Happy Valentine’s Day, esteemed Reality Tea readers! To demonstrate how much I love you all, here is a gushing, love-filled recap of Vanderpump Rules. Last night, we found ourselves dealing with stinky situations in the city of saints, sinners, and voodoo. No, it was not corpses escaping their graves in a zombie apocalypse, it was just more Tequila Katie.
As always, the three-headed shebeast proceeded to terrorize the menfolk in a manner befitting of epic trilogies from the ancient years before cell phones could take photos and people were able to communicate with only the push of tiny buttons. What I’m saying is that Tom 2 is on his own Odyssey, charting a territory only tepidly paved by Tom 1‘s Iliad before him (that would be surviving Kristen Doute). I can’t compare Jax Taylor to anything other than Dr. Jackhole and Mr. Jax’d. He writes his own unsavory story – warts and all.
You guys, it’s Katie Maloney‘s life, she can ruin it if she wants to, but everyone else better cheer, clap, and act happy! Frankly I’m confused about what’s even going on with Vanderpump Rules. It is all over the place – like we went from church toJax Taylor and Tom Sandoval trying on Lisa Vanderpump‘s bras to dress in drag for Tom Schwartz‘s bachelor party. Read that sentence back to yourself and tell me this show isn’t perplexing?
Today I come to tell a tale about the World’s Greatest DJ, who was persecuted and stalked, mercilessly harassed, and run out of clubs, all because the world wanted to possess his art and his talent. Naturally, I speak of James Kennedy, The White Kanye, and the rapper on the run from his tormentor Jax Taylor. Such are songs of sorrow played out on Vanderpump Rules.
Oh, last night was a doozy, filled with Ariana Madix‘s infamous sulk and the slow emancipation of Scheana Marie as she suddenly blinked into the light as it dawned on her that Stassi Schroeder‘s power and possession was an elaborate ruse. If only Katie Maloney would see such signs, but alas she’s too busy painting squiggly black lines over the sunrise of truth.
Really Vanderpump Rules has come down to a Fund-Rager and a contrived roast of Jax Taylor, which coincidentally happened while Brittany Cartwright‘s extra-crispy mama is in town? It’s so contrived. All of it. And it really frosts my lipstick.
But first, it’s Tom 1‘s party and everyone will cry if they want to, cry if they want to – you would cry too if these friends happened to you! The boys really got the birthday shafts, didn’t they – the girls got trips to Montauk and NASCAR, and they get made fun of and forced to do charity work. HA.
Well, Tom turned an indeterminate shade of 30 and celebrated not by raising awareness for himself or his attuned and wrinkle-free skin, but by inviting all of his friends to donate their easily-earned money to charity. Kristen Doute brought her crisp $20, handed it to the collection emcee and announced that now she has full-license to be bad for all eternity in exchange for this one good deed. Jax didn’t have that luck – his card was declined when he tried to give a measly $100. His karma, as always, remains, in despair.
So, do we think Brittany Cartwright‘s mama is going to be successful in her quest to get Jax Taylor into a church?! If so, will the holy water turn him into liquefied jelly – or will he start speaking in tongues?! Oh wait, he already does… Yes, an exorcism must be done on Vanderpump Rules, but shockingly, Jax isn’t the one who needs it. OK, maybe he does, but not as bad as some people…
So let me tell you a little story about a Three-Headed SheBeast named KriStasstie – if that sounds like a very weird food served in an eastern European prison, or a disease you probably do not want to contract from a monkey, well, it’s not far off.
This is the story about three women who have absolutely NO IDEA how unimportant their opinions are, and their self-aggrandized delusions about their amazing friendships are, well, sad. Really sad. Thank goodness we have the ‘boyfriend stealing’ Ariana Madix, of the dewy mermaid skin and evil eye to put them in their place. And their place is out by the dumpsters at SUR. Who knows…they may even be puking in them.
On last night’s Vanderpump Rules, we learned that Stassi Schroeder‘s problems with men run deep. Like down in the beautiful, briny sea deep. She’s also being strangled in turtleneck-form by her own ill-advised hubris.
Now, I must do a disclaimer with this recap: Do not expect my usual greatness of prose mixed with pearls of wisdom, as I have the worst cold I have ever had in my human existence. And I feel like garbage. Like what Tequila Katie (minus Tom 2) may smear on Scheana Marie‘s overly-contoured face.
Can we talk about Scheana? Ho-ly does that girl need a ‘stink face’ removal procedure. Didn’t anyone warn her that her face will freeze that way if she makes a poop face immediately after getting Botox? I mean, I get it – she has a hard-earned summer body to protect, but lighten up and eat a lil’ clam. I hear Kristen Doute loves them.
Last night’s Vanderpump Rules featured dueling birthday trips – one made no attempt to be classy and the other pretended to be something they’re not.
First up, Ariana Madixgrabbed the Toms and Jax Taylor for an RV trek around Sonoma Wine Country, which ground to a halt at a NASCAR track for wieners and wienies. The wienie being Tom 1 who whined and cried – in front of Ariana’s brother no less – that Ariana doesn’t find his man bun and overall short-alls attractive enough to f–k. The poor Toms – it seems they have something in common, in that their ladies would rather do anything but them.
Get your Tom + Katie tea towels ready to clean up the muck that has become Vanderpump Rules!
Recovering from Christmas and an ultimate cookie binge, the last thing I’m in the mood for is whining from Katie Maloney and Stassi Schroeder. But, alas, I am nothing if not a consummate professional, so I have wrenched myself from the sluggish glut of a living room filled with wrapping paper (how many calories does wading through wrapping paper burn?) to complete this recap. Happy holidays! Katie just blew her life savings on $18.00 custom tea towels, and her life now consists of hatefully glaring at Tom Schwartz while folding said towels into cardboard boxes, wrapping the whole thing with twine, and mailing it. In case you were wondering wtf: that’s her wedding invite.