The A-List: Hen Among the Cocks!
That’s right, ladies! Those vapid famewhores are BACK and we’re just the bitches to make them all cry!
Our saga opens in a darkened, more than likely otherwise empty bar, where our heroines are all gathered tightly around a table. Things seem intense. Words are shouted out, but often don’t make sense. “SHOES FIT TO HER!” We are confused. What is happening? Why is the music pounding like we’re in an action movie instead of scripted reality show? Who’s their little drag queen friend who keeps inserting herself into the conversation? Austin is braying like a donkey at top volume, Derek is shrieking like a howler monkey, and Roidney still talks like he’s got a mouthful of stew he doesn’t want to swallow, so there was a lot of need for subtitles. The music gets louder, the screen goes red, everyone screams “AUSTIN!” and we’re prepared for the moment when they all die in the impending explosion (more than ready), when the screen goes to black.
“THREE DAYS EARLIER”
Non-linear narrative, darlings! How edgy! It’s like Rashomon except with subtitles that make no sense.
Austin and whatever the hell his doormat husband’s name is come from the gym. Austin honks and brays some words at his husband but they’re even more pointless than usual. He celebrates the end of his workout by having a beer. Derek shows up and they shriek like banshees. “My best friend is here!” reads Austin, off his script pages. They call each other “pookie” and rub noses; we quietly vomit into buckets we purchased for just this occasion. We even decorated them with glitter and rainbows. The girls decide to compare their career trajectories. “I’m going to pose for Playgirl!” honks Austin. “I quit my job and I’m starting a tanning line!” shrieks Derek. “These whores are lazy assholes!” shout T Lo in unison. Then they move onto the next topic: Mike’s career. The unemployed tanning line entrepreneur and pretend Playgirl model roll their eyes in disapproval at the only person in their entire social circle who actually has a career. Normally we’d be right there with them at the thought of something so ridiculous as a “t-shirt launch party,” but neither of them are in any position to roll their eyes at anyone else’s vapid, attention-seeking, delusional pursuits.
Cut to a very long, lingering shot of the sign outside Ryan’s hair-burning shop, which conveniently also has the phone number on it. Ryan dashes through the streets like a more feminine Mary Tyler Moore and sashays his way into the shop. TJ is bouncing in his seat like a hyperactive toddler. In front of a “customer,” (underemployed actor/friend of a castmember or crew member/production assistant), TJ excitedly calls Ryan over to loudly show him pictures of Reichen’s dick on the internet. Ryan pulls an Aunt Pittypat and goes pale. She slumps into a sitting position and fans herself. No one in the Ladies Auxiliary known as the Manhattan gay social scene has ever heard of such a filthy, disturbing thing! She stands up, straightens herself out and goes from Aunt Pittypat to Miss Scarlett immediately. Smoothing out her crinolines, she crisply informs TJ that “Your job is booking blowouts and foils, girl,” before immediately apologizing to the “customer” and heading to the powder room to have her first real good cry of the morning.
Cut to Mike and Reichen grunting and flexing at each other around a pool in the Hamptons. Reichen informs us slowly that it’s “My place for the summer,” which means ” a friend or acquaintance of the producer let us use the pool for the summer so long as we don’t come inside the house.” Ryan shows up, puts down her purse, crosses her legs, bats her freshly curled eyelashes and innocently asks Reichen, “How’s Rodiney?” Reichen slowly informs them that Rodiney has moved out. Ryan and Mike encourage him to keep using his words. “It’s hard.” He tells them. They prod him further. “It’s just really hard.” Ryan and Mike nod sagely and try not to laugh. See, this is why we don’t want to be on any list, A or otherwise; because this is the exact moment where one of us would have piped up with “Speaking of hard, Reichen, I saw your little dick on the internet!” But that’s just us. Reichen takes the opportunity to tell them himself. “I don’t know how to say this,” he moos. PUH-LEEZE, girl. When are these bitches going to stop acting like whacking it on the internet with someone who’s not your boyfriend isn’t exactly shocking amongst our kind? You don’t have to approve of it, but let’s not pretend this is something that calls for pearl-clutching. He tells the whole shockingly sordid tale to Mike and Ryan, who pretend that they don’t have computers or access to the internet. Ryan purses his lips, narrows his eyes at the camera, and spews some horseshit about not wanting to let Reichen know he already knew because it would “embarrass” Reichen. We have to pause the show for a moment while we stop laughing. Honey, we don’t know how to tell you this, but your little mooing friend in the pool was born without a dignity gland and thus is incapable of feeling embarrassment. This is why he’s on a TV show talking about the picture of his taint on the internet. This is why he attempts to sing in public.
Cut to Mike’s studio, where he informs us he’s shooting a “coffee table” book of “just really beautiful men” half-naked. Mike has apparently never been in one of those bookstores that sell rainbow suncatchers and little teddy bears in leather gear because he acts like this is a new idea. Mike’s new partner Martin shows up and it’s EXTREMELY disconcerting to see two grown men with more grey hair than the entire first season cast of Golden Girls acting like two lovesick teenagers. “You’re the love of my life, ” says Martin into Mike’s neck, in front of cameras.
Rodiney shows up with his mouth full of marbles. According to Mike, Rodiney has been doing “gangbusters as a model.” Define “gangbusters,” for us, Mike. Rodiney tells us something-something. He’s smiling when he says it, but the honking is almost completely impossible to interpret. He feels like he “run dis see” which the subtitles helpfully inform us is actually “run this city.” Later, after Mike once again takes pictures of Roidney in his underwear, not even the subtitle people could make sense of his gurglings: “YOU AMAAAAAAAZE, BROTHER!”
So this Nyasha chick gets a major entrance and our ennui is threatening to engulf us like a tsunami. We are SO not feeling the addition of girl energy to the proceedings. Turns out, Nyasha is a sassy black girl who, from what we can tell, is a professional fruit fly. There are almost as many of them in NY as there are gays and they’re all trying to sell their latest appearance or “single” on the pages of Next, just before you get to the escort listings. She informs us she’s got a single coming out called “Pride.” Did we call that or what? Mike looks uncomfortable and unconvincingly informs the camera that she’s “got it going on” When pressed by offscreen recent film school graduates to expand on what, exactly it is about her that led him to say that, he can only point out her Louis Vuitton boots, politely declining to mention the unending stream of bullshit flying out of her mouth. Mike invites her to his “T-shirt launch party.” Say “I’m having a T-shirt launch party.” Really. Say that out loud. Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever said?
Anyway, Nyasha rolls her neck and snaps her fingers and spews a hilarious volume of bullshit at the camera. “People most know me internationally as an ambassador of the continent of Africa.” Later, she goes to a Malaysian designer for an African look and chooses an ugly dress that is neither. Later still, we see her recording her dance single, which sounds exactly like every song blared from every Pride float for the last 20 years. She can’t remember the lyrics, which is funny, because no one actually listens to the words anyway. This is music for guys in jockstraps to dance to, honey. You could sing the directions on a bottle of Tylenol and they’d still love it. She tells us that “what pays the bills” is her wig and extensions company and we almost believe that she might be some sort of successful entrepreneur. Then we remember what show she’s on.
Rodiney is moving out and Reichen collapses on the bed, exhausted from trying to get a synapse to fire. He says to the camera: “I.. well, let me gather me thoughts.” He never does. Later, he complains that while rodiney was packing his things, he “seemed distant.” HE’S MOVING OUT, YOU MORON.
Derek cuts in to quickly say something nasty about both Rodiney and Reichen. Derek’s face looks a little … funny, wouldn’t you say, girls? Like it hasn’t entirely settled in from … something?
Cut back to Reichen on the bed, trying to have a moment: “Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo-hoo. Boo. Hoo. Hey, I’ll call you later about going to Mike’s party tonight.”
Derek cuts back in to predict that Reichen will have the next man in his bed in ten minutes. His eyes look suddenly like they’re too far apart.
Later, Austin, Ryan, and Derek try on clothes together. Ryan is appalled that Austin is outside his dressing room without pants on. He apparently can’t see Derek standing right next to him wearing Little Nell’s tap pants. Ryan and Derek take this moment to tell Austin he’s obese and they’re concerned his disgusting corpulence will cause Playgirl to go out of business. “Are you going to … frontal?” asks Ryan delicately, as she flips open her compact to check her makeup. Austin switches the topic from his enormously fat body to his hatred of Rodiney. We’ve gotta give Derek and Ryan a little credit here, because they totally punctured Austin’s delusions that Reichen is some sort of friend to him. Austin honks, all evidence notwithstanding, that he’s a grown man and doesn’t need to be told how to act.
It’s standing room only at Mike’s T-shirt launch party. No, really. There’s a step-and-repeat and everything. Nyasha shows up and is inappropriate with everyone almost immediately. Austin, Derek and Ryan are inappropriate back by immediately badmouthing Rodiney. “Maybe we’ll be friends,” Derek tells her, as if it’s a long drawn-out process to be included in Derek’s exclusive circle of friends. Girl, you accept money to pretend friend people on camera. You’re a friend-whore. Stop pretending like it’s something she’s gonna have to work for. Austin stumbles over and honk-asks her if she does “white women hair.” Nyasha rolls her neck and snaps her fingers in response. Derek thinks she’s far too forthcoming, which is gauche when you’re surrounded by such luminaries as an unemployed nudie model, an unemployed tanning line entrepreneur, and a hairdresser. . “The personality does not match the exterior,” honks Austin, trying desperately to sound like he has some sort of standards. Then they all act like they’re thrilled she’s coming to the after-party and shriek and put new stickers on their Trapper Keepers.
At the after-party – BECAUSE THERE IS AN AFTER PARTY FOR A T-SHIRT LAUNCH (although it’s really just another empty bar) – Reichen sits down with Nyasha and immediately fills her in on his entire dating history with Rodiney and what a mess Austin is. Nyasha urges Austin to: “Sit down. Have the balls. I want to hear your side too.” These people are complete social morons. They all sit around a table, inches away from each other, and talk about how much they all dislike each other to a total stranger who acts like she’s Oprah, except with longer nails and cheaper wigs. Somehow, things shift to Derek who goes from calm to FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT at Rodiney in the space of about 15 seconds. It’s really frightening. The little veins in his neck stand out and he sounds like an animal drowning. Through subtitles and rewinding, we piece together that Rodiney made a passive-aggressive crack about Derek’s mother on Facebook. YOU ASSHOLES ARE FIGHTING OVER STUFF THAT HAPPENED ON FACEBOOK. At this point, we’re praying that someone from the wait staff accidentally drops a tray of flaming drinks on them all. TJ wisely takes the food away from the table and puts on a helmet. Then, the shocking moment we’ve all been waiting for: Austin reaches for Rodiney’s arm and accidentally hits Nyasha in the wrist. Nyasha has learned a valuable fruitfly lesson: Girl, don’t you EVER get in the middle of some pissed-off queens. She’s lucky her wig was still on her head. Nyasha doesn’t take time to ponder the lesson, however, because it’s now her turn to FLIP THE FUCK OUT at Austin. She apparently picked up some of Rodiney’s smack-talking skills, because she screams the incomprehensible “I WILL FUCKING DICK YOU!!!!!!” at Austin.
Hey, if this is the after-party to Mike’s T-shirt launch, where’s Mike?
Anyway, Nyasha gets thrown out of the bar, TJ takes off his helmet and enjoys some delicious nachos, and Reichen stupidly (redundant) says “Happy Summer, everybody!”
Later, Nyasha and Reichen meet for coffee in a restaurant with at least two other people in it, but we’re pretty sure they work there. At the very least, they’re unemployed actors. Nyasha’s hand is bandaged but clearly the producers decided it was a bit much for the scene because it’s never referred to. No, really. Check the beginning of the scene again. The right hand, which she keeps under the table during the entire scene, is wrapped in a bandage. Could it be that Nyasha is perhaps too much of an attention whore for even the producers of this show? Anyway, they sit and talk about the previous event as if they’re speaking to someone who wasn’t there. Reichen tells Nyasha everything Austin said about her behind her back and then Nyasha tells Reichen everything that Austin said about him behind his back. Then they both unconvincingly declare him “irrelevant” Honey, if you have to arrange a lunch meeting just to talk about how much you hate someone, that person may be a lot of things, but he ain’t irrelevent; not to you.
Austin calls Nyasha. “How did you get my number?” OH PLEASE. We’d love it if Austin replied “From the producer of our reality show.” They arrange to meet to hash out the details of what happened the last time they met. Seriously. We’re gonna need a new word for “vapid.” Nyasha shows up without her bandage and cops a massive attitude. “All of your friends don’t like you,” she informs Austin, who blinks stupidly (redundant) at her but informs the camera that he’s rubber and she’s glue. “People who have known you for years say how much they despise you,” she continues, and just this once, we wish Austin would demonstrate just a little bit of gay wit or fierceness and come back with some kind of wicked put down for this bitch who thinks WAAAAAY too highly of herself. We didn’t think it was possible, but there is someone on this earth who can read Austin for filth, and instead of cheering her on, we’re urging Austin to throw his drink in her face and tell her her wig looks flammable. Instead he lets her get all pissed-off sassy black girl in his face and as we all know, gay men are COMPLETELY powerless against that. If there’s one type of person who can get a self-absorbed gay man to sit down and shut the fuck up, it’s a pissed off sassy black girl in a wig and 5-inch heels. It’s a shame she’s so unlikable because normally, she’d be our hero.