The Real Housewives Of Atlanta: Girl, Pleez. I Know You Did Not Just Butt Dial Me. Kim And Phaedra Pack Up…And Back Up…All Their Junk.

I know my coochie crack can pick up cable transmissions, but I don’t recall any donkey dialing.

Seriously. Listen. It sounds like she’s holding one of those giant bean bag cushions over the receiver.

I don’t have time to pack. It’s not like those (bleepin’) donuts are gonna (bleepin’) eat themselves, bitch.

I think Miss USA gets a crown and Miss America is the one with super powers, right?

Please. With an a** like that she could dial the Kremlin and not know it. Heffer.

Hold up, girl. I think I’m getting a Tweet down there right now. MmmMmm.

Close your legs to high cell phone bills and roll-over minutes, bitch.

If you’re gonna back all dat up, you better make sure you’ve got an unlimited data plan and a fully charged battery, because Donkey Booty don’t play when it comes to reaching out and touching somebody.  Just ask Phaedra.

Yeah.  I like big butts, and I cannot lie.

But apparently the women attached to those sturdy bottoms sometimes can, as we found out this week when Doctor of Donkology Phaedra Parks used up a few of her AT&T minutes by unknowingly talking a little smack after sitting on her Blackberry.

Stay tuned for all that dramzzz.  First things first.

It was Moving Day on The Real Housewives of Atlanta as Kim cussed and cursed her way out of the Biermann Dream House and back into last year’s townhouse, all thanks to a Twitter War with landlord/decorator/twatter Kendra.

There are a lot of versions out there as to what exactly went down between Kim and Kendra since the Don’t Be Tardy For The Party wedding.  Everyone is talking shizzle about each other, usually in 140 characters or less, so it’s hard to really know all the deets with so much gossipy goodness out there to digest.

According to the magazine at CVS (…hey…the line was really long…) Kim and Kroy either refused to pay rent by the first of the month, or Kendra evicted them, or Kim made a decision to move out while Kroy was wolfing down another mouthful of cereal or pizza, or some other excuse.  I basically just looked at the picture captions.

So we’ll probably never know.  But whatever it was, they pretty much had to move out by yesterday.  So it was a little chaotic, to say the least.  Kim was freaking out.

(Bleepin’) freaking out.

And suddenly the Dream House was also haunted.

I know, right?  Because Indian burial ground poltergeists lurking around your Wig Room sounds way cooler than admitting that you just got evicted.  And way more believable.

As Kim scuffed around the house in her Ugg slippers, swearing and rubbing her preggo belly in the same creepy way that the Wicked Witch always palmed that over-sized crystal ball full of Flying Monkeys, Kroy fueled the Machine with another fistful of pepperoni and basically just sat their while she whipped him.  Dude does love to eat.

Right on cue, his little bulldog puppy waddled by wearing one of those velcro cone collars that you have to wear until the stitches on your missing niblets dissolve, and for a moment I wondered if he had chewed them off himself.

The dog.  Not Kroy.

But since you mentioned it, what do you want to bet that Kroy and the puppy have to share that cone, if you know what I mean?  Snip.

Baby KJ, who totally looks as though he belongs on a 1950′s sitcom with all that slicked back Little Ricky hair and those Beanie Baby eyeballs, just sat back in his highchair trying to learn as many new swear words as he could while Kim (bleepin’) melted down.

Luckily his baby arms were too stubby to reach the carton of cigarettes on the counter, so at least temporarily, KJ was saved from one of Kim’s vices.

Hey, lady.  I pooped my diaper and I’m (bleepin’) freaking out over here, dammit.  Clean this up and bring me a menthol, Sweetie.

As everyone tried to figure out what to do next, Kandi and Momma Joyce were across town in their own pile of boxes.

Moving into her own new home, Kandi was beginning to realize that Momma’s plan all along was to also move her stuff into an upstairs bedroom.  Joyce was the one who originally found the house while it was still on the market, and it appeared that short term payback included her own parking space.

Kandi managed to pretty smoothly avoid the topic by dissing Kim’s delusional grasp on reality instead, including Mrs. Biermann’s theory that Kandi had just paid a realtor over half a million dollars commission to still live in the ‘Hood.  For someone with so much artificial hair on her head, Kim has a pretty warped concept of what actually makes someone gangstah.

Back at Casa Biermann, Kim (bleepin’) flipped out on a few of the guys from the moving company and made Momma Joyce’s analysis that “You don’t explain Ignorance” seem too legit to quit.

Yeah.  MJ just said that Kim was Ignant.  Momma Joyce will show you gangstah, bitch.

Speaking of cutting somebody…it was time for a haircut.

It was Ayden‘s 2nd birthday, and time for his first real haircut, so Momma Phaedra and Baby Daddy Apollo took him down to Rocky’s Barber Shop for a fade.

I’ll pause in order for you to appreciate the irony of Rocky and Apollo together in the same sentence again after all these years.

“Adrian!!!!”  If you get it…it’s HIGH-sterical.

If you don’t…Google a Sylvester Stallone movie and try to keep up.

Rocky’s Barber Shop was an old skool neighborhood joint, full of black combs sitting in sterilizer bottles and 47 guys all reading magazines waiting to get the same haircut.

Phaedra was quick to point out that by trade, Apollo was a Master Barber, which should have immediately caused anybody paying attention to wonder why he didn’t just cut his own kid’s hair and save the cab fair.

But by now you know that questioning anything Phaedra does is both exhausting and an exercise in futility, so we all just needed to except the fact that Apollo brought his own set of clippers and pretty much sheared off Ayden’s hair by himself while Rocky stood and watched.  It was kind of like going to the dentist and pulling your own teeth.  But whatever makes Phaedra happy.

And what was going to make her happy this week was spending $20,000 on a Georgia Aquarium Birthday Party for a 2 year old who would never remember the event after nap time.

But again.  Whatever makes Phaedra happy.

And she was keeping Ayden’s hair and the party all Tight and Dwight.

Dat’s rite.  Wannabe Housewife Dwight Eubanks made a return visit from the Salon Crypt to plan yet another one of his faaaabulously festive…umm…festivities.

So Dwrong it was Dwight.

But before the party, it was time to scramble some eggs, and a little bit of the English language, over at Porsha‘s home.

As husband Kordell got yet another recap of her parking lot throw down with Kenya at last week’s Hosea Williams Foundation Event, Porsha tried to get a handle on the different application requirements for the Miss USA and Miss America competitions while multi-tasking some wardrobe decisions for an upcoming wedding.

She admitted that maybe calling Kenya by the wrong title during her introduction was simply a Fraudulent Slip, which kind of made my head hurt, followed by Kordell rambling on about how one bad apple can’t make the pot…something something…

I swear there’s a gas leak in that house.

Meanwhile, Porsha’s nemesis Kenya was down the road a bit on Restaurant Row introducing boyfriend Walter to her family.

With Aunt Lori leading the inquisition, Walter was forced to deflect questions on topics ranging from their first date to his intentions to their future wedding plans, as Kenya nervously chewed her lettuce and waited to ovulate.

Kenya wants to make some babies.  ASAP.  Time is money, people.

The only topic they never got around to was how Lori manages to keep getting her foundation all smeared up into her hairline.  Come on.

If you’re gonna go bleached platinum, you need to get a handle on all that.  Nice enough lady, but it was like eating lunch with Christina Aguilera.

I mean.  I just can’t.  Here’s a napkin and some spit.  Lemme get that for you, honey.

By the time Walter proudly proclaimed that he was the Martin Luther King of Towing, I had to ask for a doggie bag for my leftovers.

I have a Dream.  And a boot on my Kia.

Then it was time for Dwight’s cameo, some cake and an aquatic theme park show.

Being in storage for a season definitely made our girl Dwight a little rusty, because she certainly was not as Fierce as I remember her back when she was always up in NeNe‘s face.  But it was still Dwight, and she still had a crazy a** bucket hat on her head.  So that made me happy.

The party was your typical 2 year old birthday party, complete with a locomotive train parade entrance into the venue, a private water show and $100 bills paper clipped to his OshKosh shirt.  Memories to last a lifetime, if a 2 year old could actually stay awake for all of that excess.

When Dwight licked his lips during some cruise ship singer’s ode to a pair of dancing dolphins, I knew it was time to go home.

And then things went all Badonkadonkers.

NeNe’s 4 minutes of screen time this week still chewed the scenery as she and Cynthia got all OhNoSheDin’t over some potentially serious Donkey Dialing.

Turns out that Cynthia had passed on Ayden’s Under The Sea extravaganza due to a prior commitment.  And you don’t say No to Miss Phaedra.  You just don’t.

Because it seems that Phaedra can’t control her temper, or the junk in her trunk, and had somehow butt dialed one of NeNe’s people as she was mouthing off about Cynthia to an unknown third party.

She even said the F Word, which she claims to never use.

NeNe had somehow managed to secure a recording of the actual booty dial off the mystery phone (…what is this…CSI ATL?…) and when she played it for Cynthia over lunch the two of them pretty much plugged in the organ and Testified.

As they plotted Cynthia’s confrontation with Phaedra, NeNe milked her 4 minutes like it was an audition for BET.

MmmHmm.  You go, girl.  And give that hat back to Dwight.

Before Cynthia met up with Phaedra we had to sit through another few minutes with Kenya and her ovaries.  But this time she and Walter ate outside, and…no lie…the crickets and tree frogs were so loud that they actually drowned out the ticking of Kenya’s biological clock.

It was a sound tech’s nightmare, but it was a nice break from the usual blare of her baby making parts.

By the time Cynthia and Phaedra met up, Mrs. Bailey wasted no time in getting right to the point despite being momentarily distracted by Phaedra’s skin tight aluminum lamé super heroine pants.

Seriously.  Did you see those things?  The scuba girl feeding chum to the birthday penguins was shrink wrapped in looser fitting latex.

But anyway.  Phaedra denied the butt dial.

Actually…she didn’t recall making the call at all as she nervously fidgeted with her studded Wonder Woman cuff and chewed on taco chips while making every PhaedraFace in her extensive arsenal.

But Cynthia wasn’t buying it.

So when all else fails?  Use your boobs, girlfriend.

Phaedra suddenly noticed a red spot on her jigglies, and  complained that they were itching.  And that some bug must have wanted some of that chocolate awesome sauce.

Then like a newborn child discovering her own toes for the first time, Phaedra latched onto the goods and never looked up again, leaving Cynthia to sit there on the opposite side of the table watching the whole floor show until the check finally came.

Well played, Ms. Parks.  Well played.

Now back dat thang up over here and call me a cab.