Lawd! Hide yo’ kids! Hide your wife! It’s The Attack of the Coochie Crack!
MmmHmm. I know you want to get all up on this, Gregg.
No, really! Stop! Stop! We’re so rich you’re gonna make me pee! I mean it!
Excuse me? I won freakin’ Ultimate Grand Supreme for my Outfit of Choice, Bitch. Back it up.
Gregg was right. I’d totally motorboat these Bad Boys for a pair of Louboutins.
It’s climbin’ in yo’ windows! And it’s snatchin’ yo’ people up! It’s a Coochie Crack Attack!
Oh. Hell. No. You fired me and kept this baby-making wig stand?
Honky if you love Donkey.
And while you’re at it, fix yo’ face and close your legs to married men.
Because The Real Housewives of Atlanta are back, bitch.
The history books warned us that the South shall rise again, and sho nuff…it’s time, because The NeNe Leakes Show returned this week with more attitude, sass and donkey booty than ever before.
To make room for some new badonkadonks, Shereè Whitfield is no longer with the company and we wish her well. And don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Boo.
Or at least that’s how I imagined the inter-office memo that circulated in the lobby of the Season Four Reunion Show after it was announced that She by Shereè was She Sashaying Away due to alleged Über Diva behavior behind the cameras.
Shereè claimed that she left in an attempt to actually finish pouring the foundation on that money pit of a home construction site she always referred to in the Third Person, and to start selling other people’s stuff through an online KitsyLane.com website.
At least that was her take on the whole thing when a TMZ guy stalked her. Everyone else just said she was a bitch.
But I’m not here to judge. I always liked her, even though I can’t recall her doing one thing on the show of any noteworthiness after that night she tugged on Kim’s wig in front of Lindsay Lohan‘s media whore Dad.
I imagine it’s got to be tough keeping your Twitter followers based on one chick fight.
Shereè did try a comeback last season by telling NeNe to fix her teeth that one time, but that didn’t really keep me on the edge of my seat for twenty-something episodes.
So she’s gone. And it’s sad to see Shereè go, but if the truth be told…not having to type that additional punctuation flourish over the last “e” over and over again doesn’t really break my heart. I’ll probably get to bed a lot earlier now.
NeNe started it off this week, giving us all a glimpse into the new bandana phase she is apparently going to be going through this season whenever she has a bad hair day.
You know those baseball caps they sell at Spencer Gifts that come with the ponytails or mullets already attached? The ones that Dbags always wear with Redneck teeth when it’s not even Halloween?
It was like that.
With horned up ex-husband Gregg sniffing around her junk at the kitchen table, NeNe gave us all a 2 minute promo for her sitcom The New Normal and an update on how rich and famous she has become.
Because she’s a big star now. And she’s rich. Very rich.
NeNe was contemplating a move to Los Angeles so she could fully realize her dreams of stardom, which would definitely throw a wrench into Gregg’s plan to get back into both the house and her pants. Since divorcing over a laundry list of issues, the two have somehow already found themselves back in Friends With Benefits territory, but Gregg wanted his family back under one roof.
And once Gregg picks up on a scent, it’s all over.
Unfortunately, after a quick flashback to how he had done her wrong, it was clear that Gregg would have to do a lot more groveling before he could get his garage door remote back. Because there were loads of other men who wanted some NeNeNoogie.
Because she’s rich, you know.
Here’s a thought. Maybe she could spend some of that cash on trimming up her bandana weave a little bit. Or maybe she was trying to look like Janice from the Muppets. Just saying.
While NeNe was hosing down Gregg in ice water, we went to lunch with Kandi Burruss and her new BF Todd.
With Kandi’s biological clock ticking and buzzing louder than one of her 12″ rubber nasties, she and Todd had decided to move in together and kinda sorta think about having a family…maybe. They were ridiculously in love and it was nice to see after the rough year or two that she had gone through, and I was happy that she was in a position to pay cash for a new home.
That is, until later on when I saw the ginormous thing and then I was just pissed that anyone could withdraw that much dough on their ATM card after buying groceries. I must be doing something wrong.
Kandi ordered the fish taco, which I really wanted to turn into an absolutely HIGH-sterical off color joke, but I won’t just in case any of the Dance Moms kids are scrolling down looking for their show. Keep moving, kids. Nothing to see here.
And speaking of kids. Kim Zolciak-Biermann and her wigs were preggo again.
She and her dancing football husband were expecting their second child. And Kroy was eating cereal. Again. Dude certainly likes his Sugar Smacks.
Or maybe they were trying to save some money, since they had just found out that they were being evicted from their leased mansion by their mean landlord and his crazy a** decorator wife Kendra Davis.
If you check your DVR’d Don’t Be Tardy For The Wedding you’ll see loads of dramz when Kendra decorated the whole joint and then Kim went and got married in the back yard and everyone was screaming and Kendra started a Twitter War and Kim’s Mom was carted off the property like a recaptured asylum escapee and blah to the blah to the blah.
Bottom line, Sweetie was back. And that was all that mattered. Cuz Sweetie don’t take no crap, and she always makes everything all better for Kim. She’ll cut you.
And Kim had a new wig with bangs, that made her look like Taylor Swift‘s mother.
She also had a Moving Organizer (…second only to Life Coach on the WTF Scale…) who had tracked down someone willing to move and store all of Kim’s crap for a mere $101,000. One-Oh-One plus three zeroes.
I know, right? For that price they better lift the whole f***ing house with a Star Trek photon laser and beam it across town in one piece. It was the first time I’d ever seen Kim actually consider something out of her price range. Barely. But out of her range.
That’s like two Birkin bags for crying out loud.
Then it was time to take the donkey to the vet.
Donkey Booty, that is. Miss Phaedra Parks was in the hizzle. The Animal Hizzle.
In an attempt at expanding her Entrepreneurial Funeral World Takeover, Phaedra was looking to back dat thang up into the lucrative animal burial biz, and decided to do a quick drive-by at the local animal hospital to leave her card and terrorize a few sick puppies wearing those cones so they don’t nibble on their nibblies. Like they haven’t suffered enough.
A few scrunchy PhaedraFaces later, it was already over as the Vet nervously cut the whole thing short with an exasperated “I’ll show you out,” which was more polite than accusing Phaedra of being a NutJob with a big butt.
After a quick visit with Cynthia Bailey and her new husband Peter and her old husband Leon, where they all discussed the merits of home schooling a daughter who clearly just wanted to jump out the window and onto the yellow bus waiting outside, we got to meet Kenya.
Not the country. The person.
Kenya Moore. New Housewife #1.
She saved us the trouble of Googling her resume by rattling off everything from Producer to Gym Rat to Miss USA to Beating a Bitch Down before we even asked. And she was friends with hair queen Miss Lawrence Washington, who met her for lunch in what almost looked like Boy clothes.
Lawrence. In Boy clothes. Except for the high gloss red nails, of course. A girl’s gotta maintain the mani. Der.
Kenya wants her man Walter to put a ring on it. Stat. But that story’s a work in progress. Stay tuned.
Before I could even digest the meal or all of Miss Lawrence’s Fierceness, Kim drove into the ‘hood to see Kandi’s new home. Except it wasn’t the ‘hood. And it wasn’t a new home. It was two.
Shut the front door. Both of them.
Then it was time to Gleek out. OMG.
NeNe met up with Ryan Murphy, the man responsible for Glee and Nip/Tuck and NeNe’s new show, among others. And apparently the man trying to bring back plaid newsboy hats. Not sure what that was all about.
NeNe was all fabulous and loud. Ryan was all fabulous and not quite as loud. And he had these constantly moving fabulous hands that didn’t stop fabulously moving the entire time they had dinner. It was like that sign language interpreter who always stands next to the Mayor of New York City, except Ryan was fingering the entire first two seasons of Lea Michele and Chris Colfer duets.
Seriously.
After sticking it to Star Jones (…again? Get over it, girl…) and then name dropping every celebrity she knew, NeNe and Ryan attempted to prank call Tyler Perry on her blinged out iPhone. Except Tyler had either changed his number or had a quick trigger finger on the caller ID, because all NeNe got was a recording. Psych.
Then they both laughed the kind of laugh you laugh when you assume that your famous friend forgot to pay his cell phone bill.
It was fabulous.
Finally, the ATL Crazy Train finished off this week with a whole lot of caboose.
I like big butts and I can not lie. Toot Toot.
Over at The Bailey Agency, Cynthia had paired up with JET Magazine to search for their next Beauty of the Week. Which meant curvy girls and Phaedra-worthy butts.
For miles.
And for whatever reason, she had asked Kenya to join the judging panel. (Again…the person, not the country. I’m not going to explain this every time.)
America’s Next Top Model? Not so much. Those girls you see at Target who beat you up in the bathroom for texting their man? Yeah. That’s more like it.
But since Cynthia created the Agency to empower young girls and give everyone a chance at better self esteem, she was all about making each model feel special and beautiful as they came down the runway, regardless of talent or probationary history.
Unfortunately, it seemed that no one had bothered to tell Kenya about any of The Bailey Agency’s core values as she verbally slaughtered every piece of junk in every trunk. I’m not even sure anyone told her that Cynthia was in charge.
One by one the girls paraded in front of the panel as Kenya’s inner Diva coffee pot percolated to a boil. Do you know who she is? She used to be Miss USA, you know.
And there are two things that a sassy Miss USA don’t like.
A** crack and Coochie Crack. And Gawd help any poor girl in an ill fitting bikini who is working both at once. And if all of that Coochie Goodness is rockin’ a five 0′clock shadow?
Girl, pleez.
Kenya went off on the model like it was World War II during a Coochie Crack Air Raid.
Incoming! Duck and Roll! There’s Coochie everywhere! I’m Hit! Soldier Down!
Then Cynthia’s squirrely little assistant Carlton went off on Kenya for being disrespectful. (Did you see his little bald head up against the giant backdrop photo of Cynthia’s cleavage? He kind of blended into the wall decor and gave her a third boob for a minute. Blooper reel!)
And then Kenya went off on Carlton for not knowing who she was and for getting all up in her personal space. But mostly for not knowing who she was. She used to be Miss USA, you know.
Luckily, Kenya had brought her own bodyguard to the event (…who does that?…) just in case any squirrely little assistant got all pissy on her, so before you knew it some nightclub bouncer thug dropped from the rafters and poked Carlton with his finger.
Squirrely Assistant #2 Terrance even got his squirrely little H&M hat knocked off his head in all the commotion.
It was dramalicious, I tell you. Everyone was horrified by Kenya’s behavior.
Cynthia decided that if Kenya ever wanted to try something like that again, she would be more than happy to throw down with the bitch.
Right about then I decided that Coochie Cracks are nasty.
And that this was gonna get good.
Bloop.
