By the time last night’s episode got to the point where people were fighting at the after-party for a wig launch party, we were both curled up on the floor in front of our TV, weeping and weakly calling out, “Please. No more. Can’t…take…any more…fucking…stupidity…” in our best Shatners, pools of tears, sweat and vomit blossoming around our limp forms.*
*scene enhanced for reading pleasure
In all our reality TV blogging, we’ve always drawn the line at wishing violence upon these little dancing morons, but episode after episode of dumb, talentless, attention-seeking people arguing over absolutely fucking NOTHING has us secretly thinking that a limo crash or perhaps a missile strike on the Fire Island Ferry would be the only emotionally satisfying way for the season to end at this point. There’s no chance of non-cast members getting hurt in these imaginary disasters since the rest of humanity collectively and silently decided to be nowhere near any of these famewhores, hence the endless array of empty restaurants and sparsely attended parties that comprise their social life. In a way, the constant fighting makes sense. They’re the world writ small; Lord of the Flies smack in the middle of a bustling Manhattan that wants nothing to do with silly, self-proclaimed royalty. No one else will speak to them or even sit near them, so the only form of entertainment these primates have is flinging shit at each other.
Gosh, we’re dark today, kittens. Consider the reasons why:
Austin and Reichen sit all alone on a Fire Island beach, all other denizens seeking spots far out of camera range. Austin tells us he wants to focus only on his husband and his friendship with Reichen, which is why he immediately brings up Nyasha. The conversation turns to Austin’s apparent multiple arrests, which he blows off with “It’s all for little things.” He’s every disastrous first date in one person. Once again the subject of monogamy comes up and the boys state their nuanced views for the thousandth time on this scintillating topic:
Reichen: I’m against it.
Austin: I’m for it. Sort of. For now. Baked beans.
Reichen: Exactly. Baked beans.
Back in New York, Nyasha’s holding court at Embrace Your Hair, which, despite all indications to the contrary, is apparently a real business and not a front for an escort service. Her 40 assistants all hang on her every word as she talk about an upcoming promotional party for her wig line. Notice how practically every “party” these whores throw now is about launching products or self-promotion. This isn’t the A-List, this is the QV-fucking-C-List. She instructs her assistant Ye to make sure that “the press line is flowing” because there’s going to be “tons of press and a lot of buyers.” Her flamboyant gay pageant friend says he can see her wigs selling on QVC.
Mike’s in Los Angeles with Kathy Griffin shooting her for some book where celebrities wear costumes and a ton of makeup, which is a totally risky artistic venture for Mike. Really challenging the paradigm there.
Nyasha is auditioning models with assistants Asif and Jeunesse. She names these people herself, doesn’t she? Her auditioning technique for models is similar to the one for dancers: berating and humiliating every girl who passes in front of her. She declares that they’re all missing an “it factor.” Asif and Jeunesse scribble notes and frantically text Ye.
Later, Ryan and Derek visit Nyasha at the cramped, windowless headquarters of Embrace Your Hair and pretend she’s got Anna Wintour’s office.. She bursts into tears because she hasn’t been on a vacation “since last year.”
Limo crash, right? Just a little one? Maybe just hard enough for the airbags to blow her wig off in public and cause a little swelling for a couple days? That’s not such an awful thing to think.
Derek says, “It was actually really nice to see Nyasha break down,” because seeing others in a vulnerable position means he doesn’t have to do any introspection and that’s just the way he likes it. They all then try on the tackiest array of plastic wigs you ever saw, keeping a fire extinguisher nearby at all times.
Nyasha meets new best friends friends Rodiney and Derek at a bar with actual people in it. She tells Rodiney that she masturbates to his pictures. Rodiney opines, “You not my type, girl” just like a man who loves the pussy would. Then they all badmouth Austin. “He’s selling himself naked to Playgirl because he has nothing else to offer the world,” says Derek, the memory of his recent performance shaking his ass in glitter hotpants apparently faded from his memory.
Mike, his semi-attached dad, and Martin are babysitting. Ryan shows up and, immediately sensing someone with the exact same ideas and sensibilities as himself, strikes up a conversation with the 6-year-old girl dressed like a princess. They get along famously, although she informs us later that Ryan is “a bit much. Seriously, that queen’s FULL of herself.” Mike’s not jumping on the kid idea at the moment, but he informs everyone that he’d happily change his dad’s diapers. We’re all for family closeness but have a little dignity, Mike.
HAHAHAHA! We said “dignity!”
Austin’s getting his teeth whitened and he needs Reichen there for emotional support. They wedge something in his mouth,making it impossible for him to speak, and it’s the most appealing he’s ever been. He still manages to clumsily flirt with Reichen while claiming he’s not.
At another empty bar, Jake and Austin meet up with Reichen to introduce him to his blind date for the evening. Austin and Jake clearly have absolutely no idea who the guy is, even though we’re supposed to believe they set up the double date. Austin gets drunk and says wildly inappropriate things that no one in the room is remotely entertained by. Just then, a giant chandelier detaches from the ceiling and lands on Austin. Maybe.
Mike and Martin are having a totally unstaged conversation in cargo shorts and tight shirts. Martin is sad because he’s got two children from a previous relationship and he misses his kids. Martin can’t deal with “all this bullshit” anymore. Martin cries. They nuzzle their ever-present whiskers. All we can think whenever we see these two is how much windburn they must have down there. It’s kind of a shame. Here we have two people with an actual real-life problem and we’re stuck wondering how calloused their taints must be by now. What? Like we’re supposed to get all deep and caring in the middle of all this vapid silliness?
Austin and Jake are having a totally unstaged conversation shirtless in bed, Like Rock and Doris, if they were both really, really stupid. Some horseshit is spewed about their upcoming vow renewals and their upcoming bachelor party. Neither of these morons have the slightest clue what a marriage is. To prove this point, Jake brings up Austin’s relentless and inappropriate flirting with Reichen. Austin demonstrates how to communicate in a marriage by responding with “Don’t be a stupid English prick, Jake. You’re too stupid to get it was a joke.” Jake gets out of bed and storms off. He comes back a second later with a flame thrower and…
Oh, sorry. That last part was in our heads.
It’s the cheap wig event of the year as dozens of people show up for Nyasha’s wig-selling party. Hilariously, she jumps out of the limo and makes a mad dash to the totally empty step-and-repeat, frantically urging the three photographers present to take her picture by all but flashing her tits at them. Then–
Oh, what the fuck ever. Haven’t we recapped enough? The party was the pathetic, low-rent spectacle every viewer knew it would be and Nyasha swanned around like she just won the Oscar. Then, high on the fumes of hairspray and self-importance, she picked a fight with Rodiney for no apparent reason. To his marble-mouthed credit, he wasn’t having it. “Who she think she is, Beyonce?” he asks with a snap, which should totally get the ladies flocking to his door. In the end, despite the fact that the party was a success (to her, anyway) and she was supposedly happy, she stormed out of her own wig party after-party. “Little Miss Rodiney just made big bad Nyasha leave her own party,” says Derek, impressed, but also confused as to who he’s supposed to be cheering and at whom he’s supposed to be sneering. Then, Hurricane Irene swept in unexpectedly and washed the entire cast out to sea. They’re still out there somewhere, using their inflated lips as floatation devices and licking off their spray tans for nutrition.
The END, bitches. Also, this:
“I’m on greendr.”