DanThat'sCool!

You Never Give Me Your Money.

Cause Money Can’t Buy Me Love.

She Works Hard For The Money.

Lawd, These Bitches Be Whacked.

And what did we learn tonight, boys & girls?

We learned that being one of The Real Housewives of Atlanta requires a lot of time in the makeup chair, a lot of parties and a lot of money.

Especially the money part.

And if you can’t marry into it, get it from your own personal Big Poppa or sue it out of your deadbeat Ex, then you just pray to God and He gives it to you.

That’s right.  Apparently, in Heaven they are set up for electronic fund transfers to the checking account of your choosing.

Seriously.  Or at least that’s how Marlo Hampton tried to explain it.  But let’s start at the beginning.  It’s a long one.  But a good one.

After being publicly spanked in the courtroom by her gym rat Ex Bob Whitfield, who seemed to have Googled himself a law degree in under 6 months, Sheree swings by the Law Offices of Fierce, Fiercer & Parks to let Phaedra know that she is not pleased with the Firm’s legal services up to this point.

After being introduced like Southern Debutantes meeting up for the first time at the Spring Cotillion (…”Miss Parks?  Miss Whitfield is heaahh, and her Daddy won’t be home for hours…”) they blow a few Atlanta air kisses and then get down to bidnezz.

Sheree is not at all happy that Bob was able to file his additional papers right up under Phaedra’s nose, and that after the judge made the surprise announcement all Miss Parks had to come back with was one of her squinty nosed Phaedra Faces.  Granted, they are amazing and seemingly endless…but this is  Sheree’s life we’re talking about, sistah.

Phaedra tries to wiggle around the whole thing a little bit, trying to use her snooty schooling background to assure Sheree that things went very well in court.  Sheree ain’t liking it.  And she ain’t buying it.

They also politely bickered back and forth about whether Sheree had even paid a retainer fee, then what time she paid it, what color ink was in the pen…anything to side step the real issue.

After professing how much they both love each other as friends, Phaedra suggests that she not represent Sheree in this matter.  She offers up the retainer check, which appeared to have been sitting in the top desk drawer all along.  (Seriously?  After all your squawking you didn’t even cash it?)

They hug it out without smearing any of Phaedra’s shiny lip gloss and go back to just being Besties.

Side note…Please tell me that someone else noticed the framed photo on Phaedra’s Wall of Phaedra?  ”Super Lawyer!”  For real?  What was that?  A comic book?  Is she a SuperHero on the side?  I wonder if she can fly.

Maybe Kim and Kroy could use some of Phaedra’s super powers to help them with their big move.

Cramming five people into the townhouse is driving Kim bonkers, so they are getting ready to move into their new home after they fine tune some details with Atlanta’s Hot Shot Interior Designer, Kendra.  Kastle Kim is massive, which is a good thing considering that Miss Zolciak plans on loading it up with four storage units full of Big Poppa funded merchandise, her current townhouse full of furniture, way too many individually named wigs and her own big breasts.

In typical Bravo fashion (…anyone remember Jeremiah’s design meltdowns in the middle of Rachel Zoe’s baby nursery?…) Kendra has been given less time than it takes to get to across town to get this entire thing decorated.  While Kim subconsciously mimics stabbing Kendra’s eyes out by clicking her pen over and over, Atlanta’s Hot Shot Designer hyperventilates and assures everyone that it will be fine.  Sleeping is for sissies.

Sleeping is obviously not for new Dads though, as Kroy stands in the background and tries to focus.  Even though his signature faux hawk is peaked to perfection, the rest of his face is beginning to show some signs of the realization that maybe all of this is actually happening, and it’s not just a Falcon’s head injury.  You know in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons when someone had little birds circling around their head after they stepped on a shovel?  That’s Kroy.  Except the birds all have dollar bills in their beaks as they fly away with all his money.

Switching gears for some well needed Culture, Cynthia continued her one woman campaign to finally bring some New York class back to classless Atlanta by hosting an art gallery opening.  I’m pretty certain the gallery was in a Mall, but at least it was a chance to show off some funky artwork and colorful Pixar looking animal sculptures.

It also gave NeNe a chance to enter the room with her own Call of the Wild howl as she worried about knocking over some of the sculptures.  Luckily they were only $4000 and…well, you know…she’s rich now, so she could elephant in a china shop her way through the gallery worry free.  Phaedra, Sheree and Kandi also showed up for their art lesson and free champagne.

If Cynthia failed to bring the class, at least she brought the Marlo.

Wannabe Housewife Marlo Hampton arrived, which according to Cynthia signified the Stamp of Approval from Atlanta High Society.  Now I don’t work for the Postal Service, but I’m pretty sure that Marlo is the kind of stamp that you have to pay more for if you want to lick it.

I’m also thinking that Atlanta’s High Society must shop out of RuPaul’s Drag Race work room, if you know what I mean.  Just saying.

After Marlo’s odd non-answer answer on Kandi Koated Nights that her money all came from God, Kandi really wants to get to the bottom of this fiscal mystery.  When she asks Marlo again what she meant by the whole God thing, the response is just as vague second time around.  She admits to dating some wealthy men, who gave her a monthly allowance, and then shrugs and states that God gives her what she needs to make money, which sent Phaedra into at least four never before seen Phaedra Faces.

Girrrllll….I tell you.  Girlfriend don’t even need to talk to get her point across.  Phaedra was all OhNoSheDin’tJustSayThat the second Marlo put the period on that sentence.

Miss Parks could cut you with a head tilt.

It doesn’t help that Marlo has that irritating fake smile that makes you wonder if she just applied whitening gel and it’s not completely dry yet.  She also says “I axed God for money” too much.

You might want to pick up a copy of Hooked on Phonics with some of that left over Holy spare change.

If Cynthia can’t force culture down their throats, maybe she can force booze.

She and Peter are getting prepped for a photo shoot in his new Bar One.  They are doing a Power Couple spread that will promote both of their new ventures as his bar, and her model training school, are both about ready to open to the public.

While Cynthia is getting her makeup applied by a posse of artists (…does anyone in Atlanta know how to use a mascara brush on their own..?) Peter is fretting over a spot on the white lounge couch.  Turns out that Cynthia forgot about the Post Office being closed for the holiday and her invitations for the Bailey Agency for Fashion Models & Wayward Girls will be late unless Peter stops blotting the couch and helps.

He wants her to figure it out on her own…ie, screw up and learn from your mistakes.  She wants him to call her sister and fix the problem while she sits back and gets her foundation powder to set.  His staff knows how this one will play out, and they all scurry away like cockroaches in the light.

He finally caves and leaves a bleeped out message for her sister Malorie.  She already hates him, so cussing her out on the phone is no big whoop.  Peter likes to push the envelope.  And be a Tool.  Doing them both at the same time is even better.

While Cynthia was worried about losing money, Kim was busy spending it.

It was Moving Day, and half the Atlanta Expressway had to be shut down for the caravan of trucks loaded down with Big Poppa stash.  In a warm & fuzzy montage flashback that would have been better suited for Kim is she was just eliminated off of American Idol, we got to witness all of her wig changes throughout the seasons and all the people who have been at her townhouse over the years.  It was also a great opportunity to see Daddy Zolciak’s killer porno mustache again.  Watch your back, Tom Selleck.

The only thing odder than that mustache was Kandi’s sudden interest in country music.

After pimping out Kim and HairBoy Lawrence on the dance club circuit, Kandi needs to refocus her own career.  Her last album received good reviews, but consumers forgot to buy it so she needs a jumpstart, and Country is the New Black.  If she can work with *NSYNC and design a line of sex toys, then I guess writing about tractor pulls is the next logical step.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love me some Carrie Underwood, but I’m pretty sure Carrie is not rubbing giant rubber ManJunk on her nose.  If she is, I don’t want to know about it.

But more power to Kandi.  Her Studio Boy Producer Lil’ Ronnie just worked with Scotty McReery who couldn’t be anymore opposite end of the thug hip hop spectrum, so he thinks it is a great idea.

She finds Jo Dee Messina on Skype and they make plans to get together in Nashville.  I’m thinking they’ll probably do the diner by the Grand Ole Opry, and not Condom World at the strip mall.  But whatever gets a little Mud on the Tires.

Yes, that is a real song.  Brad Paisley.  Google it.

As Kandi packs her Louboutin spurs for next week’s Nashville Roadtrip, Kim finally gets to see her new home.  Everything about the place screamed money and made me feel so far below the poverty line that I don’t even want to get into it right now.

The only thing I’ll say is that Kroy was afraid Baby KJ’s room would end up being all girly and princess, but it wasn’t.  It was total Ed Hardy/mosh pit/cross & roses Rocker Boy.

Complete with a tiny toilet that had “Potty Like A Rock Star” painted above it like one of Joe Giudice’s tee shirts.  That was classic.

The kid will be doing #1 in style, and I’ll still be poor.  So not fair.

We finished off the night with the opening of Cynthia’s Bailey Agency, but not without a little drama.

Cynthia needs to start doing her own makeup, because a lot of the drama seems to center around her time in the chair.  As she is stressing and crying, her makeup boy is trying to plug leaks that are springing out from every angle like a faulty water balloon.

She manages to pull it together and does the meet & greet at the party.  Kim and Kroy even leave KJ home peeing like Bon Jovi long enough to have a run in with Marlo, who is still trying to explain the whole money thing.

Let’s just say that you don’t want to say “Big Poppa” around Kim.  And you definitely don’t want to say it more than once.

Even calling Kandi a “Big Momma” is probably not in your best interest.

Marlo better hope that God sends some security the next time He puts money in her account.

Next time:  NeNe and Marlo and Nashville.

Y’all come back now.

And then they be all like MmmHmm Oh No She Din’t.

Of course everything is perfect.

Girrrl. You gonna poke an eye out with that Donkey.

Whatchoo talkin’ about, Willis?

Now I don’t know what to do.

I thought I had my new screen saver all figured out.

I was all set to let Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Sissy Dog Giggy run his now infamous hyper SpazCircle over and over on my laptop until both of us blacked out.

But that was yesterday.  Now I may have to switch to bootylicious Lawyer Phaedra Parks and her ever changing Silly Putty Face.

Miss Parks has almost as many facial contortions in her arsenal as she does snarky comeback lines, and she just unleashed most of them on the latest episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

If Girl doesn’t cut you with her tongue, she’ll mess you up with her scrunchy nose and lips.  MmmHmm.  That’s rite she will.  You really wanna go there?

Phaedra started her facial workout early in the day with a visit from Sheree, who dropped by the Parks Law & Bitch Slap Offices to discuss her upcoming child support case.  It’s been four years, and Sheree has yet to see a penny from her ex-husband Bob Whitfield, the ManMountain from the NFL.

Galumping around like a T-Rex, Bob has thus far refused to help out with his kids, and Sheree is about to take him to court in order to better provide her single parent home with food and Birkin bags.  Phaedra has no patience for slacking Baby Daddies, and wants to get an immediate warrant for abandonment and toss Bob’s ‘baller butt in jail.

After representing Bobby Brown, I don’t think she should be too quick to judge.  Remember how that all played out?  Crack is whack, people.  Stay in school.

Sheree doesn’t want the public spectacle (…umm…Bravo?  National cable channel?  Reality TV show? Cameras in your house?) and would rather just meet up in court and get back some of the bank she is owed.

Sheree’s biggest concern is that Bob is a jock celebrity and the boys in the court house are going to treat him like he still mattered in the world of sports.  Phaedra’s biggest concern is billable hours.  And so it begins.

Next we go online for Kandi Koated Nights with Kandi and her horny hip hop crew.  What started out as a basement web show that appeared to have been produced for extra college credits has now been upgraded, just like that Beyonce song.  Flashier set, better lighting, bigger Mac laptop and even dirtier talk.

Kandi’s internet show, much like Kandi herself, has no filter.  No topic is off limit.  No shame.  No embarrassment.  Just please don’t let your mother walk in while it’s on the screen, because she would drop dead and you’d have guilt for the rest of your life.

Oy vey I tell you.  It’s that kind of show.

This week Kandi has Charles Grant and Marlo Hampton on as guests.  Charles is another big lug nut ‘baller who may or may not have tapped him some NeNe Leakes while she was still married to Greg.  According to NeNe it never happened.  According to the cashier at my CVS it did, because she read it in OK Magazine.

Marlo is…Marlo.  She’s a socialite and…that pretty much covers it.

In the first of multiple Atlanta Bashing Moments this week, when Charles is asked about NeNe and women who hook up with ‘ballers he states that the city is a Pretend City full of fakers and posers.  Women need to carry themselves like ladies.  Don’t be dressing up in Louboutins and then drive your booty home in a Honda Civic.  Act like a hoe..get treated like a hoe.  You heard it here first.

Digging for a little dirt on Marlo, Kandi tosses the questioning in her direction and is told that God gave Marlo a blessing, which may go down in the record books as one of the best non-answer answers ever on television.  Politicians could learn a few things from Marlo.

Kandi implies that the Blessing may have been a white Sugar Daddy, and then we move on.  Phaedra would have totally made a Poopy Phaedra Face if she was watching on her iPad.

Speaking of.  Kim and Kroy bring little KJ home from the hospital after his bleeped out, cuss filled delivery.  As previously noted, whatever brand of tape Kim uses to hold those wigs on her head should be loaned to NASA to keep shingles from falling off during Shuttle re-entry.  Anyone who can go through labor and delivery and still keep that Dolly Parton rug attached to her skull deserves an epidural.  Or two even.

Ouch. Just the thought.  Phaedra Face.

Somewhere between the baby shower and the delivery Brielle, the oldest daughter, has gone completely lazy a** spoiled teenager.  It seemed to happen during a commercial.  Granted she was always dopey and kind of lazy, and sucked on her braces like a mouth breather does during allergy season, but this week it really kicked in gear.  She won’t help with anything, and spends every scene texting on her cellphone.

Anyone who has ever caught an episode or two of The Real Housewives of New Jersey probably got an immediate flashback to spoiled brat Ashley, with just a different color iPhone case.  Bravo can sure pick ‘em.

The only family member less excited than Brielle to see the newborn was half dog/half bear cub Chanel who has apparently decided to pee on the carpet every time the new baby goes poo, just to prove a point.  Chanel is not a big fan of another cute little thing coming into the house.  I smell a Turf War.  And poo.

While everyone but Brielle is cleaning up the mess, NeNe and Cynthia are doing a little shopping, since God knows they have nothing to wear.  When Cynthia mentions the recent episode of Kandi Koated Nights, NeNe again denies that she ever knocked boots with Charles.  She also makes a gynecological reference to Hello Kitty that will forever terrorize me as I walk past that plush kiosk in the Mall.  Thanks for that.

As Sheree’s court date draws closer, she felt it was necessary to get some Silly Putty reaction to her wardrobe choices for the Big Day, so she puts on an impromptu fashion show for Miss Phaedra.

First point, I don’t think it should take a lawyer to figure out that if you are going to court begging for mo’ money you probably shouldn’t pull up to the curb in your brand new Porsche, and then climb out wearing head to toe Dolce & Gabbana.  Der.  Phaedra makes some funny faces and fills her in on court protocol.

After that discussion, I’m kind of thinking that maybe Chateau Sheree is being built on some Fantasy plot of land that only Sheree can see.

Legal mumbo jumbo aside, the other thing that Phaedra specializes in is Donkey Butt.

MmmHmm.  Girl knows booty.  Or bootay as they say in the ‘hood.  She advises Sheree to get all that junk under control before she goes in front of the judge.  Be grateful for what yo’ Momma gave you, but keep it under wraps.

Now that you mention it, I don’t remember any of the women on Perry Mason backin’ it up in front of the jury.  ”Your honor?  My homeboys tried to warn me, but that butt you got makes me so….”

Yeah.  Phaedra’s probably right on this one.

The only thing more disturbing than Sheree’s D&G Donkey Ride was Kandi dumping a box of sex toys onto the table in a diner while everyone around her was just trying to eat pie.

That’s right.  You heard me.

Kandi had tracked down the women who markets the OmiBod line of adult goodies, which synch up to your iPod and vibrate to music.  No more humming required, I guess.

As clever as the concept is, I’m not certain that pulling out all your heavy artillery in a diner is in good taste, much less up to health codes.  Maybe that wasn’t really pancake syrup that stuck to your elbow last night at IHOP after all.  When the marketing rep twists one of those badboys to ON position and lets it shimmy across the table I’m pretty sure two tourists required medical attention in the next booth.

Now I can’t shop Hello Kitty or listen to the Chipmunks Christmas song ever again.

By the time that Kandi put something that looked like a Star Trek Klingon hand up to her nose to feel it vibrate the kitchen was closed for the night.

And I don’t even want to discuss the 3 foot tall red Beaver statue that was standing guard at the front door.  Please tell me I didn’t imagine it.

After that, seeing Kim’s father mimic KJ groping her breasts during feeding time seemed pretty tame.  Creepy.  And inappropriate in front of the kids, especially with his weird porno mustache .  But pretty tame in comparison.

Aside from Dad pretending to be a perverted Mime in a box, the rest of the family visit was just baby poo and more Chanel rebellion.  They’re definitely  going to need to invest in a Stanley Steemer if this dog doesn’t change his attitude pretty soon.

Finally it’s time for court.  Sheree has her Donkey Butt under control, and Phaedra claims to have everything else under control.

Wrong.

Bob shows up looking like he just rolled out of bed and Phaedra gets ready to wipe the floor with that ‘baller.  But it seems that he was awake early enough to get a petition for contempt filed, claiming that Sheree took furniture and she owes HIM money and so on and so on.  Phaedra pops up out of her seat and doesn’t even know which face to put on, so she just gets all Say Wha–?! and then sits back down.

In less time than it took Sheree to pick an outfit, the judge kicks them out until the next hearing.

Sheree is not happy.

Phaedra makes some more faces and swears she can fix this, because she is Phaedra.

Kandi bashes Atlanta and claims the court system is rigged against women.

Even women with fine Donkey Butts.

MmmHmm.

You need to get this thing out. Now.

You need to get yo’ money. Now.

You need to get this thing built. Now.

You need to dial it down a notch. Now.

Hell yeah, I got mo’ money than NeNe.

Boil some water, apply an extra roll of wig tape and tighten your weave, girls.

The Real Housewives of Atlanta are having a baby.

Dat’s rite. Amidst all the drama of missing child support, Momma Joyce looking for love and a white pizza maker who thinks he’s a black girl, Kim finally popped out Baby KJ this week.  And all it took was a crash cart full of drugs and a steady stream of cussing that would make a sailor blush three shades of red.  The little guy who works the censor beeper over at Bravo must have gotten hazard pay for this episode.

After putting us all through the kind of stressful, dramatic, uncomfortable pregnancy that America has not witnessed since Rachel “OhMyGod, I’m SuperPregnant, OhMyGod” Zoe birthed the Holy Fashion Child, Kim was ready to unleash her own spawn on the world.

In a scene reminiscent of Ricky and Ethel trying to get Lucy out the door in one piece, BoyToy Kroy and Sweetie scramble around the house looking for wigs and cream cheese bagel spread as Kim rolls down the staircase like a swollen Scarlett O’Hara.  At some point the day before it is clear that Kroy finally realized what he had gotten himself into and that there was no turning back, and he had lapsed into that glassy eyed stare that prisoners get when the cell door slams shut the first time.

Somehow he still managed to spike his faux hawk, though, so maybe he was more focused than we all gave him credit for as he wedged Kim into the Escalade.  The new car seat required that Kroy now slide up closer to the steering wheel so the poor oversized football player was pretty much fogging up the windshield as they headed off to the doctor’s in a fume of exhaust and swearing.

While Kim was being told that there was an abnormal amount of fluid around the baby (…all the wine and beer she consumed over the last year, maybe?…) Cynthia was packing to head off to New York City.  In classic put the cart before the horse form, now that The Bailey Agency is set to open in a few weeks Cynthia decides that this would be a good time to go and meet up with some business types to pick their brains and get in a little Bloomingdale’s on Bravo’s dime.

This also proves to be a great opportunity for NeNe to continue her seemingly never ending  I Know Donald Trump Tour and meet up with some Celebrity Apprentice connections.  Apparently The Donald has hooked her up with an unlimited parade of business contacts, and this trip to NYC will give her a chance to meet Mr. Famous Famiglia Pizzeria himself and discuss ways to expand her brand.

Yeah.  She’s got a brand.

And if there is ever an opening to mark something with her scent, NeNe is all over it…because there is no such thing as too much NeNe.  At least according to NeNe, anyway.

Look out, Kim Kardashian.  You hear that heavy clumping behind you?  It’s NeNe’s new Louboutins gaining up on you, bitch.

But before we got to witness NeNe in all her NeNe-ness, we had to check in on the hole in the ground that will someday be Chateau Sheree.  This time around Sheree brought her Momma Thelma to check out the World’s Most Expensive non-active construction site.  With not a piece of machinery in view and no lumber or cement foundation bearing strings for miles, there was nothing to distract Momma from offering up her opinion on slacker Baby Daddy Bob who has yet to cough up a penny for Sheree’s kids in over four years.

There must be a spot somewhere on the Bravo job application that asks about baby daddies, divorce, child support and crazy relatives.  There has to be.

Momma gives Sheree a little history lesson on how her baby daddy was also a no good slacker and how she had to take him to court to get some money for Christmas.  If baby Sheree had ever gotten the Speak & Spell she asked for every year then maybe things would have been different.  Or at least she would have been able to read the fine print on the construction schedule blue prints.

Where are those guys?  Seriously.  Chateau Sheree ain’t gonna build itself, people.

That next loud noise wasn’t a backhoe.  It was NeNe arriving in New York City, and more than likely single handedly raising the threat level to orange before she even left the hotel.

I can’t imagine that the PR department for The Court hotel was too happy when, upon entering the suite on that imaginary red carpet that always rolls out under her staccato Bette Midler/Geisha Girl feet, NeNe immediately complains about the bugs on the cheese platter.  The room is already being comped, honey.  Chill.

As she goes to change into some new bling for her date with the Pizza Man, she also worries about rats.  Who needs a Yelp account when you have The Real Housewives telling you where to stay?  I’ll stick with my HoJoe’s Bonus Points, thanks.

Side note.  Since Cynthia is in town on business, she suddenly decides to wear glasses the entire time.  Apparently done so people think she is smart, and bullies don’t punch her in the face.  Go figure.

Before we get to all the fun in NYC, we get to witness Super Star Lawyer Phaedra in action.  Or at least that’s what her thug client was singing in her ear as they entered the spaciously empty courtroom.

After hearing, from Miss Phaedra herself for the last two seasons, about what a pit bull lawyer Miss Phaedra is in court,  I was sitting up on the edge of the couch waiting for her to unleash some of that  Miss Phaedra on the Judge’s a**.

Bring it, girl.  Show us how you do.  MmmHmm.

Psych.  Nothing.

The client was in court for overly tinted windows on his muscle car.

I know, right?  Couldn’t get a spot on People’s Court, dude?

Granted, she tried to flirt with the Judge a little, but her boobs were pretty well hidden and he was wearing a bow tie.  So nobody won that one.

Then Kim had some more labor pains.

Next we were off to Barnes & Noble.  Or so I thought.  But it turned out to be media mogul multi-tasker Russell Simmons’ office, which was piled a mile high with copies of his book that he was autographing and blatantly plugging.  The whole room must have smelled like self indulgence and Sharpies.

Turns out Cynthia once dated Russell when she first moved to NYC all those years ago, back when she was young and before he got caught up in that Kimora Fabulosity cyclone.

While she explains the flimsy premise for The Bailey Agency, Russell keeps mentioning fat chicks and how they’ll get their heart broken in the modeling world.  Then he signs some more books, intercoms his ManBoy secretary, convinces Cynthia to change the name of her business and mentions fat chicks again.

Phat chicks are cool.  Fat chicks, not so much.

Don’t tell that to Momma Joyce, though.  Kandi is helping set Momma up on an internet dating service for seniors, and they are both working hard at cramming all that Momma Goodness into tight belts and a black girdle for a calendar girl photo shoot on the hood of a Mustang.  Momma is fierce, as we all witnessed during the Redickulous birthday party tube sock toss.

Momma don’t play strippers, but she has no problem spreading her stuff all over a red sports car.  That is one lucky old man who clicks on that profile.  He’s got a firecracker.

Hope he’s got a pacemaker.

Then Kim had some more labor pains.

And then it really got weird as NeNe met up with her Pizza Man to talk shop.

Hopefully you DVR’d this thing so you can go back and watch it again and again.  Picture Tony Soprano.  But the Regional Summer Theater production Tony Soprano.  And he is oddly hot for NeNe.  And for some unknown reason he feels that the way to a black woman’s heart is by feeding her while doing your best black woman imitation.

Seriously.  Offend much?

Whereas NeNe and Phaedra can “MmmHmmm, Girrrllll…So Fine” until the cows come home, Pizza Man came across sounding more like a 9 year old boy slurping Campbell’s Soup on a snowy day.

MmmMmm Good.

He gets points for getting up the nerve to feed her off his fork, since she did come at him like that shark in Jaws when it came out of the porthole, but still…

To woo his woman, Pizza Man bought NeNe some new Louboutins to better sneak up on those Kardashian girls with, and a Tiffany pen to use when they sign their first business contract.   For desert he flew in some wobbly old man from Naples to sing to her while her eyes darted around like a trapped animal.  She kinda, sorta, liked him in that odd high school cafetorium kind of way…and the presents weren’t anything to sneeze at either.

So NeNe wasn’t sure what she thought by the end of the night.  But it didn’t really matter because she got new shoes.

Then Kim’s water broke.  Finally.

After some serious swearing, cussing and gum chewing, little nugget KJ was born.

Kim’s wig stayed on.  Kroy’s faux hawk stayed spiked.

Sleep tight, little KJ.

But buckle your car seat.

This is still Atlanta.

MmmHmm.