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Real Housewives of Atlanta: “The Bride and the Doom” Part 1 January 31, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Real Housewives.
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Yes, children, this is going to be a two-part blog post, because Bravo decided to make this season finale 90 minutes long. I’ve got better things to do than to stay up till 11:30 watching weaved whackaloons acting a fool.

This Season: E’erbody’s fuckin’ crazy.

We start at some trendy club in Atlanta, where Lawrence, rechristened as “Miss Lawrence,” will perform his song “Closet Freak.” Kandi is happy that Miss Lawrence has taken over the technical aspects of the song. NeNe is happy that she’s excised Kim out of her life, and Kim is just happy to be in the presence of a real artist. Sheree is happy for Miss Lawrence. Everybody’s happy! Oh, wait, we haven’t gotten to Cynthia yet.
Anyway, Miss Lawrence does her thing. It’s a combination of RuPaul, Grace Jones and Janet Jackson. Miss Lawrence can sing. NeNe interviews that the award goes to Miss Lawrence. Well, thanks, NeNe. I’m sure your judgment of artistic ability will go far on Channel 4. Kandi says that she feels like she’s done birthed a baby. It’s time to make an album! Yay, Miss Lawrence. I still don’t like your ass.

All this good feeling immediately goes down the drain, as we are transported to the Impending Wedding of Doom. Supermodel, her inveigled sister Malorie and her heretofore unseen maternal unit named Barbara appear. Behind Supermodel are sheets of paper with to-do lists. Most fascinating is the to-do right under “Get marriage license” that says “Kendall Re: Pre-nup.” Well, isn’t that special? Nothing says true, enduring love like a pre-nup. Anyway, conversation immediately turns to Supermodel and Sugar Daddy’s money woes. The Greek Chorus that is Barbara and Malorie sing that Sugar Daddy ain’t worth it. Their man issues become abundantly clear when Papa, The Rolling Stone calls. Supermodel asks him for $3,000 to pay for alcohol. That rolling stone, which gathered no moss, also gathered no money.

Meanwhile, Phaedra gets ready to go back to work. She inveigles a friend to help take care of Prince Ayden the Magnificent while she rules her kingdom. She experiences her second emotion (her first was clearly lust), dabs her face and then drives off to work. Awww, how contrived and sweet.

Kandi decides to lay the smackdown on her padawan learner. Kandi tells Kim that this whole situation is bootleg. Kandi learned her lesson with “Tardy for the Party” and she will not let this jumped-up, bewigged fool do this again with “The Ring Didn’t Mean A Thing.” It will be Kandi’s way, or no way at all. If Kim keeps fucking around, Kandi will use her Force lightning and kill her wig.

Sheree shows up to an audition in her Aston-Martin—no, her Range Rover (sorry, honest mistake)…and PARKS IN A HANDICAP SPACE. Are delusions of grandeur sufficient to qualify one to park in a handicap space? Let me use Sheree’s own words: you ungrateful bitch. She walks in and is surprised to have to audition in front of a panel. The panelists, including an actress who might as well be Hey, It’s That Girl, let Sheree have it. They tell her that she is not bringing it. She doesn’t think she got the role.

NeNe, Prison Warden, is still dealing with her dumb-assed son Brice. He’s such a fucking bone-idle idiot. She gives him a list of things he needs to do. This is the NeNe I like, because she interviews that she is not her child’s friend. She’s his mom and she has to make sure he gets his fat, lazy, stupid ass in gear. Mama NeNe don’t play. When she’s sober, she’s awesome. When she’s drunk, she’s just awful.

Back at Supermodel’s, the day of the Wedding of Doom is here. Everyone’s happy, and frolicking and dancing dances of joy and light. No one says stupid shit like, “If you want to run, I’ve got a car with gas.” Oh, wait. Kithe, Jabba the Hutt’s lazy, stupid half-brother and alleged wedding planner, masticates a sausage and talks with his mouth full. The camera sees all, and it makes me sick. Supermodel and her sister freak out and cry and Supermodel has to go take a walk in the park. Her mother goes to console her dramatic ass and then we see that that whole family has nothing but drama.

NeNe and Greg have another chat. There isn’t much to say here other than that this marriage ain’t long for this world. She interviews that she knows her worth. Greg descends back into his dungeon.

Aw, damn, we’re back at the Supermodel’s. Goddamnit. Bravo’s really trying to milk this wedding that we all know already happened as though it won’t happen. Wait, Cynthia has a daughter?!? Where the fuck has she been all season? Anyway, Cynthia—ON HER WEDDING DAY—has a chat with her newly hatched daughter about how things will change once she’s gotten married. Noelle, the new daughter, has a world-weariness and wisdom in her eyes that her mother strangely does not possess.

Later, Supermodel shows up to the Fernbank Museum in a Mercedes stretch limo. And she’s wondering why she’s having money problems? Anyway, a hot papi unveils Supermodel’s ugly assed wedding dress. I’ve lost all interest in the dress, because Rubin Singer is fucking hot. Supermodel keeps talking, but I ain’t paying attention. I’m busy googling Rubin Singer.

Oh, fuck, now we’re at Kim’s house. She needs help getting up, because she redid her fucking boobs. Kim slags on NeNe. She says that her relationship with Kroy the Impregnator is serious. I suppose that carrying the spawn of a football player is serious. Kim interviews that she’s glad that girls like him, but I’m sure they’re used to liking all of Mommy’s friends. These girls are going to have serious man issues when they grow up. Kroy arrives and shows all the enthusiasm of a bear trapped in a tar pit. Yeah, this relationship will go the distance.

Sugar Daddy shows up to the wedding drunk as all hell. He wants a vodka cranberry. Hot messes show up to the wedding and remind me of why I hate Atlanta. More on that in the next post.

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