Friday, December 12, 2008


So I was watching the new episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County (Shut up! I know, ok. I know.) last night and I have to ask:

Was it really necessary to show the pasty white flabby ass of George as he got a massage? I mean really people. I nearly lost my dinner. Ugh.

And as Lauri lay face down stretched out getting her massage with her leg hanging out of the sheet, all I could think of was that it looked like she had been murdered. All she needed was some stab wounds.

Is that bad?

It is? Oh well. Don't care. Lauri, we all hate you. We all know you're a gold digger who threw your drug addicted kid under the bus for the latest fat wallet that would agree to marry you. And all that plastic surgery has made you look like a horse after Chernobyl. I'm happy to see you go. Please don't return. You are fucking up my guilty pleasure and giving me nightmares.

Yes that's right. Of all the shows I watch on a regular basis, Most Evil, Deranged, Crime Stories, it's you and your freaky face that haunts my subconscious. Not Richard Ramirez. Not The Vampire of Sacramento. Not Charles Manson. You.

Maybe next week i'll be able to enjoy my brain candy. With you on the show i'm forced to think of your son in jail and how he may not have ended up there if you weren't such a self-centered parent. And your daughter Ashley who can't get a single word of praise or encouragement to pass your deformed silly putty lips. Or you youngest who you say hasn't disapointed you. Yet.

Yes Lauri. Your presence on The Real Housewives of Orange County makes me think too much. And that isn't what this show is about.

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