Dat’s rite, haters. Big Girls wear lace-ups, sleep face up & take all your space up. Word to yo Mama.
Eatin’ salads and veggies? Mr. Boo Boo Belly sez Ain’t Nobody Got Time For Dat. OhHellNo.
Bitches can’t be this yummy without the Gummy. Honk if you love Big Girls, ‘kay?
Whoa. Somebody better get on the horn and dial up the Commissioner, because something ain’t right down in that Batcave.
Cabbage, ya nasty.
Fried Food Force Field has been activated. Now none of that healthy stuff can ever harm us.
Cuz I got so sick of everybody asking me about that damn baby’s thumbs that I just carry this stick around. That’s why.
Before we get started, let’s pause once again and give thanks that this was not another Watch ‘N Sniff episode. Trust me on this one.
Here Comes Honey Boo Boo was back this week with even more redneckulous sensory overload, but luckily this time around we didn’t have to scratch along with People Magazine.
As a matter of fact, some of it we didn’t even get to see first hand and yet I still feel a little traumatized just from hearing about it.
Now you know I love me some Boo. And all the Boos down in BooVille. And I need to hang with all of them asap once I learn how to Doorknob on command.
Love ‘em. I just don’t need to smell ‘em every week, thank you very much. I just don’t.
It was getting down to the wire for Mama June and Sugar Bear‘s non-wedding Commitment Ceremony, and the planning process was starting to stress out everyone involved. Especially when it came to the guest list.
Always the extreme Coupon Queen, Mama was recycling old thank you notes and baby announcements into invitations for the upcoming ceremony. It wasn’t really clear if that meant she was mailing unused Hallmarks from last Christmas or crossing out “thanks for the pawn shop blender” and regifting someone else’s actual handwritten note after scribbling over any personal stuff. But either way it was going to be a long process.
Being legally blind certainly wasn’t speeding up the assembly line, either. Nor were all of Mama’s wet Monster Sneeze seizures as she honked, wheezed and moistened every invite with enough microscopic tongue germs to get her put on that terrorist watch list for people who keep sending ricin envelopes to the White House.
Cover your mouth, please. I had to wipe down my screen twice.
Another big concern for the ceremony was facility-related. As in…the facilities.
As in…where are 500+ people supposed to go when all those spicy wings and BBQ ribs finally kick in? Casa Boo may pride itself on panoramic views of two converging train tracks and a room stocked with 475 rolls of Brawny paper towels, but it only comes with one bathroom. Uno cuarto de baño.
And that probably ain’t good planning when you have half the tummy gurgling population of McIntyre, GA impatiently waiting in line to poo the loo redneck style. So Mama needed to track down some porta-potties. Stat.
Luckily, June knows her port-potties as she grilled Mr. Porta-Potty on the other end of the phone like they were at some kind of outdoor toilet trade show or something.
How tall are they? How wide are they? How many can you deliver? Are they righties or lefties? Has anyone ever drowned in one? Do you do custom colors?
She even asked if there was a weight limit to the hole since the majority of her guests were going to arrive bearing both gifts and girth.
Yeah. Just let that pants-around-your-ankle visual sink into your brain for a moment and then try to push one over the next time you’re at the County Fair.
Mama explained to those of us who are porta-potty challenged that the structure itself is basically just a 5 gallon bucket with a lid. Good to know the next time I’m clutching an empty jumbo popcorn at the Multiplex and don’t want to miss any of the action.
Gross. But thankfully, no Watch ‘N Sniff.
Moving on to what I assumed would be lighter fare, Mama and the girls…and that little nugget of a baby…hit up the local bridal shop down at the Ingleside strip mall. Even though it was not officially a wedding, the girls wanted June to have her once in a lifetime Say Yes To The Dress moment and try on a few gowns. Just for laughs.
Armed with what looked like a cross between Dancing With The Stars paddles and numerically ascending fly swatters, the four girls were set to judge each gown as Mama posed and scratched and broke into hives on the viewing platform. Just like on the TLC show, but without the sassy ghetto bridesmaids going MmmHmmm and OhHellNo.
Little baby Kaitlyn did grab ahold of Chubb‘s hair so hard that I thought fo’ sho’ she was gonna yank out that bitch’s weave, so it was momentarily ghetto. But not the real thing, unfortunately.
That extra thumb certainly gives you traction, though. Damn, Girl.
Some other random woman was also there for all the hilarity, but I have no clue who she was or how she got to tag along, so I’m going to assume she won some contest and got to spend the whole day with the Boos just for “liking” them on Facebook or something.
I was totz jealz.
It should also be noted that Mama could save a lot of money on babysitting if she just sat Alana down in front of a mirror before she left for Bingo. Seriously. You put Honey Boo Boo Child in front of a mirror and you could leave the country for a week’s vacation and the girl would never know. Werk that reflection, Girl.
The first dress scored a 2 on the paddle vote, mostly due to a lace-up back that made June look like a trussed up holiday ham served with a side of no underwear.
Yeah. No undies. None. Which she inadvertently flashed to the viewing table as she lumbered off the platform. After regaining her sight, Pumpkin pointed out to all of America that she had just seen her mother’s BatCave.
Hey. If you can sub-title this shiz, you can certainly scroll some kind of warning across the bottom of the screen before exposing all of Gotham City’s secrets. There’s a reason they never wanted The Joker to see it. He’s already gone insane once.
Thanks to TLC, I can no longer stick my head inside a jumbo popcorn pail or watch Adam West slide down a pole and disappear into the darkness without trippin’.
That’s two things you’ve already ruined this week.
The second gown was supposed to make Mama look like Kate Middleton and scored a low ball 3, only because the numbers didn’t go any higher. Not good.
Finally, the last gown came in with a top score, but it was still too fluffy and too prissy and too virginally white. So no dress was chosen after all that, and the only things that really came out of the whole afternoon together was a lifetime of memories and at least one week before Kaitlyn and I would be able to blink again.
Back home, it was becoming clear that nobody was going to fit into any dress if they all continued their current dietary habits.
As the girls traded greasy hot fries, chips and gummy worms back and forth with the kind of speed and expertise that up until now had only been seen on CNN’s early morning stock exchange reports, Mama realized that it might be time to sneak some vegetables into their eating routine.
She even went so far as to actually buy some vegetables. And cut them up for soup.
I know, right? Craziness.
And again, thank you for no Watch ‘N Sniff as Mama whipped up a crock of cabbage soup. The girls were horrified that anything healthy had been allowed to cross the threshold of Casa Boo and refused to participate in something that might actually be good for them.
Especially if it smelled like butt.
Butt inside of wet gym shorts, that is. That butt.
Needless to say, the laboratory experiment went completely awry and had to be cut short when Pumpkin spit the soup back out and Mama moved faster than I’d ever seen her move towards the indoor potty to recycle some cabbage.
We’re going to have to rethink this whole vegetable thing.
After dance class, of course.
That’s right. Dance class.
A class that teaches you how to dance.
Mama and Shugie were going to learn how to dance. Or at least Sugar Bear was going to learn, because June claimed to already know how to bust a move or two.
Newsflash: Big girls got rhythm. Just ask any gay guy.
Before hitting up the studio, Mama even demonstrated those mad dancing skills in the living room. Or at least I think that’s what all that was about as she and Shugie spanked and motorboated in a circle while Alana threw up gangsta deuce fingers.
Dolla Still Make Me Holla At You.
At the studio it was clear that June’s trust issues were second only to Sugar Bear’s awesomely awful T-Rex shuffle. Evidently, they don’t have a lot of the old Chalk Miner socials down at the Elks Lodge anymore.
If you’ve ever watched Young Frankenstein, let me just say “Putting on the Ritz.”
If you’ve never watched it, you need to.
Or at least Google it.
And then imagine the monster with a top hat, bum pancreas and juicy dip stuck in his teeth. That’s our Shugie.
But don’t worry, dude. People will remember your good heart, not the fact that you dance like you’re waiting for novocaine to wear off.
As the Commitment Ceremony crept closer, Sugar Bear still wasn’t feeling the rhythm or any sense of urgency. None.
And it was starting to drive Mama completely NutWad.
The back yard was a mess. The front yard was a mess and needed to be picked up and mowed before it got completely recovered in porta-potties.
Plus there was trash everywhere. And broken down redneck stuff all over the place.
The Christmas icicle lights could probably stay on the gutters, but all the other crap had to go. Now.
Or maybe later, after a quick nap.
Dang. Who knew dancing was such hard work?
And the countdown continues…