Archive for the ‘Reality Television’ Category

Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition: If You’re Flexible And You Know It, Clap Your Hands. And Then Stick One Leg Behind Your Ear. Bend It Like Abby.

Thursday, November 29th, 2012

 

 

Let me just get some of this nasty Bitter Jealous Mom Hate off your face, baby.

 

 

 

 

 

Are you kidding me? You’d think that after 8 weeks she would know my name.

 

 

 

 

I know, Honey. But trust me, it doesn’t hurt as much as your neck will if you make Mommy go home early.

 

 

 

Not saying who, Boo. But someone in that direction needs to take all that Pussycat Doll s*** and shut it down.

 

 

 

And Lord, when I open my eyes…please let that little Beyoncé kid finally be gone. Amen.

 

 

 

 

She’s just a bitch, baby. You’ll always have the prettiest Mom. Trust me.

 

 

 

 

 

OhNoSheDin’t. Momma JLo just went there?! BOOM! I got yo’ Boyfriend!

 

 

 

We’ve all been there.

Reality TV is cray cray.  Really cray.

So sometimes you just need to pause the DVR and scratch your head at all the moist, delicious lunacy you’ve just witnessed.

And if you’re lucky enough, you’re one of the limber few outside of a Cirque du Soleil tent able to complete the scratching process utilizing only the back of the big toe on your right foot after pulling one leg up behind your ear like Stretch Armstrong.

In sparkly spandex.

Process that disturbing visual, and you’ve pretty much just captured the essence of the latest installment in Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition.

This week it was all about hip flexor-defying flexibility and craziness.

It was the kind of crazy that we’ve come to expect from anything touched, pearl dusted or blinged out by Abby Lee Miller, paired with the kind of awkward strip club flexibility that was once reserved for single moms with home perms “just working their way through night school” one wet dollar at a time.

It was kinda like that.  But more kid-friendly.

Only 5 little dancers still remained in the race by now, and as the herd dwindles in number the drama somehow increases exponentially.

After witnessing Hadley and Mom Yvette pack up all their leotards and lunacy last week and hit the road, there had been a lot of rumbling behind the scenes regarding the judges’ decision.  Sending Hadley out the back door while sassy Asia and her sassy AsiaFace got to booty pop through another round of competition wasn’t sitting well with Coreen, who had no problem voicing her concerns.

Thirty seconds into this week’s episode, it was clear that Madison‘s Mom was going to be throwing shade for the entire hour.  Someone woke up with cramps, fo shizzle.

In that expressionless, monotone ramble that you usually only experience when calling to get 511 road closure information, Coreen had no problem telling the world that Asia should have gone home by now.

And since the heavily eye-lined apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, word on the street was that Asia had overheard Madison repeating the same smack, and it made her cry.

Which made Mom Kristie upset.  Which in turn got me upset, because whenever Jennifer Lopez‘s big earrings start swaying around I know it can’t be good.

Honestly, until Coreen explained that Madison had hurt her achilles tendon in last week’s dance number, I had incorrectly assumed that she was limping because Kristie roughed her up in that back alley where everyone goes to flip out.

False alarm.  It was dance related.  My bad.

But even if you have both legs and both arms and your forehead in an Ace bandage, nobody gets any pity until the Group Challenge.

I could hardly wait to see what my boy Kevin Manno would be wearing this week as he escorted Abby and all her astronomical star jewelry into the rehearsal space.

Gah.  I love this guy.  And this week he scored at H&M.

Seriously.  Scroll back up and look at that photo.  Soak it in.

Standing next to sturdy Abby, all wide eyed in his pleather jacket and graffiti t-shirt, all I could think about were those horny suburban cougars who go to Backstreet Boy concerts even though they don’t have any teenage daughters.  The ones who buy a new Chico’s outfit just for the concert and then stand out back by the stage door smoking those skinny Joan Collins cigarettes hoping to get a little sugar before the boys bolt onto their tour bus.

You tell me that slim jim Kevin doesn’t look like the one guy who got cut when Backstreet decided to stick with only 5 dudes.  Love.  Him.

This week’s show was brought to you by the word: Flexibility.

In your legs.  In your back.  Physical and mental flexibility.  The ability to not only turn yourself into a Mall Food Court pretzel, but to also be able to adapt to ever changing choreography and all the crap that Life throws in your face when you’re not looking.

Choreographer Gina Starbuck (…how sick do you think she is of all those Gina Grandé jokes?…) put the girls through some pretzel making high kicks while the Moms got all shifty eyed in the back of the room.

Dinky Diva Asia once again had trouble picking up on some of the moves, which resulted in a so many disgusted eye rolls that I lost count and made JLo’s earrings boink all around again.  Madison tried to press on with only 50% of her feet really up to the challenge, even though all the other Moms were recommending that she sit this one out.

Whether the Moms were sincerely concerned for Madison’s safety and future orthotics is one of those Questions for the Ages that will probably never be definitively answered.

Even with their best p-p-p-poker faces, we’ll never really know if they were showing maternal compassion or just trying to politely shove one more child to the side before tossing their own kid through the goal post.

Naturally, Coreen cramped up again and made it clear that they just wanted her rockstar daughter out of the way.  Mom didn’t seem to be having much fun this week.

Brianna ended up winning the Group Challenge, which gave her first dibs on what ethnically influenced dance she would perform as her solo.

Because you see, it was Internationale Week (… just like at Costco…) but instead of simply sampling free food from around the globe on toothpicks, the girls would all dance for their Curry Chicken.

Brianna picked African Dance.  I might have expected her to choose that style if it was Opposite Day in some Alternate Dance Universe maybe, but not for this challenge.  But she picked it anyway, and I never saw it coming.  Up until she announced her decision, I was pretty certain that if you typed in “African Dance” Brianna’s face would not be the first photo to pop up on Google.

As the girls all scooted off to rehearse their routines, Madison’s achilles was really starting to act up and some random film crew medic showed up to save the day and tape one of those Igloo cooler ice bags to her foot.

I’m almost positive that the dude’s name wasn’t really “Medic,” but that’s how they referred to him on the scroll under his face.  Poor schmo.  Couldn’t even get any love from the Lifetime graphics department.  He got an ear piece like they had on American Idol this season, but no name.

I was hoping he was going to sing something to break the tension in the room, but no such luck.  He did tell Madison to stay off the foot, but she refused.  And Mom wasn’t going out of her way to stop her daughter from performing either, now that you mention it.  She didn’t come all this way to go home a loser.  Momma needs a scholarship.

They both told Mr. Medic that the show must go on, despite his advice.  So now he got to be on national television with no name and no respect.  I love America.

Amanda’s dance was a Latin hoochie coochie salsa thing, choreographed by Mr. Fedora himself, Anthony Burrell.

Whenever he’s on screen I wish I had a better Hat Head.  Dude can rock the chapeau.

Between Anthony and Mom Mayelin begging Amanda to “Give It Up, Girl” and “Represent the Latinos” it was like being at one of those rallies outside the town hall where everyone waves flags and plays Telemundo videos on a loudspeaker.  Wepa!

Asia got a little French Moulin Rouge number that started out as a saucy Can Can dance but ended up reminding me of one of the animatronic RoboKids who sing on the Small World Ride at Disney.

c’est un petit monde après tout.

So there.  The More You Know.  Knowledge is Power, kids.  Stay in school.

Madison got saddled with Bollywood, which once again cramped up her Mom who complained that her daughter got the short straw and had to dance out of her comfort zone.  I gave choreographer Molly Long my permission to slap Coreen just once, but she didn’t take me up on the offer.  Her loss.

Jordyn finally put down her crimping iron and picked up a Samurai sword for an Asian influenced routine, but even a weapon in her hand didn’t stop Mom Kelly from blowing a mini nutty everytime Jordyn forgot to fix her legs during rehearsal.  Mom is relentless.

We got a brief little history lesson when Brianna started work on her African number.

Turns out that her family had lived through the Armenian Massacre, and Anthony Burrell wanted her to use all that hurt and personal connection in her dance.  So basically, the outcast Armenian white girl with the red hair whose great grandmother had lived through the Armenian Massacre was going to turn all that backstory into a dance to help the rest of us understand African slavery.

It really did make sense when he explained it.  And she killed it in the final performance.  It just sounds odd when you say it all together.  We love her.

When no one was looking, all the Moms took off out the side door and went for a snack, which immediately turned into one big hot mess.

Kristie pointed out that Asia was still crying over the hurtful things that Madison had said, and that if you do the math, the Actions of the Girls is equal to the Actions of the Mothers.

Oh, snap.

Coreen swallowed another fistful of Midol and flipped out on Kristie, kinda sorta suggesting that Madison may or may not have actually said what Asia had thought she heard when she thought she heard Madison talking about Asia.

Geezis.  Get to the point, lady.  Spit it out.

Then all of the sudden Coreen and Kelly are going at it, calling each other retarded, which I’m pretty sure is a word that people frown on nowadays.  Adding “Why yes, I must be F***ing retarded” was a nice touch, too.

Kristie just sat back in awe while they chewed on each other’s faces for a few moments, and then Kris summed it all up with a tidy “Whoa, Kelly…you’re a Beeotch” because that’s how people with big Snookie poofs say it.

Finally, it was Showtime!

Robin was all beachy hair waves and slick lip gloss at the judges’ table.  Since last week, Richy had apparently enlisted in the Lady Gaga Army and had been awarded enough military stars on his camouflage vest to support all the generals at the UN.  Good luck getting back home through airport security wearing that ensemble, dude.

My main man Kevin was back in his skinny tie and asked Abby what she was looking for this week before the girls hit the stage.

She was looking for legs behind the head, thank you.

Instead of noting that I don’t know one person out there who isn’t looking for that, I’ll just move on and keep it PG.

Amanda busted out some serious Gloria Estefan and put most of those Dancing With The Stars ladies to shame.  But she forgot to get her face into the routine, and Richy wanted her to show them “AAAAAHHHH,” whatever that means.

On the other side of the coin, Asia’s Français Dançais (…I just made that word up by the way…) was all Face.  Abby wanted more than just Face.  Coreen wanted to help her pack and get her on the next bus.

Madison’s Bollywood shimmy didn’t have the same funky fingers that I learned about on So You Think You Can Dance, so I would have deducted some points for that before I even started trying to figure out the Frankenstein stitches that Mom hot glued all over her face.

For real.  What the…?

And of course…wait for it…The Pussycat Dolls!  Robin managed to slip another one in there when no one was looking by telling Madison that 5 years from now when she comes in to audition for Robin, she’ll be a PCD.  Pimpin’ ain’t easy.

Brianna’s Armenian African dance brought the place down.  Naturally, in the Green Room Coreen had nothing good to say, and pointed out that there was not a lot of stuff in the routine.  I was hoping that Molly Long would burst through the door and finally use the slap I gave her…but still no such luck.

Jordyn’s Samurai sashay was more anime fight scene than dance routine, and she got called out for it at the end.  Richy loved it though, and was waving his two fingers in the air like he just don’t care.  I actually thought he might need to go out in the back alley for a menthol with Kelly and Jordyn when it was over.  Not really sure why everyone feels the need to go out by the dumpster when it’s time for a pep talk.

When it was all spread and done…pun intended….it was Asia and Jordyn in the bottom.

Since they both had some issues, Abby put the two girls through a grueling…and borderline Dateline: To Catch A Predator…flexibility test.

Seriously.  If they had laid on their back with one leg up on their ear for 5 seconds longer I was afraid that Chris Hansen was going to show up with a bowl of Ruffles potato chips, some ice tea and a camera crew asking what was in the shopping bag.

Thankfully, Abby cut to the chase and sent Jordyn home.

You guessed it.  Coreen was not happy.

Asia, on the other hand, was fearless when it came to facing off with 13 year olds as they approach the finish line and let us know how it was all gonna go down.

Sleezy Peasy Lemon Squeezy, bitches.

And then there were four.

The Real Housewives Of Atlanta: Girl, Pleez. I Know You Did Not Just Butt Dial Me. Kim And Phaedra Pack Up…And Back Up…All Their Junk.

Monday, November 26th, 2012

 

I know my coochie crack can pick up cable transmissions, but I don’t recall any donkey dialing.

 

 

Seriously. Listen. It sounds like she’s holding one of those giant bean bag cushions over the receiver.

 

 

I don’t have time to pack. It’s not like those (bleepin’) donuts are gonna (bleepin’) eat themselves, bitch.

 

 

I think Miss USA gets a crown and Miss America is the one with super powers, right?

 

 

 

Please. With an a** like that she could dial the Kremlin and not know it. Heffer.

 

 

 

Hold up, girl. I think I’m getting a Tweet down there right now. MmmMmm.

 

 

Close your legs to high cell phone bills and roll-over minutes, bitch.

If you’re gonna back all dat up, you better make sure you’ve got an unlimited data plan and a fully charged battery, because Donkey Booty don’t play when it comes to reaching out and touching somebody.  Just ask Phaedra.

Yeah.  I like big butts, and I cannot lie.

But apparently the women attached to those sturdy bottoms sometimes can, as we found out this week when Doctor of Donkology Phaedra Parks used up a few of her AT&T minutes by unknowingly talking a little smack after sitting on her Blackberry.

Stay tuned for all that dramzzz.  First things first.

It was Moving Day on The Real Housewives of Atlanta as Kim cussed and cursed her way out of the Biermann Dream House and back into last year’s townhouse, all thanks to a Twitter War with landlord/decorator/twatter Kendra.

There are a lot of versions out there as to what exactly went down between Kim and Kendra since the Don’t Be Tardy For The Party wedding.  Everyone is talking shizzle about each other, usually in 140 characters or less, so it’s hard to really know all the deets with so much gossipy goodness out there to digest.

According to the magazine at CVS (…hey…the line was really long…) Kim and Kroy either refused to pay rent by the first of the month, or Kendra evicted them, or Kim made a decision to move out while Kroy was wolfing down another mouthful of cereal or pizza, or some other excuse.  I basically just looked at the picture captions.

So we’ll probably never know.  But whatever it was, they pretty much had to move out by yesterday.  So it was a little chaotic, to say the least.  Kim was freaking out.

(Bleepin’) freaking out.

And suddenly the Dream House was also haunted.

I know, right?  Because Indian burial ground poltergeists lurking around your Wig Room sounds way cooler than admitting that you just got evicted.  And way more believable.

As Kim scuffed around the house in her Ugg slippers, swearing and rubbing her preggo belly in the same creepy way that the Wicked Witch always palmed that over-sized crystal ball full of Flying Monkeys, Kroy fueled the Machine with another fistful of pepperoni and basically just sat their while she whipped him.  Dude does love to eat.

Right on cue, his little bulldog puppy waddled by wearing one of those velcro cone collars that you have to wear until the stitches on your missing niblets dissolve, and for a moment I wondered if he had chewed them off himself.

The dog.  Not Kroy.

But since you mentioned it, what do you want to bet that Kroy and the puppy have to share that cone, if you know what I mean?  Snip.

Baby KJ, who totally looks as though he belongs on a 1950’s sitcom with all that slicked back Little Ricky hair and those Beanie Baby eyeballs, just sat back in his highchair trying to learn as many new swear words as he could while Kim (bleepin’) melted down.

Luckily his baby arms were too stubby to reach the carton of cigarettes on the counter, so at least temporarily, KJ was saved from one of Kim’s vices.

Hey, lady.  I pooped my diaper and I’m (bleepin’) freaking out over here, dammit.  Clean this up and bring me a menthol, Sweetie.

As everyone tried to figure out what to do next, Kandi and Momma Joyce were across town in their own pile of boxes.

Moving into her own new home, Kandi was beginning to realize that Momma’s plan all along was to also move her stuff into an upstairs bedroom.  Joyce was the one who originally found the house while it was still on the market, and it appeared that short term payback included her own parking space.

Kandi managed to pretty smoothly avoid the topic by dissing Kim’s delusional grasp on reality instead, including Mrs. Biermann’s theory that Kandi had just paid a realtor over half a million dollars commission to still live in the ‘Hood.  For someone with so much artificial hair on her head, Kim has a pretty warped concept of what actually makes someone gangstah.

Back at Casa Biermann, Kim (bleepin’) flipped out on a few of the guys from the moving company and made Momma Joyce’s analysis that “You don’t explain Ignorance” seem too legit to quit.

Yeah.  MJ just said that Kim was Ignant.  Momma Joyce will show you gangstah, bitch.

Speaking of cutting somebody…it was time for a haircut.

It was Ayden‘s 2nd birthday, and time for his first real haircut, so Momma Phaedra and Baby Daddy Apollo took him down to Rocky’s Barber Shop for a fade.

I’ll pause in order for you to appreciate the irony of Rocky and Apollo together in the same sentence again after all these years.

“Adrian!!!!”  If you get it…it’s HIGH-sterical.

If you don’t…Google a Sylvester Stallone movie and try to keep up.

Rocky’s Barber Shop was an old skool neighborhood joint, full of black combs sitting in sterilizer bottles and 47 guys all reading magazines waiting to get the same haircut.

Phaedra was quick to point out that by trade, Apollo was a Master Barber, which should have immediately caused anybody paying attention to wonder why he didn’t just cut his own kid’s hair and save the cab fair.

But by now you know that questioning anything Phaedra does is both exhausting and an exercise in futility, so we all just needed to except the fact that Apollo brought his own set of clippers and pretty much sheared off Ayden’s hair by himself while Rocky stood and watched.  It was kind of like going to the dentist and pulling your own teeth.  But whatever makes Phaedra happy.

And what was going to make her happy this week was spending $20,000 on a Georgia Aquarium Birthday Party for a 2 year old who would never remember the event after nap time.

But again.  Whatever makes Phaedra happy.

And she was keeping Ayden’s hair and the party all Tight and Dwight.

Dat’s rite.  Wannabe Housewife Dwight Eubanks made a return visit from the Salon Crypt to plan yet another one of his faaaabulously festive…umm…festivities.

So Dwrong it was Dwight.

But before the party, it was time to scramble some eggs, and a little bit of the English language, over at Porsha‘s home.

As husband Kordell got yet another recap of her parking lot throw down with Kenya at last week’s Hosea Williams Foundation Event, Porsha tried to get a handle on the different application requirements for the Miss USA and Miss America competitions while multi-tasking some wardrobe decisions for an upcoming wedding.

She admitted that maybe calling Kenya by the wrong title during her introduction was simply a Fraudulent Slip, which kind of made my head hurt, followed by Kordell rambling on about how one bad apple can’t make the pot…something something…

I swear there’s a gas leak in that house.

Meanwhile, Porsha’s nemesis Kenya was down the road a bit on Restaurant Row introducing boyfriend Walter to her family.

With Aunt Lori leading the inquisition, Walter was forced to deflect questions on topics ranging from their first date to his intentions to their future wedding plans, as Kenya nervously chewed her lettuce and waited to ovulate.

Kenya wants to make some babies.  ASAP.  Time is money, people.

The only topic they never got around to was how Lori manages to keep getting her foundation all smeared up into her hairline.  Come on.

If you’re gonna go bleached platinum, you need to get a handle on all that.  Nice enough lady, but it was like eating lunch with Christina Aguilera.

I mean.  I just can’t.  Here’s a napkin and some spit.  Lemme get that for you, honey.

By the time Walter proudly proclaimed that he was the Martin Luther King of Towing, I had to ask for a doggie bag for my leftovers.

I have a Dream.  And a boot on my Kia.

Then it was time for Dwight’s cameo, some cake and an aquatic theme park show.

Being in storage for a season definitely made our girl Dwight a little rusty, because she certainly was not as Fierce as I remember her back when she was always up in NeNe‘s face.  But it was still Dwight, and she still had a crazy a** bucket hat on her head.  So that made me happy.

The party was your typical 2 year old birthday party, complete with a locomotive train parade entrance into the venue, a private water show and $100 bills paper clipped to his OshKosh shirt.  Memories to last a lifetime, if a 2 year old could actually stay awake for all of that excess.

When Dwight licked his lips during some cruise ship singer’s ode to a pair of dancing dolphins, I knew it was time to go home.

And then things went all Badonkadonkers.

NeNe’s 4 minutes of screen time this week still chewed the scenery as she and Cynthia got all OhNoSheDin’t over some potentially serious Donkey Dialing.

Turns out that Cynthia had passed on Ayden’s Under The Sea extravaganza due to a prior commitment.  And you don’t say No to Miss Phaedra.  You just don’t.

Because it seems that Phaedra can’t control her temper, or the junk in her trunk, and had somehow butt dialed one of NeNe’s people as she was mouthing off about Cynthia to an unknown third party.

She even said the F Word, which she claims to never use.

NeNe had somehow managed to secure a recording of the actual booty dial off the mystery phone (…what is this…CSI ATL?…) and when she played it for Cynthia over lunch the two of them pretty much plugged in the organ and Testified.

As they plotted Cynthia’s confrontation with Phaedra, NeNe milked her 4 minutes like it was an audition for BET.

MmmHmm.  You go, girl.  And give that hat back to Dwight.

Before Cynthia met up with Phaedra we had to sit through another few minutes with Kenya and her ovaries.  But this time she and Walter ate outside, and…no lie…the crickets and tree frogs were so loud that they actually drowned out the ticking of Kenya’s biological clock.

It was a sound tech’s nightmare, but it was a nice break from the usual blare of her baby making parts.

By the time Cynthia and Phaedra met up, Mrs. Bailey wasted no time in getting right to the point despite being momentarily distracted by Phaedra’s skin tight aluminum lamé super heroine pants.

Seriously.  Did you see those things?  The scuba girl feeding chum to the birthday penguins was shrink wrapped in looser fitting latex.

But anyway.  Phaedra denied the butt dial.

Actually…she didn’t recall making the call at all as she nervously fidgeted with her studded Wonder Woman cuff and chewed on taco chips while making every PhaedraFace in her extensive arsenal.

But Cynthia wasn’t buying it.

So when all else fails?  Use your boobs, girlfriend.

Phaedra suddenly noticed a red spot on her jigglies, and  complained that they were itching.  And that some bug must have wanted some of that chocolate awesome sauce.

Then like a newborn child discovering her own toes for the first time, Phaedra latched onto the goods and never looked up again, leaving Cynthia to sit there on the opposite side of the table watching the whole floor show until the check finally came.

Well played, Ms. Parks.  Well played.

Now back dat thang up over here and call me a cab.

Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition: It Just Got Real In Fairy Tale Land. Sassy Witches And Red Riding In Da ‘Hood Means It’s Happy Never After.

Wednesday, November 21st, 2012

 

 

 

OMG. That tiara. I am like so totally jealz.

 

 

 

 

 

A Princess? As if. Good luck finding a Pumpkin Coach big enough for that one.

 

 

 

 

This is how all the Divas do Recycling Day. What’s it gonna be, bitches? Paper or Plastic?

 

 

 

 

 

Umm. Yeah. Newsflash. She gets it from her Momma. Any questions?

 

 

 

 

Seriously. I would pay good money just to see a house miss the Witch and fall on that Mother.

 

 

 

 

 

From this side of the Magic Mirror all I see is a bucket load of bat s*** crazy.

 

 

 

Toto, I don’t think we’re in Pittsburgh anymore.

You can click your tap shoes together as many times as you want, Honey, but until the Great and Powerful Abby Lee Milller says so…you ain’t going nowhere.

It was Fairy Tale Week on Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition, and through the magic of Dance and BeDazzling all our favorite Storybook Classic came to life, complete with pixie dust, poison apples and Pussycat Doll promos.

Abby had already cut the herd in half by the time everyone scooted into the rehearsal hall for this week’s Group Challenge.  Being down to the Final 6 meant that not only were both the competition and the Moms getting more exhaustingly intense, but that it was also time to start milking each scene the way they do on a 5 hour Dancing With The Stars finale.

And you know exactly what I mean.  Filling an hour with 6 kids is a lot more difficult than just letting 12 of them run around in circles until the clock runs out.

It was time for everyone behind the scenes to get a little more creative, which would explain why we got more pre-game makeup tutorials and a dramatic pause at the end of nearly every sentence, complete with freeze framed faces that made every conversation feel like a Telemundo Friday cliffhanger.

But regardless of the number of kids left over, nothing can happen until the all important Group Challenge, so in came Abby and her lap dog Kevin Manno.

By now you know how I live for his weekly fashion show.  Bitch stole my look.

This week Kevin had apparently just bolted over from auditioning for an open spot on whatever that all male Varsity singing group is called from that school where Kurt’s boyfriend came from on Glee, because Dude was styling in a two toned cardigan and fake blue Burberry tie, another pair of his trademark Eurotrash skinny pants and one more slightly altered attempt at bootlegging Ryan Seacrest‘s hair.  Love this guy.

Not to be outdone, and to make certain that everyone remembered whose name was actually on the marquee, Abby strolled in wearing what I believe was one of Maddie‘s dance crowns that she lifted out of a display case before leaving Pittsburgh, accessorized with a fairy wand and another ninja star ring.

Bibbity Bobbity BooYeah, Bitches.

To set the tone for the Storybook theme, Abby channeled her Inner Fairy Godmother and somehow magically made choreographer Anthony Burrell appear at her side to lead the challenge, and he popped in all gangstah hand jive and ready to get da party started.

This week’s skill was Individuality.  Yo’ own spin on the thang, according to Anthony.  So that meant that he would set the girls up with some core moves and then they had to make the magic happen on their own.  The winner would not only be the lead in the group number, but also get to duet with the bitter second place dancer.

I’m not really certain the girls were into it, but 45 minutes later my man Kevin certainly was as he did the White Boy Head Bop to the rhythm of the boogie woogie beat during the showdown.

After multiple fairy wand boinks and a number of convoluted Disney references from Godmother Abby, Madison and her Catwoman eyeliner won first prize.

Since the corners of Madison’s emotionless mouth have so far proven to be incapable of curving upwards, it’s nice that she could compensate for no smile muscles with all that Selina Kyle warpaint.  Yeah.  I went there.

Meow.

Amanda came in second, so she would officially be the Evil Queen going up against Madison’s Snow White in the duet.

Heigh Ho, Sickle Toe.  It’s off to rehearsal we go.

The group number was a woodland themed fairy nymph-looking thing with enough artificial leaves scattered around the floor to keep the entire Lifetime legal department on retainer just waiting for someone to break a leg or crack their skull open.

Tiny sassafrassy Asia was the Baby Fairy stalking Madison through the slippery autumnal confetti as everyone else tossed leaves in the air like they had just taken Ecstasy at Studio 54.

Unfortunately, little blonde Jordyn was not picking up on her choreography notes fast enough, which caused her to repeat some visually offensive moves over and over.

And over.

It also caused Mom Kelly to come completely unhinged and unleash enough direct-to-video evidence to get her child scooped right up by Child Services after the curtain call.

Mom blew a nutty.

“You be quiet.  This is where I talk.  You don’t talk.  You listen.  I’m talking.”

Kelly had her CrazyFace on.  And her fingers and fists and hair were going everywhere.

Honestly, stick a few of those orange cone lights in her hands and Mom could have brought in aircraft at JFK without any assistance from the Tower.

Point your damn foot or we’ll settle this on the Maury Povich Show.

In.  Sane.

The duet rehearsal was pretty tame in comparison.  The exciting part is that it was choreographed by Bond Girl Kitty McNamee.  I just like saying that name.

And then it was Fierce 1 and Fierce 2 as Asia met up with Ricky Palomino to werk it as the Wicked Witch.

After Asia made me feel even older than I am by casually mentioning she was pretty certain that she had heard of The Wizard of Oz and may have even watched the movie once or twice in the whopping 6 years that she has been alive (…just…shoot…me…) it was time to practice being so hot you melt.

To conceptualize the iconic water in yo’ face scene, Ricky had somehow confiscated enough black plastic tarp to cover Wrigley Field when it rains and proceeded to wrap Asia up inside it like…well…like a little girl wearing enough black vinyl to cover a baseball field, I guess.

It was actually a very cool visual.  Granted, it looked a little bit like the commercial with that baby duckling stuck in a BP Oil rig explosion…but smear some sparkly green Pop Rocks lipstick on Asia and that little bitch can make anything work.

Baby got Face.  And a Flying Monkey.

Hadley‘s Tinkerbell solo on the other hand, could have used some magic.

After two weeks in the bottom, Hadley’s self confidence was shot and Mom was not helping.  She tried to help.  But she wasn’t helping.

Even Yvette‘s weekly fortune cookie words of wisdom had no effect on Hadley, who eventually broke down into those hiccup cries you get when Justin Bieber launches a new perfume at Macy’s and he passes you behind the ropes.

That kind.

Jordyn’s solo rehearsal seemed to go better than her group rehearsal, or maybe that was just because Mom took a sedative.  Regardless, Jordyn smiled and vowed to show the world that she was just not a Hip Hop Barbie phenom.

Last girl, barely standing, was Brianna.

Turns out that over the last two months, everyone’s favorite outcast has been suffering with a sore knee.  So by the time she was swaddled in ten pounds of Red Riding Hood cloak and doing drop, duck and rolls around the forest, she was hurting.  But Brianna’s will to live, and the Survivor background music, made it clear that the show must go on.

And speaking of.  Finally, it was Showtime!

Richy Jackson was finger waving right out of the gate again, this time all Varsity jacket and crop circle hair.  I swear his barber must squish his head through a giant Play-Doh Fun Factory cookie cutter stencil to get that so tight and right.  There must be something in the water on Lady Gaga‘s tour bus.

Robin Antin kept with the overall theme of the evening by spraying on an extra coat of magic boob dust and wearing the same costume that I think the girl in Tangled wore when she fell out of the castle.  Only she may have hooched it up a bit more, because I think that movie was only rated G now that you mention it.

Kevin busted out another skinny ensemble and some bigger Seacrest hair.

Yeah.  It was on.

The group number went off without any long term brain injuries or broken ankles even though leaves were flying everywhere.  They also had all the little wood nymphs draped in miles of fabric (…2 for 1 deal when Ricky picked up his tarp, maybe?…) which reminded me of those Year of the Rat parades when all the little Chinese kids are hiding inside those giant paper mâché dragons.  Those kids in the parade are so cute I can’t stand it.

Jordyn’s dance went really well, considering all the drama leading up to her performance.  I’m still not sure what to think each week when her Mom goes bazoinks before every show and then acts surprised when her kid actually succeeds in the end.  I should have known during that first episode when Kelly was pinging all over the inside of a cab in anticipation of meeting Abby that she was going to be a handful.

Tinkerbell did okay when it was her turn.  Not bad.  Not great.  My psychic powers told me that if Hadley and Yvette left now they could beat traffic, if you know what I mean.

Asia’s ginormous trash bag dance was a little more Witch Strip than I had originally anticipated as she pulled off her black gloves and used her bite sized Beyoncé booty to force Dorothy, and all the boys in the yard, to surrender.

Naturally, Robin somehow managed to take credit for all of Asia’s genetic Divatude and proudly proclaimed that she probably learned it all from the Pussycat Dolls.

Seriously.  Is she legally bound to pimp them hoes in every episode?  Is it in her contract or something?

As we have discussed multiple times…I love me some PCD.  And you can feel free to loosen up my buttons, baby.  Beep.  Beep.

But unless Robin has some late breaking news on a Pussycat Polio Vaccine…can we give it a rest for one week?

Brianna took her Hood to the ‘hood and made it through the dance with out getting eaten by a Wolf or popping a knee cap.  That was a win/win which made Abby howl like she was either gettin’ some or standing in front of Taco Bell at midnight.  I’m not really sure what was going on with that one.

The duet finished off the evening in classic Storybook Good vs. Evil.

Amanda looked through her evil Magic Mirror like she was all Oh Hell No I See You Talkin’ To My Man and Madison almost cracked a smile.

In true Dance Moms fashion, the Evil Queen even grabbed the good girl by the throat and for a second I thought I was back at the Candy Apples Dance Center.

Nobody jerks it like Mike.

And then Hadley got cut.  Hadley cried.  Yvette cried.

And Kristie did a Victory lap around the auditorium in her JLo stilettos.

Happy Never After?

And then there were 5.


%d bloggers like this: