DanThat'sCool!

 

 

 

Hey, bitches. Sup? Fix yo’ face, cuz the Tight & Right tag team is about to get all up in it. Mmkay?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh. Hell. No.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can she spell Rond de jambe? What the hell does that damn genie on Pee Wee’s Playhouse have to do with krumpin’?

 

 

 

 

 

Do NOT get all ethnic on me, or I’ll whoop yo’ a** with my doctorate AND condition that nasty hair while I’m at it.

 

 

 

 

 

OMG. And then Holly was all like this and she went all like that up in her grill. Realz.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Umm. Yeah. I’m all set with Black Patsy. Thanks for asking.

 

 

 

 

Hey, Pittsburgh.

You might want to stock up on non-perishables and head to your Safe Room, because a big, sassy chunk of meteor from Planet Fierce just entered the atmosphere directly above the Abby Lee Miller Dance Company, and it looks like the shock waves from impact could potentially reach as far away as that joint in Ohio that sells beef jerky and tap shoes.

Dat’s rite.

St. Louis is in the hizzle, bitches.

Meet Kaya and Nicaya.

Dance Moms just took a page out of the Poor Man’s NeNe Leakes Handbook and unleashed a big a** bag of OhNoSheDin’t all up in our faces this week, with the arrival of a potential new Mom and her sassy braided daughter.

As you’ll recall,  last time at the party following the ALDC Recital Of All Recitals Ever In The History Of Recitals, Abby had mistakenly assumed that Kaya was one of the hired help waitresses and struck up a conversation in an attempt to score another plateful of those little wieners on a toothpick.  After realizing that the woman wasn’t wearing an apron or sensible shoes,  Abby discovered that Kaya and her daughter were actually in Pittsburgh trolling for new studios.

Much to the dismay of dancers around the planet who have spent the last 15 years of their lives sweating away at auditions and open cattle calls just for a slim chance at handing off a headshot, Kaya had somehow managed to get her daughter invited to Abby’s Garage for a quick check under the hood in the first two minutes of face time.

Sister’s got it going on already and she ain’t even through the front door.  Dang.

But even Fierceness has to wait for the Pyramid of Shame.  Rules are rules.

As the little dancers all fell into their Bob Fosse Army lineup (…in strict formation, but with one hip popped like you do when you hit the end of the ramp on Project Runway…) and the Moms all headed to the back looking like that JCPenney specialty catalog insert with all the crazy, blindingly bright summer handkerchief patterned dresses, Abby got down to business.

The lowest level of the Pyramid was the official landing strip for the Paige, Brooke and Mackenzie airline.

Paige was there once again because she had spent yet another long week dragging that big Quasimodo foot behind her waiting for her Hugh Jackman mutant healing factor to kick in.

(That joke is only funny if you know that Hugh Jackman played Wolverine in the X-Men movies and that he’s also a Broadway song & dance guy, and that in the comic books Wolverine had the ability to regenerate broken bones.  I’m not sure if dancers actually have time to read comic books, so in hindsight I may have just used up some valuable story time.  If I was going to Monday Morning Quarterback my decisions, I probably just wasted a paragraph.  My bad.  But if you can find me another Reality TV website that can get football, dance, comic books and a movie star who gave up his adamantium claws to jazz hand like a gay Peter Allen all in one story…well…yeah, good luck with that.)

Now I forgot where I was.

Wearing one of those enormous walking boots may help your toes all heal in the same direction, but it isn’t much help in your jazz hands routine.  So another week of non-dancing meant Paige’s photo was now officially rubber cemented to the bottom row.

Brooke was there because she was in a Hip Hop number, and she can’t do Hip Hop.

That’ll do it.

To find out why MackAttack was on the bottom, simply replace Brooke’s name with Mackenzie’s in the previous sentence.  Second verse, same as the first.

Sasha Nia and Chloe were bunkmates on the second row, mainly to allow Maddie top billing again.  Granted, Maddie won the scholarship at the Recital, but Abby would probably stick her girl on the top even if she was wearing two of Chloe’s boots and a neck brace.

Kendall got nada again, and Jill‘s Snookie Poof completely deflated.

MackaDoodleDoo, Nia and Chloe were all handed solos this week, and then in a psychotically split personality moment,  Abby refused to give top spot Maddie a solo because she was still holding that grudge from when she and Mom Melissa refused a last minute solo a few weeks back.

Or maybe it was 2009.  I dunno.  That one seems to be going on for a long time now.

This week the gang was headed to beautiful California for the iHollywood Dance Competition.  For those of you who missed it last time, iHollywood is the one with the ginormous movie camera backdrop graphic that looks exactly like Beaker from the Muppet Show is undressing you with his eyes.

Check it out.  Big creepy eyeballs that follow you wherever you walk in the ballroom.  Even when you go to the bathroom at intermission.

The group number was another spoken word coffee house routine, similar to the now infamous Where Have All The Children Gone?  Except this time there wouldn’t be 72 pounds of Sand Bag Vivi-Anne aimlessly swinging on a swing set waiting to get abducted.

National exposure and my face on the opening credits of a television show about dancing without ever having to actually dance?  Hell, yeah.  I’ll be down at the playground if you need me.

No worries, though.  This time around the spirit of Vivi-Anne would still be ever present, because the dance was based on inmates in an insane asylum.  So yeah, it would almost be like she was still back there sucking on a Life Saver waiting for somebody to pick her up and toss her off stage.

Once all the busy work was done, the Moms headed to the MomPerch and the girls got to practicing.

And then it happened.

Kaya and Nicaya entered the building.

Sashaying her ’70s Dy-No-Mite hair and ’80s pink track jacket all over the studio, Kaya handed off her daughter to Abby for a consult and joined the Moms in the Perch, where she was greeted by whatever the opposite of open arms is called.

MmmHmm.  Introduce yo’self, bitches.

After a quick run through on the Moms, Kaya was asked what she thought of their kids in the Monster Truck Pull Recital last week.

Boom goes the Dy-No-Mite.

Kaya tried to break it down for them.  The girls all had good technique and could dance, but they weren’t entertaining.  They didn’t have no Divatude.

Jill, who was uncomfortably sitting as far away from this new Cup o’ Crazy as she could, didn’t know what to make of the whole thing and went back to figuring out what to do with her new hairstyle while Christi leaned forward and worked on a few new facially flabbergasted expressions.

Melissa then tried to lighten the mood by asking what the embroidery on the front of Kaya’s 3D track jacket boobage was all about.

MmmHmm.  It said “Black Patsy.”

Like Patsy Ramsey.  But Blacker.

Wha–?  I just can’t.

Google it.  And then come up with 400 reasons why you would never want that thing anywhere near your own jugs.

To break the silence, Melissa awkwardly mumbled “I love that name.  It’s really pretty” mainly because she couldn’t think of anything else to mumble.

Lawd have mercy.  Please let her be talking about “Nicaya” and not one of the Patsy Ramseys.  Please.

As Kaya threw shade all over the Perch, Abby put Nicaya through a few drills only to discover that the girl couldn’t spell or demonstrate most of the requested dance techniques.  Once Kaya joined them in the studio, Abby laid down a few rules and sent them home to buy a dictionary.

MmmHmm.  And now you want us to learn how to spell them stupid a** dance terms?  Just put in the damn CD and watch my daughter dance, bitch.

The next day, Jill had located her Bump-It and it looked like things might calm down a little, until Kaya showed up at the front desk telling Abby that she would do whatever it takes to get her daughter on the dance team.  Personally, regardless of who made the offer, I would have taken the opportunity to get that hot mess of a front desk cleaned and organized, but turning Kaya into the token sassy ALDC maid probably wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest, even though I would so love to see Abby Lee Miller go head to head with Al Sharpton.

(And you know he’s such an ambulance chaser that he was probably driving around and around the parking lot just in case anything went down on Day 2.  I’m pretty sure that was his ironically white station wagon out front.)

Real Housewives Marathon, anyone?  In what would normally take Andy Cohen about 4 to 6 weeks to fully reveal, somehow in under 10 minutes we found out that Kaya had loads of kids, was working a job while the other Moms were texting on their iPhones, was either divorced or no longer with at least one Baby Daddy and now a lesbian with a weird Gaydar take on Melissa.  Oh, Snap.  NoSheDin’t.

MmmHmm.  You got a problem wid dat?

Somewhere in the middle of all this fierce chaos, Paige was cleared to dance without her Hunchback foot and Kelly had yet another meltdown because Abby was doing the usual Mind F*** with her kids.

Turned out that Paige could dance, but not do tricks.  That meant she couldn’t balance a ball on her nose or do whacky back flips until competition day, and when she asked to wimp out a little and just mark her moves during rehearsal, Abby implied that she may just stick Nicaya in Paige’s spot at iHollywood and then began messing with her brain.

As Jill and Kaya both visualized their daughters’ faces superimposed over Paige’s body on stage, Kelly blew a major nutty.

I seriously need a spreadsheet or something to keep track of how many times Kelly blows a major nutty, because it’s gotten to the point where I can’t tell if they are all separate ones or just one long drawn out spaz that has been going on all season.

And then it was Showtime!

Back in the makeup and screaming room, Abby had still not decided if Paige was going to dance or not, and Kelly was either getting ready for another nutty or just pausing the current one for a second.

When Abby asked about Kelly’s behavior back at the studio, Kelly denied that anything really dramatic had happened.

MmmHmm.  That’s a lie, bitch.

Yeah.  Kaya went there.  And then it was on like NeNe Donkey Kong.

Hard as it is to believe, at some point they did manage to get some dancing done.  Nicaya and Paige both ended up dancing.  No big surprise since they both shlepped all the way to California.  That would have sucked.

But the dancing hardly mattered with all this good dirt flinging around the room like monkey poo.  Sorry kids, but this week it was all about the Moms.

Before and after the competition Kaya managed to head snap and finger wave herself right off of everyone’s Holiday greeting card list so hard that the Moms were starting to line up alphabetically for a chance to slap that constant half smirk off her face.

MmmHmm.  Where’s my Sistah at?

Yeah.  She even tried to pull the LaQuifa Card on Holly.  The same doctorate-holding Holly who has spent the the majority of the last two years trying to get all the afro picks out of Abby’s supply closet and let Nia just be a freakin’ dancer regardless of her ethnicity.  The last thing you wanna do is start any conversation with Holly that is going to include the words “As A Sister…” and then try to drag a school principal down to the ghetto on your Crazy Bus.

Black or white or John Deere green, I love Holly.  And she gave it right back to Kaya without taking her earrings off, losing a track or popping one single nail.

All she had to say was “Do NOT…” and I ran behind the couch.

MmmHmm.  That’s how we do.  You stay classy, Girlfriend.

Yup.  The Real Housewives of Pittsburgh are getting ready to rumble.  And it ain’t gonna be pretty, ladies.

But it’s gonna be fierce.  Cuz Kaya’s in the Dance ‘Hood.

And she don’t play.

MmmHmm.

 

 

I feel like a chunky lemon. And Pamela Anderson, if she had no boobs and a poop in a can tan.

 

 

 

 

 

Not gonna lie. This wedgie probably ain’t coming out until the Holidays.

 

 

 

 

 

Smoochie is one hunka hunka burning redneck love, bitches. You might wanna step aside so you don’t catch on fi-yah.

 

 

 

 

Pardon me. Have you seen a forklift toe sock float by in the last couple of minutes? It has fancy polish on it.

 

 

 

 

If you squint, it kinda looks like a scene from Baywatch.

 

 

 

 

Pull up a chair, pull down your wedgie and let’s get this party started.

America’s most Redneckognizable Redneck family was back for another round of jaw dropping hilarity this week, and they certainly didn’t disappoint.

Love ‘em or hate ‘em,  Here Comes Honey Boo always delivers.  You can’t deny them that.  And this time around it was no different.

In fact, the only thing Alana and her backyard garage entourage didn’t deliver was a Teen Mom baby, though they tried their darndest to make that one happen as well.  But as the directions on a tube of Pillsbury Crescents clearly state…the biscuits are ready when the biscuits are ready.  And not a minute sooner, or you risk one collapsing after you remove the goods from the oven.

After last week’s soap opera cliffhanger, which left 17 year old Chickadee and Mom June squealing off in an ambulance following the world’s most dramatic false labor contractions television has ever seen (…sorry, Rachel Zoe.  You and your OMG I’m literally dying SuperBaby just lost that crown…) we met up with the gang at the hospital.

Chickadee, who apparently had skipped every filmstrip ever shown in every Health class during her entire school career, seemed to have almost no idea what to expect when it was time to pop out some baby.  And 34 weeks into the process was probably not the time to figure out that sooner or later that thing has to come out of somewhere.

I’d like to personally give a shout-out to Oprah Winfrey and that sling swing thing she was dangling from all those years ago that made her Va Jay Jay tingle, because ever since that fateful day you can’t discuss anything that goes on down there without hearing that catch phrase.  Or thinking of Gail King’s face.  Just saying.

As lethargic and drooly as Chickadee is on a normal day after waking up at noon, multiply that by about a bazillion and then medicate it.  Girlfriend was stoned.

When the doctor sent her home to relax her Oprah stuff under strict bed rest, I wondered how that would actually differ from the day before she had gone to the hospital.  Maybe bed rest is different than her couch rest?  I’m not really sure.  I should Google it, but that seems like a lot of effort right now.

Nice enough girl.  But we’ve never really seen her do anything except snarf down cheese balls now that you mention it.  And Chickadee is definitely not going to be remembered on her tombstone for being a spitfire, or any help around the house at all, for that matter.

Remember, she was the one who milked the pregnancy card during her family’s Christmas in July celebration and had to beach it on the Santa La-Z-Boy because untangling extension cords got her winded.

Originally I assumed that she may have had something to do with why those icicle lights are still hanging up there on the gutter, but I have a pretty good feeling they’ve been there longer than 34 weeks so I’m not going to blame that one on Chickadee.  Squeaked by on that one, honey.

After a grainy, wobbly hand-held home video ride back to Casa Boo, which totally reminded me of some crazy farmhand version of The Blair Witch Project by the way, they tucked stoner Chickadee into bed and covered her head to toe with a blanket.

For a second it reminded me of a pig in a blanket, which made me think of Glitzy and I got sad.  I miss that little thing and it’s only been a week.

Then it just reminded me of a pig in a blanket again.  I think Chickadee figured that if she cut off the entire air supply to the baby it would try to crawl out faster and then this whole thing would finally be over and she could get back to the couch.  The TV is way bigger out there.

Again…stay in school kids.  The More You Know.

While Chickadee was wrapped in her quilted shroud, it was time for the other Boo Boo Girls to have one last final weigh-in.  It was the end of their weight loss challenge and the law of averages had to allow for at least one person in the building to drop a pound, right?

First up was Pumpkin, who I believe actually invented the Five Second Rule.

Needless to say, she gained 6 pounds, which I also believe is the opposite of what you should do during a weight loss challenge.

I’ll say it since no one else will.  If that girl could only absorb water as fast as she absorbs calories, FEMA could airlift her down to New Orleans and drop her behind one of the levees.

Problem solved, Mr. President.

Chubbs lost a few pounds, but clearly not enough to warrant a call to the folks at Guinness.

Mom lost 1.6 pounds, which unfortunately was probably just the Timex she forgot to put on that day, but I’ll give her credit for trying.  At this rate we’ll inhabit Mars before she has to actually buy new pants, but I never give anyone grief if they are trying.  So you go, girl.

You go to the Water Park, is where you go.

As a treat for losing a combined something around 8 pounds,  June treated them all to Splash in the Boro, which I thought was a gay bar outside of New York City but turned out to only be a water slide joint. Which was good considering that everyone is under age.

Alana was quite excited to hit the park, even though it was going to be overflowing with the now infamous Vajiggle Jaggle and wedgies for miles.  I’m thinking Splash probably doesn’t mention either of those in their Summer Coupon Books press releases.

First stop was Lazy River, which was deemed to be the absolute favorite of lazy a** fat people everywhere.  That’s probably not in the Book, either.

You basically just stick your junk in a blue inner tube and and bumper car boink your way down a sloooowly moving stream like you’re on a wet Krispy Kreme conveyor belt.

(And seriously…how good are those donuts if you get there right when they come out of the oven?  Just shut up.)

Since nobody likes dragging the pool for a drowning pageant princess, Alana was strapped into a yellow life jacket just in case she took a dump off her tube.  On the other hand, I don’t believe that June’s inner tube was intentionally planned as an emergency floatation device, but since she got herself completely stuck inside it and could not pull it off without the help of at least three people, she should have felt pretty safe in the water.

I love that lady.  Big and loud and proud.  And you know she totally used some half-price coupon to get into the park that she peeled off one of her 186 cans of condensed milk.

Am I wrong?

Once the Jaws of Life were called in to pry the blue Krispy Kreme off June’s face, she headed up to the Water Slide.  Watching two scrawny lifeguard types try and lift with their knees and figure out how to get June onto the butt pillow was worth a full price admission to the park.  Screw the coupon.

She knew it wasn’t gonna be pretty and took it all in stride.  And in straddle, as she got a little personal with her inflated friend.

After tweaking a sciatic nerve, the boys finally shoved June down the shoot.  It’s too late to do the math, but I’m sure if some scientist out there with time to kill wants to figure out the velocity x volume ratio….well, let’s just say my girl was close to breaking the sound barrier as she hydroplaned down the yellow winding path.

That probably also explains why she sounded like a car alarm as she flew down the slide.  That was the oddest half laugh/half scream/half hiccup I’ve ever heard at any amusement park.  Ever.

And yes…I know that three halves are impossible.

Just because I can’t do velocity x volume doesn’t mean I don’t own a calculator.  There’s one on my phone.  Der.

After June splash landed at the bottom and park security located the two boys thrown from the pool during the storm surge, the Boo Boo Girls tried to bully Mom into doing the Monster Slide.  That’s the one that is half a mile up in the sky where you spend more time getting to the top than enjoying the water part of the process.

June wasn’t playing that game.  No thank you.

But the girls weren’t taking NO for an answer and unless Mom was going to climb 786 stairs for 5 seconds of slide time, they were going to require something else as collateral.

It was the toe.  Or nothing.

That’s right.  The infamous, never before seen Forklift Toe.

The one that was somehow mangled in a tragic forklift accident at some random warehouse many years ago.  It’s the thing of legends, I tell you.  Everyone in town knows about it, but no one has seen it.

Even her own children haven’t been able to penetrate the protective, nail polished athletic sock barrier to see if the toe is as gnarly as Mom claims.

Answer:  No, it’s not.  It’s worse.

After finally caving in to pressure, June slowly revealed the whacked out big toe as the park’s muzac system played some kind of dramatic theme from Jaws remix.

It was pretty gross.  And somehow, the split second she unleashed that raw meat, it was completely covered in gnats.

Gnats.

How is that even possible?  No gnat can get from point A to point B that quickly unless they were already in the sock, which….eewww.  Gross.

Since everything after a gnarly, gnat covered toe would seem anti-climactic, all the Boos headed home to focus on Alana’s upcoming practice pageant.

Fist up was the spray tan, courtesy of either Krylon or that company that makes Thanksgiving gravy.  It was runny and nasty as it drooled down her little pork belly.

Poop In Can, she called it.  Get Madison Avenue on the phone.

The Rock Star Pageant this week was a smaller, test run kind of deal for the Big Dawg Glitz event coming up next month.  Since Alana had been MIA from pageants for a little bit while she played in the mud and outgrew her cupcake dress, June felt it would be good to try out a smaller venue and get feedback for improvement before hitting the circuit hard.

As you’ll recall, Amanda Carter and her chunky skunk striped ‘do had been working with Alana down at the Deevas Dance Studio to create a new Elvis routine.  This would be the first time that Alana would be performing it live, without the assist of Amanda and that brown lipstick on her teeth.  (Honey, please.  Hit the Mall and get your colors done.  Not being mean…just trying to help.)

But first was the Beauty portion, and the unveiling of Alana’s new dress.  Which made me think of the matching tiny version that they had requested for that gay pig, and I got sad again.  Wonder what ever happened to that mini me dress?

Jennifer, who ever that was, was trussing up the back of Alana’s dress like that Giada chick does on the Food Network while June and Honey Boo Boo tried to get in the zone.  The skirt part fell off as soon as Alana started to walk, so they may want to find the directions before they actually throw out the box.

Since we all spent too much time having fun at the water park, we only got about 3 minutes of actual pageant love.

Alana nailed her Beauty walk, despite June bellowing out “Work it, Smoochie!” so loudly it could be heard outside in the parking lot.  If you’ll recall the first time we ever met June back in the Toddlers & Tiaras days (…“Show them yo’ belly, Smoochie!”…) the woman does love to keep it movin’ behind the judges’  table.  I’m all for supportive Pageant Moms, but it tends to distract the kids, and in June’s case probably raises the room temperature a notch or two.

The Elvis routine came complete with a mic stand, electric guitar and that white rhinestone studded outfit he always wore right when he was starting to get fat.  She rocked it.

At the end of the day, Alana took home Queen in her age division, but not the Megatron Ultra Transformer crown.  She was happy, but still a little bummed.  The poor kid still hasn’t taken home the mother load.

But again, she’s got her own show, bitches.

She didn’t lose any of her sass though, even when that big crazy lady in the lobby told them to work on eye contact.

So off they went with a new crown, a sash, some toys and homework for the next pageant.

And probably a lingering wedgie.

Sheeeooot.  Elvis has left the building.

 

 

If this doesn’t make you all spit out your flippers, nothing will. Welcome to Las Vegas, kids!

 

 

 

 

 

I’m pretty sure the Dry Cleaner with the curly black hair just starched that Dad’s nightclub pants.

 

 

 

 

 

OMG. I’m sitting between freakin’ Cher and a School Librarian. Shut. Up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Overall, I think she had a nice package today. Though I prefer more duct tape myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah. I’d tap that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Choo lookin’ at, bitch? Hmmm?

 

 

 

 

Ok, TLC.

You win.

I’m throwing in the glitter towel.

Just when I think it can’t get any whackier…it does.

And thankfully, I might add…because you know I love me some cray cray.

This week Toddlers & Tiaras hit the Strip and nipped, tucked and ducted itself right into sparkle orbit.  The Las Vegas trifecta, as it were.  A truly winning combination.

It was the Little Miss & Mr. Nevada Glitz Beauty Pageant, and money was no object.

Everything was over the top.  The spending.  The parents.  The spending.  The costumes.  The spending.  The attitudes.  The spending.  The drag queen judges.

Over.  The.  Top.

Let’s be real.  The only thing I could find that wasn’t over the top was all the drag queens’ junk, because that was definitely all neatly tucked away somewhere like precious magic beans being saved for a special day.

And how does that even happen?

I mean, I know how it happens…I watch RuPaul’s Drag Race.  (Sorry, Mom.)

But how does it really happen?  Honestly, I can’t even walk down the street without everyone seeing my iPhone in my pants pocket, so…I mean…seriously.

According to Pageant Director Tami Soudbakhsh (…thanks for totally f***ing up my spellcheck gizmo with that one, honey…) the event is a total Glitzapalooza.  They expect tans and teeth and tons of aerosol if you want to score that 6 foot tall trophy, so bringing in the drag queen judges was almost like getting a free mentorship from a Harvard professor.

If the Harvard professor carved his own butt cheeks out of upholstery foam, I mean.

Tami seemed pretty nice and very excitable, especially when it came to the “celebrity judges” coming to Vegas, and her name reminded me of some kind of ethnic food that you would still smell on your clothes the next day.  But I liked her because she had those squinty eyes that closed when she smiled.

The first bank account and princess we met up with was 6 year old Kylee and her Dbag Dad Marty.

Sorry.  Hate to start out on a downer.  But dude.  C’mon.

Marty had money.  A ton of it.  And I was jealous.

It all went to fancy cars, nightclubbing, BeDazzled Affliction hoodies and a seemingly endless supply of low brow t-shirts so insultingly lame to woman that even MTV would probably pixelate them out of the camera shot.

Decked out in his “I don’t date Single Moms.  I create them.” t-shirt, Marty explained how his ex had gotten Kylee into the pageant biz and now it was his obsession.  We didn’t get the deetz on what actually happened to the Mrs. but I’m sure Google almost crashed during the first commercial break after he mentioned only getting two hours of sleep a night because he was out flopping his glow stick under some DJ booth 7 days a week.

As he bragged about working hard and playing harder you just wanted him to go back into that pink walk-in cupcake dress closet and start the conversation over with less swish.

Somehow between after-hour raves the guy had still found time to teach himself how to handle a jigsaw blade, because Marty was working on a life-size I Dream of Jeannie bottle for Kylee’s Vegas routine, and it was pretty slick.  In a strangely prophetic glimpse into the future, Kylee climbed the giant bottle for a test run and the lid almost knocked her unconscious.  Concussions tend to result in a deduction from the judges, so it seemed that Marty’s DIY prop was still a work in progress.

Next up was 5 year old Elizabeth, who proudly proclaimed that she was sassy, beautiful, perfect and blessed with a personality that was way over the top.  She was a cutie, with big cartoon eyes and a non-stop mouth that was probably already going before I even turned on my television set.  But she could have used a slight injection of humility.

Unfortunately, though, it appeared that all the needlework may have already been done on Grandma Patti.

Sorry…I know.  Another downer.  Usually I’m a lot nicer, right?

Since the words “Wrinkles” and “Grandma” both traumatically signified aging to Patti, she had decided to try and eliminate both from her vocabulary, at any cost.

And apparently over night.

Noni, which I believe is Klingon for Grandma In Denial, was also filthy rich and had already spent upwards of $100,000 on little Elizabeth’s pageant career and maybe one or two (…alleged…) elective surgeries.  She was also always accompanied by a woman who was either the Mom, or a relative or Bernadette Peters.  They were never really very clear on how this woman got into the house, but she tagged along for all the good stuff.

For all I know, she could have been a sculptor sent in from Madame Tussauds Wax Museum to…umm…never mind.  That’s probably too mean for even me to say out loud.

Forget I said anything, Noni.

Besides, if that was the case, she was probably headed to see Mom Kelli and the twins and just ended up at the wrong mansion.

Scarlett and Isabella, 3 year old polar opposite twins, were back for another round of pageantry.  This time they were also accompanied by newborn baby brother Gavin, who was going to blow nose bubbles in his premier pageant appearance.  Since it looked like G-Man had only been missing his cord for about a month, he just kind of sat there and tried to make both eyes go in the same direction while Kelli got us all caught up on her family tree.

Along with the pink Hummer (…insert your own Hummer joke here ______________ ) that Mom & Dad had purchased for the twins, there was also apparently a clown car of some type located somewhere on the property because more and more brothers kept appearing on my screen as the show progressed.

Bro Dalton helped out with pageant rehearsals when he wasn’t doing ab crunches at the gym or buying designer shades, while still another brother was getting buff off camera for his Vegas debut.

Since no pageant resumé is complete without some glossies, Marty next took Kylee and his “Shove a Chick off a Cliff  = Problem Solved” t-shirt to Winning Wand Pageant Consulting for a little camera love.

Yeah.  Pink Hummer and Winning Wand in the same show.  Badabing.  It’s Vegas, Baby.

Pageant Coach Georgina Vaughan, who single handedly is probably responsible for over half the nation’s non-contagious Barbie Pink Eye, had managed to secure two little people that she morphed into some Shrinky Dink version of Blue Man Group for the photo shoot.

Or maybe they were Smurfs.  YouGoGirl Smurf and JackA** Smurf.  Whatever.

It was just messed up.

Turned out that Barbie Vaughan was also coaching Elizabeth, who a little later on busted out her Madonna Like A Virgin rehearsal.  It took me a few seconds to realize that the belly shirt, black vinyl thigh high go go boot ensemble Liz was rocking were just her street clothes.  Then I was all like…say whaa–?

Georgina may own an eighteen wheeler’s worth of pink clothes, but she seemed to only have a few moves in her arsenal, because every routine she choreographed was pretty much the same.

Pretty much, as in Exactly.  Even though Noni couldn’t scrunch up her nose, she was starting to smell that something wasn’t right.

But before she figured it all out, it was Pageant Time!

You know how Maya Angelou always said that it’s the journey, not the destination?

Well Girlfriend must have been a pageant judge before she worked for Hallmark, because these kids were traveling in style.

The twins hung out of the Hummer like micro bachelorettes slamming Sippy Cup Shooters while both Kylee and her Dad’s “I ♥ Lesbians” t-shirt arrived in a white stretch limo.

Though it never showed on her face (…oh, snap…) Noni couldn’t stand the stress, or the traffic, and chartered a helicopter for Elizabeth who sat there as they Blackhawk buzzed every pink Hummer on the highway.

As the usual hair and makeup chaos was unleashed on the hotel, Frank Marino showed up to introduce his drag supahstahhhhs, and the crowd went wild before they even knew what was going on.

Especially the older folks, who either flat lined or got uncomfortably enthusiastic as the girly boys made their arrival.  Check it out.  Two little ladies down in the front were passing an inhaler back and forth like Engelbert Humperdinck just took his shirt off.

Cher, Britney Spears and Lady Gaga all hid their nuts for the Winter and entered the ballroom arena like it was the poor man’s Caesar’s Palace.

It’s on, bitches.

Best Moment of the Night has to go to Elizabeth who didn’t even know what a Drag Queen was, and all along had somehow been under the impression that the judges were going to be Dry Cleaners.

Like the ones who wash & press & fold Noni’s (…wrinkle free…) pillowcases.

Or George Jefferson.

I just can’t.

I needed to eat her up with a spoon at that point.

Backstage, the usual panic switch had been flipped, and kids were pinging off the walls like laser pointers when you try to freak out a cat.

Taking a cue from the classic Lucy and the Chocolate Factory episode, Georgina seemed to have decided to just assembly line the process and give Kylee and Elizabeth the same hair, same routine and approve almost identical outfits.  She had also, at some point, cloned herself because a second look-a-like Georgina was now in the hizzle and I was losing track of who was doing what to who and where.

Everybody looked the same.

Luckily the Smurfs were back again but they were pink now, so it was easier to differentiate YouGoGirl from the JackA** one.

Noni hated Elizabeth’s hair.  And her routine.  And her matching dress.  Because three minutes before showtime is always a good time to freak on the details, right?

First up was Beauty.

The twins had no idea where they were.  Scarlett got the weekly slo-mo scary movie music theme song when she just stopped mid stream à la Celine Dion and declared she was over it.  Bella could count to 20 in three languages which I guess will come in handy…never.

Kylee and Elizabeth, or Elizabeth and Kylee…who knows…went on right after each other and pretty much sent four old ladies to get their eyes checked out for cataracts.

OMG!  BFF Twinsies!  LOL!

Then it was Vegas Wear!

Even the emcee got his bling on with a little crystal beauty mark under his eye.  I am totally going to nail that when my drivers license photo comes up for renewal.

Dalton and his bro channeled their inner Abercrombies and went all shirtless and board shorts as they carried up their twin sisters on a surf board.  MORE twins.  Make it stop.

Isabella was all about the attention and ran to the front of the stage the way babies do when they see their reflection in a TV screen.  Scarlett, on the other hand, pulled her second Celine of the night and turned her back on the audience until everyone else left the stage.

They are all here…for meeeeeeeeee!

Dalton and the other one just flexed and posed like the guys on the big mural when you walk in the store until their time was up.  I’m not really sure out of the four people on stage, who was really wanting the crown the most.  Cuz you know, chicks dig crowns.

First time around, Kylee’s Barbara Eden routine didn’t go so well when the stage grunts put her big bottle too close to the back of the stage and she fell right off and disappeared in a puff of Jeannie smoke.

Luckily Dad and his Trucker Mud Flap Pole Dancing ”I Support Single Moms”  t-shirt came to the rescue and helped fish his daughter out from behind the curtains.  Marty complained that he got sloppy bed sweats when he saw Kylee take a dump, but he was also wearing his thug hoodie inside the building with the hood up.

So…der.

While Kylee tried to get it together, Elizabeth took over and jumped around in a bridal gown like that viral youtube wedding.  Boy Britney loved it, because he’s Britney.  And he said so.

I Dream of Jeannie brushed herself off and went back up for take 2 and nailed it.

Noni kept noticing that everything looked the same, so I knew it wasn’t just me.  Of course, I’m not paying Georgina, so to me it wasn’t as big a dealio.

Then some kids won some stuff.

None of this week’s primary princesses took home the Big One.  It went to that Good Ship Lollipop Booty Poppin’ Kayla Hatton.

So no giant crown or stylin’ Vegas zebra royalty robe, which I thought was a Slanket the first time I saw it laying on the table.

They took a blanket!  And they put two sleeves on it!

(Side note:  Who knew all those years I was wearing my bathrobe backwards I could have been a freakin’ millionaire?  Bastards.)

Then it was over.

Some girls were happy.  Some, not so much.  But thanks to Cher, Britney and Gaga all the little girls…and boys…learned an important life lesson that day.

If you work, and tuck, really hard…dreams can come true.

And if you have a day when your hair is a hot a** mess and some bitch steals your look?

Deal with it.  Because everybody loves a queen.  Unless she’s a Drama Queen.

Sometimes Life is like duct tape.

The faster you rip it off, the less it hurts.

 

 

For the last time. It’s called Teacup piglet. Not Tranny piglet. I swear you people are just Pignorant.

 

 

 

 

Listen up, pig. The only squealing I wanna hear at 5:30 in the morning are my Baby Daddy’s Shugie Noogies.

 

 

 

 

 

OMG. It’s like totally Que Me Gusta Alana Shakira Telemundo Yo Quiero Taco Bell.

 

 

 

 

 

I mean, c’mon. What Santa isn’t gonna want some of this sliding down his chimney on a hot July afternoon?

 

 

 

 

 

Zzzzzzzzzz……

 

 

 

 

 

 

Girrrl, pleez. Clutch the Pearls & Swine. The other boys are never gonna believe this Fierce s***.

 

 

 

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.

My two front teeth…my two front teeth.

Or maybe even just one of them…I know times are tough.  And actually, one tooth would still leave a sweet little opening to poke in some chew when the mood strikes, and would be just enough space to eject it back out into my empty root beer bottle when I’m tooling down the highway.

Yeah.  Forget the song.  Make it one front tooth, Santa.

You can check one present off your 2012 Holiday list already, because TLC and the Boo Boo Clan just hand delivered us a gift that is gonna keep on giving for months to come.

Maybe even years, if you count therapy time into the equation.

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo celebrated a Redneck Christmas in July this week, and it was pretty much everything I could ever ask for all crumpled up into one big ball, tossed into a burlap bag and adorned with a John Deere green bow courtesy of the Kuntry Stoe.

I know, right?  That’s the name of a real general store.

Did you catch that in the first 2.5 seconds of the scene?  Right now there are so many inappropriate Backwood Hooker Skank jokes running through my head that I may just need to step away from the laptop for a second before I say something that will alert those office I.T. guys who keep track of dirty nasties on your ip address.

Kuntry Stoe.  Do the math.

As Momma Boo Boo June explained it, the annual Christmas in July Extravaganza was a family run event to raise money for a local charity.

Say what you will about the Boo Boos.  Love ‘em or hate ‘em (…and I looooove them…) but they really seem to have a lot of heart.  Granted, that heart is more than likely going to require the unclogging of at least two of the three coronary arteries if they continue down that dangerously narrowing cheese ball path they have chosen…but as of today, the heart still works and it wanted to help others in need.

Of course, the snarky side of me immediately asked why they don’t just give each of their neighbors 52 rolls of Brawny paper towels and a case of Mitchum roll-on and call it a day.  For a second I actually wondered if these less than fortunate people were only hurting because by the time they got out of work and made it down to the Piggly Wiggly, June had already cleared the shelves and there were no rations left for their own pantry.

Coupon Queen: 1  Less Fortunates: 0  Suck it.

But June makes me laugh, so I’ll let this one slide.

The event basically consisted of covering the Boo Boo front yard with every inflatable Christmas lawn decoration ever sold in that back garden part of Walmart after they run out of lawnmowers.  Now I finally know who buys all that shizzle.

There were Santas, snow globes, nutcrackers and enough 12 foot tall reindeers to make any kid pee his pants if he wasn’t emotionally prepared for the sight when glancing out that train window as it buzzed the Boo Boo garage.

Could that train come any closer to their property line?  I need to see the back of that garage, because I’ll bet you good money that it’s like an Acela train conductor tradition to hang your hand out the window as you blow by and stick a wad of gum on the roof shingles.  I just know it for some reason.

It came as no surprise that June and Sugar Bear were doing all the hard labor.  The three older girls are already national icons when it comes to shlubbing around the house.  If it don’t come in a snack bag, they ain’t picking it up.

Yeah.  Chickadee is preggo, though I’m guessing she wasn’t training for the McIntyre Half Marathon before she did the deed.  But she is knocked up, and it was 100 degrees out there, so Teen Mom scored a Get Out Of Mayberry Jail Card.  This time.

Chubbs and Pumpkin on the other hand, were just dead weight.  Pun intended.

As Alana ran around hugging each inflatable as though she were using her pageant powers to give them life, Chickadee somehow managed to make a Lay-Z-Boy Santa recliner look like something you would stick to at your OB/GYN’s office.

The other two girls sweat it out, cramped it out, complained it out and swatted at gnats almost as quickly as they swat those stray BBQ chips that always fly out of the bag when you first tear it open.

Seriously.  Those girls could snatch a flying bullet mid-air if it had mustard on it.

Then it was off to practice for the Rock Wear portion of Alana’s upcoming pageant.

As you’ll remember last time, June and Alana had hit up the Deevas Dance Studio to get some pointers on a new Elvis routine that they could unleash on the judges.

Beautimous Amanda Carter had taken time from her busy schedule of bleach striping her hair and testing out all the Avon Fall 2012 lip smear colors to design a few pelvic thrusts for Alana.  She apparently also hootched…I mean, hooked…up Alana with a Deevas branded version of those I ♥ PINK sweatpants with the logo on the butt.

How is it possible that not one person ever knows their own true size when they buy those stupid pants?  Because that’s how it all starts.

Then before you know it…UGG boots.

Thanks, Amanda.  I’d kiss you, but you know…the whole lip thing.

Unfortunately, Alana was having a hard time remembering it all during rehearsal.  Since I spent way more time being distracted by the studio and the new Fall colors than I did watching the original lesson last week, I’m not sure if the moves were too difficult or if it was just the hot Santa sun.

But either way, Alana had a little dramatic Deevas Moment and laid on the stage like tomorrow’s dinner on the highway.  Except roadkill doesn’t have Helvetic font on its a**.

Now I don’t know if it was due to the hot sun, or the excitement of Christmas in July, or head trauma from laying on the stage floor, or what…but for some reason Alana was suddenly gifted with the power to speak Spanglish.

de veras!

(Google it.  It’ll be fun, and will kill some time at work.)

It wasn’t quite Ricky Martin Spanglish.  Or even Charo on the Love Boat Cuchi-Cuchi Spanglish.

Think more of a Beverly Hills Housewife finding out that her Valley Girl daughter had slept with the gardener and the cowboy who was in town for a Rodeo Benefit while they were on a road trip to Georgia.

Then just slop that all up into a half-price burrito with a double coupon, and somehow when Alana said “OMG. Oh My Door Nuts” it all made sense.

At least in my world.

Plus the Door Nuts reminded me of a Redneck joke about Deer Nuts.  Wanna hear it?

Q. What’s the difference between Beer Nuts and Deer Nuts?

A. Beer Nuts cost $1.75…Deer Nuts are under a Buck.

Get it?  Under a Buck.  Like a boy deer.

Hilarity.

Now if Glitzy the Pig wasn’t squealing all night you could go to bed and ponder that last paragraph while realizing that you’ll never get that time back.

Again, whether due to the heat, the excitement or general pageant pig gender confusion, Glitzy had been keeping the Boo Boo household up all night for snacks.  And then repeating the whole process again at ButtCrack A.M. for his sunrise feedings.

June don’t play dat.  Girlfriend needs her beauty sleep.

Alana loved that pig and considered it her lucky charm to win the upcoming pageant.  She loved it like a family member.  Maybe even more than some of her family.

But keeping a pig in a baby crib in a house with one bathroom and two converging Acela trains just wasn’t working out.  You know it’s bad when it turns out that the pig is louder than the rush hour commuter rail.

So as much as June hated to do it…Glitzy had to go.

Which meant a family meeting where she and Sugar Bear could break the news to Alana and the girls.

After Chubbs, Chickadee and Pumpkin high-fived each other with the realization that there would now be more food for them to snarf down, Alana cried and it got really sad.

And really slow motion.  Like a Lifetime movie almost.

With one of those songs that always plays on General Hospital when they’re just about to pull the plug on Jason Morgan and his brain tumor lilting through the Boo Boo house, Sugar Bear picked up Glitzy in slo-mo and handed him to Alana for one last raspberry kiss.

Then he scooped up the poor little gay pig and left through the front door, where I actually expected to find Jane Seymour standing with open, welcoming pig arms since the bitch is in every Lifetime movie ever made.

But no Jane.

And now, no more Glitzy.

After a quick Kleenex dab to my eyes, it was off to the Mud Bog!

Family friend Crazy Tony and his platoon of crazy 4 wheeling buddies all came to the aid of sad Alana.  And nothing cheers up a kid like getting dirty.

Mud Boggin’.  Tubin’.  Face plantin’ in the ditch.  It was a Redneckified day at the amusement park, complete with the opportunity for the boys to drag June on her muddy booty backwards down a hill towards the water like marine biologists do when a whale can’t breath.

And then it was finally time for Santa!

Sugar Bear, for whatever reason, had a stock pile of three Santa suits to choose from as he dressed in the Boo Boo Boudoir.  As June lay seductively on the bed, he exposed all his whiteness and almost burnt out the contrast options on my television.

How do I explain this one?  Let me think….

How many of you have ever tried to watch bootleg porn that wasn’t properly calibrated for the type of monitor screen you were using?  And the picture gets stretched out so much that all the porno actors look fat and appear to be rolling around the bed more so than getting busy?

Anyone?  Show of hands?  Come on.  You can tell me.

Well.  It was pretty much just like that as Sugar Bear stripped down and June hoisted her goods up on the bedspread and made some kind of tongue flap thing happen in her mouth.

If you think finding out the truth about Santa could scar you…try that one on for size.

Unfortunately, the mood was ruined by June’s realization that the bedspread was covered in toenail clippings.

I’ll wait while you process that one.

Not gonna lie.  As much as I should have been horrified, I was more mesmerized with the concept that one of the girls would actually take the time to stop gobbling cheese balls, get off the couch, go to the bathroom, find the nail clippers in what you know has to be a big hot mess of a vanity drawer and then go all the way into their parents’ bedroom just for a pedicure.

Maybe it’s just me, but that whole scenario just seems like a lot of work for three girls best known for striving to achieve the opposite of a lot of work.

Quick flip of the nails onto the rug and it was good as new.

Christmas in July was a success, for the 12 kids who showed.  From what I gathered, if you brought a can of StarKist you got to sit on Sugar Bear’s lap in 100 degree humidity.

In a Santa suit that smelled like the opposite of Beer Nuts.

But it was for a good cause.  A little creepy.  But a good cause.

Gah…I love these Boo Boos.

Right as we were about to bid a fond Y’all Come Back Now, Chickadee went and cramped up on us.  Big time.

Teen Mom is only 34 weeks out in her pregnancy, so the last thing anyone wanted was a preemie baby on a hot summer night.  I mean, they just got rid of the pig.  Is one night of sleep too much to ask?

One call to 911 and a couple of 14 year old EMTs were on the scene escorting Chickadee, and all her drama, out the door.  One kid looked pissed that he had to stop his video game in the middle to drive out to Casa Boo Boo, but duty called.

As the ambulance laid a patch of gravel, June and Chickadee were off to the hospital, leaving a smelly Santa and a pageant princess in the dust.

OMG.  It’s like totally to be el continuedo.  Mucho continuedo.

We miss you already, Glitzy.