Real Hot Messes of Atlanta October 22, 2010Posted by Skippy in Popular Culture, Real Housewives.
Tags: hot ass mess, idiots
Well, children, they’re back and they’re more trannylicious than ever! Yes, the “Real” Housewives of Atlanta survived yet another purge (Lisa Wu-Hartwell is gone, y’all) and returns
crazier stronger than ever. They’ve added two new whackaloons “ladies” who are sure to provide “spice” to this, the trashiest of television franchises.
First up is Cynthia Bailey, a “model.” I put that in indexical marks because I’ve never heard of her before. But then again, if you’re not Tyra Banks or Heidi Klum or Alek Wek or Iman, chances are I don’t give a flying pig’s ass about you and don’t think you’re a real model. Allegedly, she’s been on “The Cosby Show” (who hasn’t?) and “starred” in a “movie” opposite Sandra Bernhardt (who cares?). Also allegedly, she’s “friends” with deputy troll NeNe. Anyway, this “model” claims to be some kind of runaway bride—she’s had three marriage proposals, but has fled from them all. She’s currently dating some fifty year-old dude who has issued an ultimatum. I guess that works a lot better than a proposal in Cynthia’s case.
Up next is Phaedra Parks, Lawyuh to tha’ Starz! In her voiceover, she describes herself as a “Southern belle.”
Please excuse me, as I shall be over here dying from laughter.
Anyway, we’re about three episodes in and she’s acting like she’s running things. She goes on and on and ON about being “Southern” and how “Southern” women do things and how she epitomizes The Southern Woman. I wish someone would tell her that Southern belles know how to apply makeup.
The above ex-felon is one Apollo Nida, who served five years of an 18 year sentence for what Phaedra calls “white-collar crime.” Technically, he was imprisoned for “racketeering,” but methinks this guy is as shady as a magnolia tree. That aside, he is one fine piece of ass, so I can’t hate on her too much for getting with him. Marrying him, on the other hand…WTH? I guess she knows he can’t fuck up too badly, or she’ll singlehandedly send his ass back to the slammer.
This season NeNe is facing some of her biggest challenges yet—including some fucked up plastic surgery that makes her look like the unholy offspring of a troll and a Romulan. Once her meal ticket, NeNe’s husband Gregg is no longer working and has gone behind her back to do some “business deals.” We have no idea what that means, except that it somehow involves Dwight. Bad news, that. With her marriage basically falling apart, NeNe is pursuing ways to get that money more than ever. She lands a position as an entertainment reporter for the local news channel—probably one that nobody watches—seeking to transform herself into a career woman, while still keeping an eye on her sons, the oldest of which is dumb as a box of hair and is already hip-deep in trouble.
This useless ugly bag of mostly saline is working towards taking her “music career” away from being a sad sideshow at Ecstasy-fueled gay parties and turns to Kandi to help autotune her sorry ass. After learning to shut the fuck up and listen to Kandi, Kim accepts Kandi’s invitation to open for her summer promo tour, only to find that it’s work—something she never imagined ever having to do. Even more complicated is the fact that this heffa doesn’t know if she likes women or men and doesn’t know which would play better to the audience. Her daughters continue to be embarrassed.
Kandi’s world was turned upside down last year with the death of her former fiance. Working to rebuild, Kandi is starting to date again and is back in touch with her father who she learns is sick with cancer. Goddamn, is Kandi ever gonna catch a break? After her Capitol Records deal fell through last year, Kandi has signed with a new label and is putting together a new album with a bunch of sad-assed songs heavily inspired by AJ (the dude her mother really, REALLY couldn’t stand in the first place). Oh, and she insists on looking like a goddamn cockatoo.
Sheree has fallen ass-backwards into her next attempt to stay minimally relevant and marketable: “acting.” She foolishly thinks she has a snowball’s chance in Hell of winning an Oscar one day and so she begins working with a famewhorish acting coach and further making a fool out of herself by auditioning for roles in Atlanta. Sadly, Magic City isn’t looking for over-the-hill shemales. With her revised delusions firmly in place, Sheree begins dating a
doctor balding, ugly-as-homemade sin “sex therapist” and with encouragement from her deluded hangers-on, moves forward spending up all that alimony. Incidentally, she blames the whole city of Atlanta for the “failure” of her nonexistent clothing line, “Shit by Shemale.”