Entertainment Magazine

The Drama Queen: You Make Me Want To Shout. And Scream. And Yell Really Loud. Welcome To Marki-Wood, B**ch.

By Danthatscool @DanScontras


Seriously. Even my dentist has a damn headshot. He also bought ear plugs for some reason.


Mum! You totally need to come to America. They have X-Factor and free candy EVERYwhere!


Please don’t flip anyone off today. I’m begging you. Please don’t flip anyone off today.


OhMyGod. I can’t even remember if I moisturized today. Think, J-Man. Think.


Mama’s got two sparkly Ultimate Grand Supremes right here, Haters.


OMG. I know, right? If you’re pretty you can let the phones ring all day and nobody even cares.


And then, no lie..she went at the candy jar with both hands like she just got out of some Aussie prison or sumthin.

I know you are.  But what am I?

Yeah.  I’m talking to you, Fame.  

And you, Hollywood.  And you, Lady with the five kids who cut in front of me at Walmart last week and then couldn’t even remember your freakin’ debit card password.

You’re all crazy bitches.  Krazee.  Beeotches.

But that’s ok.  Because Talent Manager Marki Costello is here to scream some sense into all of you.  Or at least the Fame and Hollywood part.

And I do mean scream.

Since we all know that I don’t spend nearly enough time as I should watching Reality Television, somebody over at E! decided it was necessary to take yet another hour away from me this week with the premiere of The Drama Queen, which follows brassy and sassy Marki and her team of highly photogenic assistants as they search for new and exciting talent in the cut throat world of show biz.

Who is Marki, you ask?

Well, I may be dating myself a little, but this bitch (…hey…she said it, not me…) is part Abby Lee Miller, part Peg Bundy, part Joanne Worley and a whole hella lot old skool Rita Moreno screaming “Hey You Guuuuuuuuuys!” during the opening credits of PBS’s The Electric Company.

Yeah.  The Electric Company.  And PBS.  Go ask your parents or Google it, kids.

And then lightly spritz all that with some Eau de Jersey and there you go:  Marki Costello.

Loud and proud.  And you know how I love my women loud.  And in cheetah prints.

Girrrrrl, pleez.

Marki lives at home with her boyfriend Tommy and sons Lucas and Finn.  Lucas likes dry cereal and felt we needed to know that for some reason, and Finn has his name painted on the footboard of his little bed just in case he gets disoriented after dark.


Marki likes her eye candy boy toys and pricey Real Housewives of Miami Birkin bags.

A lot.

Unfortunately, her busy career and dreams of expansion are causing her to spend more time with $50,000 handbags than with boy toys, so we’ll have to wait and see how that all plays out this season.

Since this was only the first episode, it was naturally a little more of a Meet & Greet than a full-on cliff hanger, so for starters we headed off to the CMEG Mother Ship.

Creative Management Entertainment Group.

Marki’s home base was part Rachel Zoe‘s office and part Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.  Very white.  And full of pretty things.

First up was Angelica, the Receptionist.  Ding Dongy as a doorbell.  Thank Gawd she doesn’t work the phone bank down at the Suicide Prevention Hotline.

Here’s a thought:  If it’s ringing…answer it.

Next was Matt Jacobi, the Image Consultant.  A self-professed low maintenance dude with a high maintenance face, he reminded me of Brad Goreski without the nervous pink cheeks.  Rachel Zoe reference #2 if you’re keeping track.

Matt likes to be called Jacobi instead of Matt, which is probably a logistical nightmare when it comes time to do taxes.  But whatever.  He probably writes off all his bronzer and hair gel, anyway.

Stephanie is the Head of the West Coast sumthin sumthin.  I forget exactly what she said because she used to work at Hooter’s and that made me laugh.  Especially when she got so caught up in her wet t-shirt resume that she almost forgot to mention she had a full law degree.

Hooter’s has amazing hot wings.  So suck it, Harvard.

Kelly is the Talent Coordinator.  Which I guess is different than Michelle‘s Talent Manager title.  Which I’m going to assume are both somehow different than Marki’s Talent Manager title, because otherwise I can’t explain why one talent manager is working for another talent manager.  Which I guess explains why Marki doesn’t represent me.



Since this is Reality Television, nothing much ever gets done at work except sitting around talking about lady parts and watching Jacobi Matt’s eyes bug out.

Eew, gross.  Boy in the room.

Luckily, Marki finally showed up to the office and they got down to bidnezz.

First up was a meeting with Australian celebrity/actress/singer/dancer/magician/neuro physicist Tamara Jaber.  She listed off a lot of careers and admitted that she sounded rather precocious, which didn’t really even make much sense in the context that it was used.  But she had a great smile and a very on trend ombré thing going on with her hair.  So points were given back.

I guess Tamara’s a pretty big dealio Down Under, but in America she has yet to show up on any episode of South Park and that’s one of the top metrics I use to determine a celebrity’s Q Score.  So she’s got some work to do from where I stand.  But that’s what Marki is for, right?

Tamara reminded me of what Leona Lewis might look like if she had never lost her baby fat.  Tamara wasn’t a big girl, but she wasn’t a little girl either.  She brought a few extra carry-ons across the pond, if you know what I mean.  But she owned them.  Proudly.

The same way she proudly scarfed down two handfuls of candy that she scooped out of the reception area bowl.  Free is free.

Side note:  Anyone else find it odd that after apologizing for her bad hostess manners, Angelica awkwardly offered Tamara some water and/or cheese as a peace offering?

Cheese?  Yes, please.  I’m especially fond of those individual Kraft slices wrapped in cellophane.  And maybe a Baby Bell or two before I head into a meeting that will determine the career path for the entire rest of my life.  If it’s no trouble, I mean.

Did she really say cheese?

I should probably point out that during the meeting Tamara appeared to actually spit out one of the Good & Plenty niblets that she didn’t care for right onto Marki’s snazzy tin desk, and Ms. Costello’s OCD tendencies almost resulted in a full cardiac arrest before her client left to get ready for a gig at some local club.


There was also a random dollar bill on the desk which they never addressed.  I can’t believe that Marki can’t validate parking after all these years.

As part of the CMEG expansion and world takeover plans, Marki had decided to have an open casting call for her new Kiddie Division, where everyone was required to sing “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.”

Well, maybe not really required.  But for some reason the first two people sang the same song.  It was basically a few minutes of the poor man’s American Idol, with Angela acting all NutWad instead of Mariah.

Then my girl Paisley Dickey showed up to save the day.  PDiddy in the house yo!

Dat’s rite.  Toddlers & Tiaras was in the hizzle.

You all know that little nugget Paisley.  Cutie Patootie.  Cheese Dip.  Boogers.

Pee Wee Pageant Royalty.

At least that was the plan…until The League of Hater Moms, some bloody riots in the streets and a declaration by the United Nations caused her to walk away from her pageant dreams.  And all because of that one fateful day when Mom Wendy subtly hooched her up like a tiny Julia Roberts and almost put the entire Ramada franchise out of business.

Gah.  People.  Chillax.

But now she’s back.  Still little, but bigger and better than evah.  And doing what sounded like a commercial for something that gets hot dog mustard off your shirt, complete with Incredible Hulk arms and the same hair braid that Princess Leia had before she became Princess Leia.

Marki loved it and Jacobi clearly got a little jealous that there might be somebody cuter than him in the building.  And then Mom flipped off all the Hater Moms.

And it was magical.

Except that she used the wrong fingers for her double bird, so it was really more like she was just showing off the new French tips she got down on Hollywood Boulevard than it was actually telling that Mom from TMZ to kiss her a**.


But I knew what she meant.  You go, girl.

Next up were the Johnson Triplets.  Sorta.  It was really Mom ReReeeeeee (…I don’t actually know how many ‘E’s’ are supposed to be there and I’m too lazy to Google it, but you get the idea…) and Sister Merritt and Kirby, who was actually the one that was supposed to be doing the audition.

Kirby told some story about turning 16 and her mother threatening to kill her or something and then Marki fell in love.  She even called her an ingenue, which I totally had to spellcheck.  I liked them even though I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to high five each other during an audition.

The final girl to audition (…so much for Boy Power this week, except for some gangly basketball dude who showed up in the middle…) was Justin Bieber‘s old girlfriend.

Kinda.  It was actually Sloane Brown, who totally looked like Selena Gomez on Nyquil.

Easy on the mascara, honey, or someday those things are gonna stick together and you’ll never be asked to booty pop for rappers again.  Then watch your Twitter followers bail.

Marki felt that Sloane had the potential to either be a star or get eaten alive by Dateline predators, so she offered her free membership in her Host Bootcamp.

Excuse me?  I don’t know if you have to do push-ups or not in that bootcamp, but if a smokey eye will get me free s*** from Marki, you know I’m at the MAC counter the minute Macy’s opens tomorrow.

After the open call was finished, Marki and Co. headed to Tamara’s karaoke gig at the local club.

I’m not sure what Leona was up to that night.  She had on a delightfully unflattering leather ensemble and some 1984 Madonna gloves and rambled and sang about Make Up Sex and then drove Marki right out of the venue.  I think Costello actually threw a chair through the front window just to get back out on the sidewalk.

Oh, Tamara.

The next day at an outdoor cafe (…Rachel Zoe reference #3…) Marki finally laid it all on the line to Leona and brought up the 15 pound elephant in the room.  The one on her a**.

And then the angels sang.  And the clouds parted.  And Body Bullying was born.


Tamara had a brand and a gimmick and a contract.

Back at the CMEG Compound, The Johnson Triplets showed up to get the deets on their audition results, followed close behind by Paisley, her ‘I Poop Glitter’ dress (…don’t we all, honey…) and Mom Wendy.

Re-Re-Reeeeeee cut right to the chase and asked if Kirby was going to be signed.  Yes.  And the crowd goes wild.

Marki’s biggest concern with Paisley (…besides the fact that she knows me…) was that she was still a young pup and had the attention span of a young pup.  Since I myself still have the attention span of a 5 year old, I’m not really sure when it’s supposed to improve, but Marki felt that a few years of commercial spots would buy Paisley some time.

Is she signed?  Yes.  And the crowd goes wild.

Well.  Mom anyway.  Am I the only one who noticed that Wendy totally stole some of Honey Boo Boo‘s Go-Go Juice while she was at the wedding last summer?  Did you see her clutching that can of soda like a newborn as she ran out the door?  I thought she was gonna go straight through the plate glass.  We got signed!  We got signed!

Pump the brakes, sister.  Your flight’s not ’till tomorrow.

Finally, one of the Ballgame singers busted back in and wanted in on some of the good stuff.  But it wasn’t meant to be for young Taylor.

Turns out that her Mom was the only one who really wanted this shot at singing stardom.  Taylor wanted to go on Project Runway and be a famous fashion designer.

So Marki set her free.  Because that’s what she does.

She also lays the smack down on employees who laugh and scream and make fun of potential clients who show up in the same outfit as Marki (…Team Cheetah Power!…) and then lock themselves in the bathroom to cry like little school girls.

Because that totally happened between Kelly and Stephanie.

Seriously.  Grown a** women.  I don’t know how she does it.

Hollywood’s a bitch, I tell you.

A big, crazy one.


The Drama Queen: You Make Me Want To Shout. And Scream. And Yell Really Loud. Welcome To Marki-Wood, B**ch.
The Drama Queen: You Make Me Want To Shout. And Scream. And Yell Really Loud. Welcome To Marki-Wood, B**ch.
The Drama Queen: You Make Me Want To Shout. And Scream. And Yell Really Loud. Welcome To Marki-Wood, B**ch.
The Drama Queen: You Make Me Want To Shout. And Scream. And Yell Really Loud. Welcome To Marki-Wood, B**ch.
The Drama Queen: You Make Me Want To Shout. And Scream. And Yell Really Loud. Welcome To Marki-Wood, B**ch.

Back to Featured Articles on Logo Paperblog