were the chief perp? Melissa who as you all know by now I hate with a white hot intensity, comes shuffling into the kitchen wearing her giant dark glasses even though she’s indoors. Yeah, everyone was shit-fucking-faced last night and now they are all soooo hungooooover. Melissa sidles around Chef Jim and heads directly to the pool area where JTA is already applying the Hawaiian Tropic and shit talking with Nicole and Booby. Oh, sorry. Bobby. Amber comes out to eat her eggs and suddenly there’s a thunderclap of silence as everyone stops the hater-ama because they’re little passive aggressive wimps who can’t follow through on all their haterriffic shit. Everyone except for my girl Dina, who comes directly up to Amber and, in, I thought, a very straightforward and respectful way basically tells Amber that she and Jimmy have to get the fuck out. Now. No kidding; you guys have to go.

After a weak attempt at changing her mind (my Dina is implacable) Amber gets up and leads her crazy better half up to their Boca bedroom where she tearfully packs her things and huffily leaves. When last we see them Amber and Jimmy the Asshole From Outer Space are sitting on their bags, on the curb, waiting for the same black sedan that ferried Nicole back to her motherfucking husband the previous night. Amber is, what else, crying as she intones over and over, “those people are the worst”. Um, Amber? You’re ALL the worst. Except my Dina.

The Leftovers (Nicole, Bobby, Melissa and JTA) spend the day drinking like the alcoholics that they so clearly are, on a rented yacht as it cruises the Intracoastal Waterway. At one point, as Melissa disrobes down to her, frankly kinda covered up for her, bathing suit. JTA, already lazing in the hottub repeats over and over and over “Look at who I’m married to….this is why I love coming home every night…I come home to this….look at who I’m married to”. Jesus H. Christ ya fucking moron, SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!! We GET IT!! YOU’RE STRAIGHT!! Oooopss…maybe not, though, as drunken horseplay ensues the two loaded dudes jump overboard, to the clear dismay of the boat’s captain, and proceed to splash around in the water, eventually swimming to “shore” where Bobby, he the “fireman” rolls JTA over onto his back and begins to administer “mouth to mouth”. Yeah, so that happened. I’ll say no more about it. Except this: "horseplay" between two dudes is NEVER not about that whole homoerotic subtext. Never.

The episode ends with a chef-prepared dinner back at the Boca house with all the remaining “friends”: Melissa and JTA, who manage to remind us that they’ve now fucked TWICE today…yeah, JTA, keep it up, brother. Ever hear the expression: “Methinks he doth protest too much”? Yeah, I didn’t think so, but trust me I’m pretty sure it applies to you, asshole. Nicole is there but Bobby is too hungover to come downstairs, that is until JTA pours water on his sleepy head and tickles his wittle feet. That gets him right up and down to the table. Of course Dina’s there, too. And who’s this driving up? Well, none other than wayward twin TeRESSa and her motherfucking husband, Rino, who regales the group, scoffing at the rumor, spread the night before about him and his MIL. Apparently, Rino’s Word of the Day calendar had “Outlandish” as that day’s word since he used it about 80 times to describe Jimmy Marchese, he of the Amber and Jimmy Against The World show.

So that’s this week’s recap, folks. The big reveal was kind of a bust but what the hey…we’ve got the budding bromance between JTA and Booby to look forward to. Stay tuned!

RHONJ This Week: Fan Boats, Gators and Man Bitches Hiding In Bathrooms

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Tue, 30 Sep 2014 01:45:00 +0000

Yeah, but still no I-Slept-With-My-Mother-In-Law-Gate. I figure at this point Bravo's just fucking with us and they'll air it sometime around next Easter. Whatever...I've given up caring. EXCEPT I HAVEN'T, YOU FUCKERS AT BRAVO! Again with the end teaser trailer previewing next week and offering the false promise of a I-Fucked-My-Mother-In-Law-Gate-A-Palooza. Only difference being is that in this trailer we actually hear Asshole From Outer Space, Jim, shout the words "HE SLEPT WITH YOUR MOTHER!" So...maybe...NO! I refuse to be duped by Bravo for a third straight week. Christ ABIB, its not like you're going to stop watching. Truth.

So we rejoin the girls chilling in Boca, hanging out at a reptile ranch and falling in love with a baby gator born with no tail. Dina especially, she of the hairless cat and dog with no front legs, is charmed, crooning that she wants to take the little fella home. Until she remembers that he'll eventually eat her and her other pets. Not to mention a likely revenge-fueled rampage through her DSW sized shoe collection some of which HAVE to have originally been one reptile or another. Yeah, so no little tail-less alligator. Next the girls hop onto two fanboats for a fast trip through the swampy Everglades to spot some real gators in the wild. which they do and its kind of boring, frankly. They're just gators, in a swamp, floating. ZZZZZZZZZZZ The girls seem to like it though, screaming and waving their arms as another lackey shuttles them around and basically becomes a water taxi. At this point I'm pretty sure that these girls are always totally hammered, so even a bug-laden swamp is fun, fun, FUN cause they're drunk!

Back in Jersey the families Guidice and Wakile are loading up on fambly time, T, JJ and their girls over at JJ's bro's house, and the Wakiles over at Kathy's place listening to Rosie the Rivet Head prattle on and on about how she and Ellen broke up and she's sure that there's someone out there for her. Someone like her own mother, she pines, who is always at her side no matter what. The sentiment is kind of sweet until you realize that she's pairing the concept of her loyal mother and a future sexual partner/wife. Theeeennnnn it gets a little creepy. Even Rosie realizes what she's saying and laughs uncomfortably. Yeah, Rosie, we're right there with you. Let's not rule out nervous laughter, said Rachel Green, better than anyone ever. Everyone at the Guidice dinner table is crying, like every week someone is crying this season and this week it's JJ, his mother, T, JJ's old Dad, JJ's brotha...fuck it: everyone at the table is crying over all the sentimental crap everyone is intoning. Weekly lectures this season about IMPORTANT TOPICS! FORGIVENESS! DEVOTION TO FAMILY! VALUING WHATS IMPORTANT! OFFSHORE ACCOUNTS! GETTING A BETTER FUCKING CPA! Stuff like that. Also, we get another tearful visit to the Laurita's with Jacqueline-san and her crying over the kid. Oy, is this going to become a weekly event? Seriously? Who gives a shit? Sorry, I might be the only one here, but Jacqueline Laurita annoys the crap out of me.

Back in Boca shits starting to get real with the arrival of Amber and Asshole From Outer Space, jim. Either Jim's a really stupid,mean drunk or his role is scripted to the point of him nearly looking into the camera and twirling his mustache ala Snidely Whiplash. I mean, who talks like that? As soon as he and Amber sit down he starts to pick a fight with Nicole's boyfriend and Jim's ex-BFF, Bobbie. Bobbie listens for a hot second and then runs upstairs and locks himself in the bathroom after accusing Nicole, who in her 12-inch Jimmy Choos, is hobbling after him as fast as her wobbly legs will carry her. "You're so stupid!" Bobbie yells at Nicole who is quickly losing ground on him. He repeats that Mean Girl line about three more times and then locks himself in the bathroom. Yeah, I wondered the same thing, too: what grown man locks himself in the bathroom? Whatever, it prompts a rapid acceleration of the drama downstairs as one-by-one, starting with Amber all the girls run to the kitchen and start to cry. This mayhem makes zero sense even for a Bravo RH franchise so I figure it's very badly edited or the producers are just getting lazy with the scripts. Probably both. Soon Amber's crying, Nicole's crying, Jim's still cussing out every dude in the room, which at this point is only Joey The Ape. Melissa is shaking her head and looking distraught, running between the tear frenzy in the kitchen and JTA's side on the couch. Jim still won't shut up. That's what its like when you're an Asshole From Outer Space, the rules of our world just don't apply. Dina is trying to Namaste the hell out of Amber who WON'T STOP CRYING EVEN THOUGH THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HER. Amber and Jim def deserve each other. Meanwhile, as the episode draws to a close Jim is heard dissing ex bestie Bobbie with tales of his cheating by way of a condo he maintains with a ho on the side. THE ENTIRE TIME HE'S BEEN DATING NICOLE! She won't hear of it and TeRESSa jumps into protective twin mode, vowing in her talking head confessional: "You mess with my sister you mess with me! You hurt my family, I hurt you!" All we need is Kathy's canollis and Don Corleone and it's a wrap.

Joey the Ape weighs in by calling Jim a bitch. Good one JTA, pretty articulate of you. At this point in the show I was struck by the audacity of men who are wholly supported by their wives' participation in this three ring circus using derogatory terms for females to insult their fellow freeloading husbands/boyfriends. Pretty ironic, dontchathink? So the episode ends with Asshole from Outer Space Jim drunkenly crashing into a glass table on his way out to the pool to continue in his harangue of Bobbie who has finally emerged from the powder room, apparently having regained his composure. So there you have it, next week promises to continue the Brawl in Boca and I'm pretty sure that Rino's gonna convieniently show up just in time for the big I-Fucked-My-Mother-in-Law-Gate...not that I'm getting my hopes up; Bravo is a fickle, fickle temptress.

Oh Honey Boo Boo, Honey, Honey Boo Boo

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Sun, 28 Sep 2014 16:40:00 +0000

Uncharacteristically slow on the uptake here, The ABIB is (SHOCKINGLY) just now reporting on the break up of the...what was it exactly...marriage? committment arrangement? shack-up-tials?...lets just say union, of Mama June and Sugar Bear, they the parents of the titled progency HBB herself. Accused of trolling for hook-ups on various dating services (which he vehemently denies) Sugar Bear has been summarily dumped by big, 'ol Mama June who's in the process of looking for a new big 'ol house for her brood sans SB and closer to her fambly, wherever that may be. I picture them just like The Beverly Hillbillies, driving down the road in a ramshackle, old truck..."swimmin' pools, movie stars!" Hey June: I know of a $4M, 12,000 square foot white elephant up in New Jersey. Probably too cold up there for your normally shoeless feet (due to an unfortunate intersection between one of those said feet and a forklift). Not going there.

Certain wags have been heard to opine that this whole Mama June - Sugar Bear break-up is wholly concocted for ratings as the show is just now beginning it's third season on that stalwart of high brow programming: TLC. Yeah, brainiacs, we all figured that out, too. I caught Honey Boo Boo and Mama June on The Tonight Show recently and Jimmy Fallon gamely played along with the pair in spite of having to deal with a nine-year-old who has been raised in the freak show world of child beauty pageants followed by the super freak show world of broadcast reality TV. Oy. To say that shes badly behaved is kind of like saying that Mama June needs to lose a few pounds. Cue the inappropriate cheap joke at the expense of the fat lady effects. But seriously, how can this kid ever emerge from such an upbringing and lead a halfway normal life? It's been reported that HBB has left the world of pageants. Ya think?

A quick search reveals that this girl and her family have been photographed what appears to be 10 million times. HBB barefoot at the Quicky Mart, HBB walking down the street with a giant soda, Mama June's 2008 mug shot, Sugar Bear's undated mug shot...the list goes on and on. So it's no wonder that this little "Holla for a Dolla Honey Boo Boo" keeps being put out in front by her mother to shake that money-maker for the fambly. Anyway, back to the beginning: Mama June and Sugar Bear are, The ABIB believes, in the process of faking a "separation" to boost flagging ratings and extend HBB's 15 minutes of fame, which seem to have sadly expired. All that's left is an ever-growing HBB having to adjust to life as a mortal child. A fame target at six...washed up by nine...its all downhill from here.

RHONJ - Where's An Intracoastal Waterway Kraken When You Need One?

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Sat, 27 Sep 2014 20:36:00 +0000

Welcome back to the ongoing saga of...what exactly? Overpaid buffoons making like they've got something of importance to say, when in reality they're just a bunch of...goombas. But I'll give it some more time because they keep teasing me with quick scenes from next week where the bozo boys get into it over The Gotti Rumor From Hell. But it turns out it's not fucking next week, its the WEEK AFTER NEXT. Those fuckers at Bravo better be careful with their endless teaser trailers because it's not like this is such a scintillating season and we're all gonna just hang around until they're ready to entertain us. Well, I am, of course, but I'm compulsive that way.

Anyhoo, Amber, as you might have guessed in spite of all the drama and dramatic editing:

"Yes, Amber, your blood work came back and it's...it's...." COMMERCIAL BREAK!

As if any fucking doctor talks that way. Christ folks, lets at least TRY to pull the wool over our eyes that this crazy fest is not TOTALLY scripted! So, as I was saying, as you might have guessed, Amber's blood work came back fine with no leftover "inconclusives" hanging over her Godiva-haired head. So, after shedding some much coached tears of joy, she and her lunatic husband Jim are off to Boca to hang with da goils and get all kinda crazy behind her good news health report. Good on you, Amber. I still think you're a mega annoyance. But that's just me...

Meanwhile in Boca we've got the twins, TeRESSa and Nicole, "I'm Hatin' On Her With A White Hot Intensity" Melissa the Gorgon, and my would be BFF, Dina. T politely declined wanting to stay back in Jersey with the fam, what with the federal indictments and all. Totes understand, babe. By the by, T is really all grown up this season, she's mature and together and just kinda chill. I'm waiting for the other Mahnolo to drop. This is our table-flipper after all.

The gals in Boca are cougaring it up with a Bravo-supplied pool boy whose only flaw, according to Nicole (or was it TeRESSa?) is that he's got nipple hair. Um, ewwww.. They find out ASAP that he's single which makes him perfect for our Dina who is also single and ready to mingle. But in her talking head confessional Dina tells us that she's not really into the whole cougar vibe...she's more into an older fella. Way to look out for that DSW sized shoe collection babe. That kind of purchasing fetish is not going to fund itself. My Dina's a smarty girl. After lazing at the pool and getting pretty hammered, and watching Melissa flaunt her, truth be told, pretty kick ass body after three kids, everyone decides that they're going to hang out tonight at the house, drink wine and make dinner togehter. Oh, and that flaunting I just mentioned? Melissa was cavorting, capering and otherwise jumping around like a grasshopper on acid, as boats motored by on what must be the Intracoastal Waterway. I kept chanting at the TV: just another couple of feet...just another couple of feet...I was totally pissed that she didn't fall in. Oh well, a bitch can hope.

Girls then went on over to the local supermarket to get all the fixings for their Eyetalian dinner in and honestly if those fucking twins said "WE NEED THE LONG HOT PEPPERS! YOU KNOW? THE LONG HOTS! YOU GOT ANY OF THOSE LONG HOT EYETALIAN PEPPERS? THE LONNNNNGGGG HOT ONES!" Of course just toting around an entire film crew wasn't attention grabbing enough. Even "I'm Hatin' On Her With A White Hot Intensity" Melissa The Gorgon, herself a shrill annoyance, was "SO OVER THEM!!" Yeah, Meliss, we know just how you feel..

There was one quick cut back to Joey the Ape "babysitting" the kids while Mom was whoring it up on the Intracoastal. Babysitting by Joey the Ape entails throwing his kids around...literally...and telling his seven year old daughter that he wasn't ready to "have The Talk" with her just yet. Oh, thank Christ, you moronic numbskull..SHE'S SEVEN!!! He also told us that once his daughter is old enough he's going to "break the Internet". Hmmmm....OK....presuming that your currrently seven year old daughter is going to become a porn addict is kinda creepy, no? But that's life with a man whose head is approximately the size of a billiard ball.

Okey dokey, following that throw away scene of mayhem we wind up WHERE??? In Casa Laurita with WHO???? Jacqueline and Kathy. What the What? Who the fuck invited them? True to her style, Kath's brought some calorie-laden, homemade goody for Jacqueline to sample. Delish, of course. Also? My prediction that Jac's love of plastic surgery has her on the fast track to becoming Big Ange is proving very insightful on behalf of The ABIB. In her talking head where Jacqueline is talking about...who the fuck knows..she's such a boring annoyance, plus I was transfixed by her ever-changing face which has now rendered her Asian. Fo rill, her eyes have been so pulled up that they have quite literally taken on the angle of Asian eyes. Anyway, Kath's come over to spill the news that she and Idiot In Chief Richie are building a new, BIGGER house in Franklin Lakes and that means she and the Lauritas are going to be neighbors! Kathy's evil plan to keep her grown kids at home forever (fuck, can you blame her, if they leave she's stuck with Idiot In Chief) is to build a house so huge that they each have their own WING! Yeah. Well, Jac's on the downsize train along with T and JJ, so Kathy's left out there in left field with her burgeoning new McMansion, which they visit even though its still just a shell and Jac's wearing 18 inch heels. Way to go ya fucking jackass.

We quickly rejoin the Boca Bitches and post-dinner they're outside just chillin' by "the tallest, skinniest palm tree" that Nicole or was it TeRESSa has ever seen. Then the producers get Dina all scripted out as she worries herself into a frenzy about how on earth she can keep this huge secret that T shared with her about how The Gotti Rumor From Hell is just too big to keep inside. Dina's determined to tell the secret but she can't tell, because...well, way back at the beginning of this post I told you all that Bravos got it on the tease for next week. For the last TWO weeks. So in the last 10 minutes of the show we're treated to Dina fretting should she tell, shouldn't she tell. She's been hinting at it since the bus ride in from the airport and the twins have openly stated that they don't wanna know. That don't matter because in the teaser we already know that Asshole From Outer Space Jim (of Jim and Amber) is going to shout out the news once the guys get there. Next week. Yeah, Bravo; fuck you!

So that's the latest except for T and her woes. I skipped over them cause frankly they're pretty boring. She's looking for a new, smaller house and JJ's in a suit. Nuff said. Stay tuned cause I'm pretty sure that this week's ep's gonna blow the lid on I Fucked My Monther-In-Law-Gate. Should be real, real, classy.

But Seriously Folks...

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Sat, 27 Sep 2014 19:40:00 +0000

The insane asylum hothouse that is the Chicago improv "community" exists to perpetuate its own bloated self interest. It does this by huckstering multi-leveled "coursework" ostensibly aimed at creating armies of earnest improvisers poised to make their lives, and by extension, our world, a better place. In actuality what this pipeline churns out are armies of adherents willing to do nearly anything to be validated by their improv teachers and "coaches", themselves extensions of the organizations that sell the coursework. Any given cult or pyramid scheme uses methodologies to indoctrinate the faithful that bear striking resemblance to what passes for the advocacy of the group think of improv. Its all about the "yes, and"...or actually, “there’s a sucker born every minute”. Let me begin by painting a picture.

Eager Young Person: I want to be an improviser so I came to Chicago. I live in a crowded apartment with four other young wanna-be improvisers and we all work minimum wage jobs. Can you help me (insert here your choice: iO, The Annoyance, The Playground, Second City)?

Multimillion Dollar Improvisation Theater/School (again, insert your choice from the list above): Can we help you? Babe, you can’t get ANYWHERE in this town WITHOUT our help. You’ve come to the right place.

Eager Young Person: What do I need to do?

Multimillion Dollar Improvisation Theater/School: OK, first, give us several thousand dollars and all of your free time to take classes at our establishments that span several levels and many, many months, if not years. Following that, audition for one of our “teams” in a very competitive but essentially totally random selection process. You will be observed and your skills judged by (in one of our $$$$ “schools”) a shadowy organization made up of self-important douchebags who call themselves The Harold Commission. Let me repeat that: The Harold Commission. Commission. Yes, I know; try hard not to laugh at this level of outlandish pomposity. This holy order is named for "The Harold", the signature improv format that nobody outside of the insular world of improv has ever heard of. The Harold was invented by cult-founder-leader-for-eternity-self-proclaimed-warlock-and-clearly-certifiable-sadistic-maniac Del Close who, in the late 1950s, supposedly invented the cult...er, " art", of improv. I’m not going to go into his story so as not to rile up the pathetic faithful who continue to extol his superior vision all these years later. To improv purists Del Close is quite literally a god.

So, if you aren’t selected its because you did something wrong or otherwise missed the deep message embedded in the training you’ve just had, so clearly you need to go back to the beginning and start again. Come back for another audition in about 18 months, but of course, no promises. In the meantime max out your credit cards and, or, beg money from relatives to pay for this next round of “education” because, of course, by beginning again you have to pay the full fee. And you'll go on paying it until we deem you sufficiently "educated". Also, know that once you complete the first two or three levels that ensure that you’re adequately indoctrinated into our group think, cultish lifestyle, we’ll precipitously limit the the number of “students” that have to compete for a dwindling number of slots in our “courses” in order to complete the full roster of “training” that allows you to audition for a “team”. Oh, and sometimes those audition slots are limited to the point that online registration for an audition is filled in a matter of a few seconds. Have fun with that because that’s what the mind fuck of Chicago improv is all about. If your life is disrupted to the point that you have to take a day off work in order to be at your laptop when registration opens, oh well, that’s the improv life - a full-on commitment to playing by our random, ever-changing rules. You gotta want it! Plus, if it isn't obvious by now we really like to shake our dicks at all of you just because we can. That and we're awful, awful people.

Eager Young Person: OK, if I do that will I get on a “team” and be able to perform and use all the skills I’ve learned going through your course levels again? Will I be able to get on SNL then?

Multimillion Dollar Improvisation Theater/School: Not so fast. If you’ve set aside your ego sufficiently this time to be able to absorb the improv wisdom that has been presented to you in this second (or third, or fourth, or fifth) round of coursework (and we’ll be the sole judge of that), and you successfully pass the audition for a “team”, then you get to BE on the team, pay money to us each week for a team “coach”, and fork over the cost of our performance space when your team is on stage. You, of course, earn zero money for this activity; you’re just one of the lucky ones that gets to be in the position to pay US for the opportunity we’re offering you to get into the “group mind” of improv. Of course we sell the fuck out of tickets to those folks who come to see your team perform because, well, we set the rules, remember? Also, if you’re really, really lucky we’ll pick you to work for free selling tickets or tearing tickets or pouring beers because by volunteering your free time to work in a for-fucking-profit enterprise you show us just how much you WANT IT. Oh, did we tell you we’re building a new seven million dollar theater across town? Yeah, it’s good to be king. Or queen, as the case may be.

Eager Young Person: Where do I sign up? AKA, please, please love me.

And...scene. So if I told this story to a random group of people not brainwashed by the improv cult leaders that rule the improv roost in Chicago would any of them in their right mind choose to participate? Uh, just in case I have to spell it out for you...oh, hell no. However, what you read just now is exactly the way the world works in the factory farm environment that is Chicago improv. The difference being that it’s not cattle being sent down the chute to the slaughter, its young people from around the country who make the pilgrimage to Chicago because they saw a few episodes of Whose Line Is It Anyway? and expect that they’ll become the next in a supposedly long line of winners chosen by Lorne Michaels to join his SNL casts over the years. Reality being reality, a decent guess as to the chances of that happening, based on the number of young people paying to become an improv "star" versus the number of actual stars that have been made over the years is about 1 in 50,000. If the odds are even that good. For real.

So there you have it, folks. The dirty little secret that is the rigged game of the Chicago improv world. All the chips for all the prizes for all time are owned by the few at the top of the pyramid and paid for by the multitudes of slaves at the bottom of the pyramid. So, YOU! Yes, you, that slob in the flannel shirt, geek-chic glasses and dirty sneakers, shuffle on over here to Chi-town and take your place in the great factory that is Chicago improv. We guarantee you’ll be glad you did. And what were you going to do with that down payment cash anyway? That house will always be there and, after all, it’s just a house. We’re offering you the chance to create ART with a capital “A” because we’re all assholes with a capital “A” and we’re damn fucking proud of it.

Three Musketeers Mini Annoyed At Being The Last Candy Left in the Bowl - Again

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Fri, 26 Sep 2014 02:21:00 +0000

Jill's Office, Andover, Massachusetts - A Three Musketeers Bite Size Mini was heard voicing its annoyance at once again being left as the last candy in the candy bowl on Jill's desk. Previously filled to the brim with mini Hershey bars, Kit Kats, Milky Way bars and Twix, the bowl was down to one lone bite size Three Musketeers.

"I don't get it. I'm chocolate inside, chocolate outside, light, airy and delicious. What the hell does Kit Kat have that I don't? So what if its crunchy; I'm fluffy! And don't even get me started on the Reese's. Peanut butter? Please."

Jill's candy bowl is a well-known office hangout for co-workers needing a mid or late afternoon sugar fix. People have been known to openly pick through the Three Musketeers to get to a Hershey's kiss buried at the bottom of the glass bowl. Overheard recently when encountering the last Three Musketeers, two co-workers conjectured on what might be in the vending machine down on five, baldly voicing their disdain for the Three Musketeers as "nothing but corn syrup and air; its not even candy, really". They left the mini alone in the bowl and were heard to be pooling their change to buy a bag of Skittles.

"That was the low point for me," the mini Three Musketeers grumbled, "I mean what does a candy have to do to be picked? A song and dance routine? I'm silver, red, white and blue for Christ sake! My Truffle Crisp even says "New" on the front! Jill's gonna come in here soon and dump in a whole new bag of the glitterati and there I'll be...back at the bottom again. So unfair."

When last heard from the bite sized Three Musketeers was plotting to unwrap itself in a desperate bid to be noticed. Chuckling at the top of the pile were a mini bag of Reese's Pieces and two Rolos.

"Loser."

Local Woman Admits to Having Problem With Overuse of Enthusiastic Punctuation

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Fri, 26 Sep 2014 01:43:00 +0000

Rachel Williamson of Edina took the first steps toward recovery today when she resisted the urge to add an exclamation point to the end of her email to several colleagues at the accounting firm where she is a group level administrative assistant.

“I’ve known for some time that I have a problem,” Rachel quietly admitted, “it’s something that, up until now, I’ve been unable, or maybe unwilling, to control. It’s just so easy to be that cheerful, ebullient enthusiastic person when you’ve got the exclamation point crutch. I finally had to admit to the problem when the exclamation points started to creep into my Word documents, titles on Excel spreadsheets…even my text messages…I’m so ashamed.” Ironically described as “quiet” by her coworkers and friends, Rachel admits that her addiction has been an uphill battle.

“It’s so easy to be that jaunty, bubbly person when you’re hiding behind an exclamation point.”

It was a polite but direct email reply from her manager requesting that she “tone it down in her emails” that was the first clue to Rachel that she had to take action.

“I have to say that at first I was hurt when I got Ed’s email. I mean, I’m just trying to be cheerful and bright. But then I realized that Ed was right…it was just too much. I was practically shouting my cheerfulness to people. I mean who talks that way?”

Rachel’s next step was to discreetly reach out to fellow enthusiastic punctuation overusers in her office and form a self-help group. They meet once a week at lunch at a local Panera Bread.

“It’s loud enough in there that we can all really just be ourselves, really let our enthusiastic hair down and share.”

“We all knew we had a problem. I was grateful to Rachel for reaching out,” said Maggie, “I have a problem with both exclamation points and happy faces…well, actually all kinds of emoticons.”

Rachel admits that she’s still got a ways to go in her recovery.

“What with Instagram, Tumblr and Facebook, we enthusiastic punctuation overusers have a special challenge in fighting against the immediate gratification of adding those four…or Lord help me…even five or six, exclamation points to the end of a post or a Tweet…It’s a journey.”

RHONJ Shorthand Quickie Update

noreply@blogger.com (Hon) — Mon, 15 Sep 2014 00:54:00 +0000

So, three weeks in what have you missed?

Lotta prayin' goin' on.

Lotta wondering from T: Why is this happening to us?

Lotta mail, mortgage and and wire fraud - that's why, moron.

A second Theresa who calls herself TeRESSa.

Her twin named Nicole who only needs oral sex and Dunkin' Donuts.

Amber who can't keep a secret and who is potentially the busiest busybody on a franchise dedicated to the nearly worshipful exposure of busybodies.

Her douchebag husband Michael who is a LAWya. And, like I said, a douchebag.

Oh, and Rino, TheRESSa's husband who, when they were divorced from being married the first time, slept with her mother. According to sometime-RHONJ-guest-star and full time buddy of T, Victoria Gotti. Yeah, THAT Gotti. Everyone now, sing with me: Mother in law....MOTHER IN LAW...Mother in law...MOTHER IN LAW...Oy, the ick factor could NOT be higher.

Blessedly precious little of blockhead-in-chief Richie Wakile. But Kathy still occasionally appears bearing canollis.

Also blessedly less of Rosie the Rivet Head, who, BTW, has a new girlfriend...good on you Rosie, now go away...just go away...

More to despise about Melissa the little asshat and her bullet-headed husband Joey the Ape: lying, throwing shade every-fucking-where, humble bragging about having to pay to fix her Bentley because "it was icy out that day...", bitching and moaning about the indignity of having to live in a downsized rental house while their new custom giganto mcmansion is being built, being concerned for T and JJ and their kids because of all the, you know, "legal stuff". You know that secretly she's just filled with evil glee that T, her sister-in-law-cum-nemesis, is now twisting in the wind. Melissa, I think I'll hate you most of all...

And last but not least, rather BEST: the triumphant return of Dina Manzo the gloriously delightful and refreshing voice of reason and sanity on an otherwise crackpot cast of 40-something juvenile delinquents. Dina, whose sister you may recall is the high and mighty mother to three empty headed ninnies, Caroline Manzo. Caroline, or Dirty C, as I like to think of her, is OFF THE PROGRAM!! She got a spin-off with her scrounging-for-IQ offspring so at least I don't have to put up with their dipshit nonsense on RHONJ. Lordy good riddance!

I will be picking up where this blog left off with weekly updates on the RHONJ and anything else that occurs to me that's worthy of a righteous rant. Until then I will return to lobbying Dina Manzo to be her new BFF, because she's here this season to bring the Zen. And because she has a whole room dedicated to her color-sorted shoe collection. Namaste, bitches!