I have a bad feeling about this.
Muahahahaha! Come my little Candy Apple Dancer Monkeys.
My Master Plan is almost complete!
Something ain’t right in Gotham City.
I mean, Ohio.
Dance Moms jazz handed their way into our living rooms again this week as they racked up those frequent flyer miles in preparation for the upcoming Not Quite As Cool As Toddlers & Tiaras Grand Supreme National Dance Competitions in beautiful, superficial Hollywood. Abby Lee Miller shipped all her roomy black moo moo tops, little girl dancer robots, costumes, props and basically anything that was not bolted down at the Orlando Ramada, except school books apparently, to Las Vegas for whatever the next event is that comes two weeks before Nationals. ThunderDome. ThunderCats. ThunderSomething. Fine…next time I’ll buy a souvenir.
After sucking wind at the Orlando Dance Competition, Abby has seen better days. Not even her bright yellow headband, bright yellow Joan Rivers watch and bright yellow sneaks could cheer her up. I am so envious of how much extra sleep Abby must get in the morning since she doesn’t have to worry about wardrobe. Just pull some big black thing over your head, pick a shoebox with color coordinated accessories and out the door. There won’t even be a rush hour line at Krispy Kreme when she gets there.
Jealous, much? I know you are.
Much like a hooker the morning after, regardless of where you wake up you should always start the day in the same way. Instead of the Walk of Shame, Abby likes to start the girls out with the Pyramid of Shame. Less snarls in your hair but just as awkward.
The Vegas Pyramid had a twist.
Cathy and her daughter Vivi-Anne (who names their daughter with a movie credit reel in mind, really?) had stormed out of Orlando refusing to shlep all the way to Las Vegas. Cathy is the one with the nappiest, blotchy striped Kate Gosselin doo, remember? Chunky highlights are one thing, thank you Cosmo Magazine, but don’t try to pass that mess off as trendy when we can all clearly see that Antoine just forgot to pull the rest of the hair out through the cap before hitting it with bleach. Girl, pleez.
Since Cathy pulled VavavaVivi out of the running, the poor girl was naturally at the bottom of the ugly pyramid. Of course just scotch taping her mug to the bottom wasn’t enough for Abby, so she had to draw a big ol’ red circle/slash mark through the little kid’s face. The kind of circle/slash thing they use on Do Not Smoke signs and No Fat Chick tee shirts. That one.
Little did we know that Cathy had top secret reasons for not showing up. Stay tuned for that one. (Insert foreshadowing Dun Dun Dunnnnn Music Here, please.)
Maddie with the chiclet gum smile always wins everything she touches. She always gets the solos and has the best chance of not ending up at Hooters. All the moms cry alot about how she gets favored and their daughters get pushed aside…blah to the blah.
To prove a point, Abby gives her a week off. (Knowing Abby, the point is probably that all the other girls are lousy dancers, but she puts the “your chance to shine” thing on it, with a heavy does of “you better win or else” tossed in to good measure.)
Brooke, the older teen who was born with a shoulder that never stays in the socket and no smile muscles, gets another solo because she is in Vegas and has always dreamed of being in Cirque du Soleil.
Honey. Newsflash: Unless you wipe some of that I hate my life off your face pretty quick, you don’t stand a chance of ever riding a suspended unicycle over a styrofoam piano while a clown sings opera as it fake rains ice cream cones. Clowns are scary enough, but when they act all Dawson’s Creek suicidal, that is just plain creepy. Knock it off. Now. Do not make me say it again.
Tiny Chloe gets a solo this time around, mainly so she can crash and burn, and then Abby won’t have to listen to her mom Christi complain about favoritism anymore.
The group number is called Sinful, since it’s Vegas, baby. Sin City. Figure it out.
But the best part, and my new all-time favorite Reality Show Ripped From The Pages Of A Comic Book Plot Twist is that Cathy is finally back in Ohio. She still has a hot mess of hair sticking out of her head, but now she also has a crazy ass Dr. Evil plot to take over the Dance World which is just about to come to fruition. And she has her own Dance Mom Henchmen…or Henchwomen, I guess.
Cathy’s Candy Apple’s Dance Center is the kind of studio that the Joker would have on the old Batman TV show. If he danced. And had it in the basement of an Apple Store.
I swear I’m not making this up. I half expected the scene to be filmed sideways at an angle the way they used to show the Joker and Penguin Warehouses. The Evil Cathy even has her own version of Abby’s Pyramid of Shame. Except she has the Evil Villain meets Steve Jobs version. It’s a plasma TV screen with apple icons that get all 3D on you instead of scotch taped construction paper. She just showed Abby how it’s done.
Just like last week, for a show that doesn’t seem to recognize higher education, they sure school each other a lot.
Criminal Mastermind: 1 Big Loud Dance Teacher: 0
Cathy’s Henchwomen all wander in looking like the line up of housewives who didn’t make the Jersey Shore or Mob Wife casting call cuts. Seriously. They are totally my new screen saver.
Using her iPad (extra points just for that…) Cathy Chaos (the cool new villain name I just a gave her this minute…) shows everyone in the Evil Dance Lair who is going to Hollywood to compete against Abby Lee.
Oh no she din’t.
That’s right. She’s been spying, taking notes and probably planting brain chips in the other girls so she can swoop down on Hollywood and wipe the floor with all those little glitter balls. This is getting good.
Cathy picks some generic teenage girl to smoke Brooke on stage, providing Brooke’s shoulder stays attached. She is also sending a quirky freckled little ginger headed boy…odd choice, but never underestimate the cunning mind of a villain. And then of course she picks her own daughter….Der…who somehow feels that 10am in the morning is a good time to wear a thick coat of silver glitter eye shadow, when other girls her age would be making friendship bracelets or kissing Justin Bieber posters. I give up on that one.
Meanwhile, back in Vegas….
Man. Take these Moms out of the PTA cafetorium and they are some bad girls. In an igloo nightclub they do ski shots (literally out of glasses hot glued onto a ski…) all while giggling like a strange mix of school girl and horny cougar, seductively tease Peepshow stripper boys in the pool and still have time to talk smack about how Abby is a bad influence on their girls. Yeah. Read that one again and tell me where the flaw in that train of thought might be, Moms.
Christi has a little screaming match with Abby regarding her daughter being compared to St. Maddie in a hotel room, which I thought would be a major Jerry Springer throw down but it wasn’t, so I’m glossing over that one.
Kelly had another hissy over her daughters never getting costumes, and unleashed some major potty mouth in front of the kids. Major. So now she has to design her own costumes, make her own costumes and pretty much just pay Abby for no reason. The girl is not handling the stress of travel and ski shots very well.
Second dance competition. Second major fail.
Brooke managed to keep all her body parts attached, but didn’t bring home the Gold. The group number didn’t make the top 5. It wasn’t pretty. The way Abby’s chest was heaving up in down in anger, the black glitter checkerboard pattern on her moo moo looked like CNN’s digital stock market ticker on a bad day. Trust me. You don’t want to look at either of those things for very long.
So now all of Gotham City waits with baited breath for Chaos Cathy to arrive with her Evil Genius Bar Dancers.
Same time. Same Dance channel.
Don’t touch that dial.
