This week, I came to the realization that watching Real Housewives of New Jersey has evolved beyond simple definitions of trash TV guilty pleasure and into something far more profound: a study in hate. The seething hatred that erupts between (some of these) women with the surreal, hyper-accelerated speed of a stop-motion film of a seed bursting through dirt, to sapling and then to full bloom, all in the blink of an eye. The growing self-hatred that comes with being a RHONJ viewer: disgusted and/or distraught by so much of what we see, but unable to turn away. The primordial hatred of grotesque excess that is paraded in front of us with a staggering lack of self-consciousness by so many of these women every week. And the tragic hatred of knowing that no matter what else happens… come hell or high water, next week we’ll be back for more. It’s a vicious cycle, and one that I can only presume will ultimately drag us all to the bottom. I’ll float down there. WE’LL ALL FLOAT DOWN THERE.
• We begin this week’s episode at the American Versailles – aka Chez PuffyChucky – where we learn that both the interior and exterior of their massive front door are festooned with giant wings. They bring to mind nothing so much as the recurring motif wings of Forrest Gump, and as such lead to nearly a full hour of me repeating the housewives’ brilliant dialogue in my best fake southern/Forrest imitation. In fact, you’d probably be better off reading the rest of this post if you pretend it’s in the voice of Forrest Gump. Go ahead: we want your MamaPop experience to be a multi-sensory experience. Next week, we’ll offer a list of suggested aromas.
• Mom and Chris show up at Versailles for dinner, and it’s at this point that we get the news that Kong crashed and totaled his car the week before. Mom and Chris break the tension by instantly making a DUI joke. Nice.
• Meanwhile, our beloved PROSTITUTIONWHORE! and Richie Shankbora (my wife: Why is Rick Springfield on this show?) meet in a diner (AGAIN! DINERS! WTF, JERSEY?). Over milkshakes, they discuss politics, the economy, the great works of 19th century Russian literature (PW prefers Dostoevsky’s epic works, while Shankbora can’t stop extolling the virtues of Eugene Onegin)… and then Shankbora brings up the fact that Kong got arrested for DUI. Needless to say: PW is deeeeeeeelighted by this news.
• They may not be able to spell schadenfreude, but they sure as hell know it when it jumps up and splatters them in the face.
• Meanwhile, back in the home of marble-and-onyx, Kong explains: “I was driving down the street and I got tired… I yawned for a second, I shut my eyes for a second… I almost hit, like, four trees. Bam: I hit the pole.” (Do it in the Forrest Gump accent, and you’ll enjoy it more. Seriously. Try it.) Kong also claims that it was AFTER the accident – when he was at someone’s house waiting for the cops to show up – that he decided to down four shots of scotch. NOT before he went driving.
* Of course! Perfectly understandable! That must be exactly the way it happened.
• PROSTITUTIONWHORE!: “Drinking and driving to me… that’s disgusting.” She’s right. “Anyone that puts out negativity can expect it to come back.” She’s also… HEY, WAIT A MINUTE.
• PROSTITUTIONWHORE!: “I’m just gonna continue living in the love and light that they make fun of… while they wallow in the darkness.” (stuffs eggs in mouth)
• Next day: Mom and Sharon Osbourne wait for PuffyChucky to show up for lunch… PC is late because, obviously, she’s been out shopping. Um. #bankruptcy
• They discuss how this year has been so stressful and awful and drama-filled… and how they all need to get away. Wait: Italy! Let’s go to Italy! Let’s pretend one of us isn’t going broke and being sued by creditors and can afford to drop $50-$100k on a quick vacation! Hooray!
• So. Sharon goes to visit her husband at The Brownstone to try to talk him into going to Italy with them. He’s game, but wants to be couples-only. She agrees. It’s a terrific idea, but one that utterly fails to take into account…
• PuffyChucky! Who also suggests a kid-free vacation to her family, at which point her 10,000 horrifying children all start screaming hysterically. My wife, cackling wildly: “This is the best thing ever.”
• As Bravo flips back and forth between the Mom/PuffyChucky/Sharon Osbourne families as the women try to talk their husbands into going, my wife points out: Cost. Never. Comes. Up.
• PuffyChucky decides to bring along her parents, who are natives of Italy and who will use this trip as an opportunity to return to the town where they were born and raised. Which is kinda cool. Until you realize that they’ll be accompanied by their screeching, animal print-clad daughter, their homunculus son-in-law and 10,000 horrifying grandchildren. Which may infringe upon what otherwise might be a remarkable opportunity to explore the nature of memory, sentiment and reflection. Animal prints tend to have that effect.
• We also learn that one of PuffyChucky’s daughters is named Milania because PC found out she was pregnant in Milan. I immediately am filled with regret that she didn’t find out in Bologna.
• RED FLAG: Mom is leaving Ashley alone in her GIGANTIC MILLION-DOLLAR MANSION. What could possibly go wrong with this scenario? “It’s important for her to stay behind and take responsibility for her actions.” Right. Good idea. She also requests: “And don’t start a love shack in my house. And don’t start anything with Danielle.” Sure. No problem. Anything else?
• DEAR MOM: YOU HAVE LEARNED NOTHING. LOVE, EVERYONE WATCHING THIS SHOW.
• Eventually, all 20 (twenty) of the people going on this trip – three generations of trashy New Jerseyites! – gather together in PuffyChucky’s massive horrible house of massive horribleness. In the midst of it all… a gigantic expensive vase gets smashed into a milion billion pieces. We all think it’s PC’s awful children who did it, but it turns out to be Mom’s Mom. This may be the single greatest moment of the season that doesn’t feature someone getting their weave pulled out or the words “Square Tits.”
• We take a brief commercial break, in which we’re educated and informed about the Martha Stewart pets collection. Featuring a shot of Martha wearing a dog collar. Which will be sold at PetSmart. Suddenly, the presence of Miracle Whip in the Martha Stewart gift bags at this year’s BlogHer/Martha Stewart party thing begins to make a little more sense.
• And with that, the show returns and as quickly as you can say Ciao, Italia… the families arrive in Venice. Within minutes, PuffyChucky is braying “JOEEEEEEEE!!!!!” as she stands in the middle of a crosswalk blocking traffic, thereby instantly reinforcing the Ugly American image abroad for another 25 years. Solid work there.
• Did I mention she’s wearing what appears to be a Tiger-skin fur coat? Somewhere, the World Wildlife Federation weeps uncontrollably.
• Then they all go on Gondola rides, complaining nonstop that the gondoliers don’t sing like they do at The Venetian. Because, y’know, Las Vegas is the truest possible expression of Italy. Stupid gondoliers.
• Then they arrive back in St. Mark’s Square… and PuffyChucky is desperate to go to Chanel. Which, as Sharon Osbourne points out, is on 57th street in Manhattan, but we can only imagine that this is bigger and better and more important and… so they basically ditch their families and go sprinting through Venice trying to find a store they already frequent back home. This is roughly equivalent to flying to Paris and eating at McDonald’s, because you want to find out if the cheeseburgers taste the same there as they do at home.
• Tragically, the Chanel is closed for lunch. PuffyChucky is momentarily heartbroken, but then overcomes her sorrow by running into the shop next door and buying an enormous green ring that looks like the crystallized residue of a leprechaun pooping on her hand. It’s kind of magical.
• Then all twenty of them hop on a boat out to their cruise ship. They try to enjoy the scenery while PC jumps up, sticks out her ass and brays, “Joe! Spank me, Joe!”
• And with that we arrive on their massive, ultra-luxurious cruise ship, which will take them to Naples. As they walk around and continue to show absolutely no sense of restraint or self-knowledge whatsoever – and, subsequently, I begin to wish for the sweet release of death as a preferable alternative to watching the remainder of this episode – I’m suddenly aware that it’s been about a half-hour since we’ve seen PROSTITUTIONWHORE!… and I miss her.
• In professional circles, this is known as a cry for help.
• Despite the fact that it’s now robbed me of the will to live, the show continues to plod forward. Eventually, Chris and Kong head out for a little guy time at one of the ship’s cigar bars. They sit down and proceed to have a tremendously awkward conversation about the DUI and PROSTITUTIONWHORE!. As MamaPop writer KBO tweets, “Yeah, I totally just LOLd at the two meatheads in the bar just *casually* bringing up ProWho. Natural as hell.” Not smooth, Bravo producers. Not smooth at all.
• BORING. BOREDBOREDBOREDBOREDBORED.
• PuffyChucky then dumps off all her kids with Sharon Osbourne and husband, so that “I can have some alone time. With Joe.” Wait. What do you mean? “In bed.” Oh. Thanks. BECAUSE THAT WASN’T TOTALLY OBVIOUS.
• Of course, the minute PC walks off, all 10,000 horrible PuffyChuckyChildren start whining for Mommy. Why? Because Mommy lets them do anything they want, which apparently includes dressing up in animal skin prints and wearing dozens of bows.THEY ARE WHINY AND SCREAMY AND ONE OF THEM TRIES TO PUNCH SHARON OSBOURNE IN THE FACE. Ohhhhhh, no, little troll doll. You don’t want to do that.
• Later, Mom and PC go out for drinks, and then more drinks, and then more drinks after that. After a while, the inevitable happens when they hop up onstage in the piano bar and proceed to make colossal jackasses of themselves. This is followed by a scene of Mom rubbing her ass against a glass elevator over and over and over again and I JUST WANT TO DIE PLEASE GOD KILL ME NOW.
• Eventually, we reach a point where most of the three families go down for a big dinner to celebrate the birthday of PuffyChucky offspring Milania. The girl in question proceeds to fall asleep at the table and then wake up super-cranky ten minutes later, screaming at everyone — even during the moment of klassy family magic when a potato chip-encrusted chocolate birthday cake arrives. The other families are uncomfortable listening and watching, the other people in the restaurant are uncomfortable listening and watching, I’m uncomfortable listening and watching… and my wife has fallen asleep on the couch. I’m pretty sure she wins this round.
• Meanwhile, Mom is sitting the celebration out because she’s massively hung over and wracked with nausea. I’m pretty sure she’s representing the feelings of the viewing audience at this point.
• Previews of next week: more shots of badly behaved children and adults behaving like badly behaved children. WANT TO DIE. PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME WATCH THIS ANY MORE. I SWEAR, I’LL BE GOOD.
• (weeping hysterically)
• (curling up into fetal ball)
• Dear Bravo: episodes of #RHONJ featuring only 3 minutes of PROSTITUTIONWHORE? Suck.
. . . . .
TwoBusy can’t believe that Real Housewives of New Jersey is the thing that’s going to finally drive him over the edge, once and for all.
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