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The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Recap: Game Night Is a Big Meth

Taylor is shocked — shocked! — by the Breaking Bad accusations being hurled her way.

There are two kinds of Real Housewives episodes: those that slowly simmer to an explosive moment, only to give you a taste of the drama they’ve teased out for weeks and then roll credits; and those like last night’s episode, which started with a bang and slowly deflated with an hour-long queef.

The action picked up where last week’s show left off. Game night at Dana’s had led to the Richards Sisters bullying Brandi and her poor, weird face. And this week, we got into the bare-bones specifics of what those ladies were actually angry about. Mind you, I am not saying “bare bones” as a reference to any of the cast members’ shoulders, nor would I mean it as a veiled reference to Brandi’s son’s nude penis, which was on display at Adrienne’s pool party a while back. That peen-cident was mentioned at Game Night, and, according to Kyle, the peeing penis was not, in and of itself, offensive. It was instead Brandi’s wrangling of its owner, or lack thereof, which was considered inappropriate by Ms. Richards. Basically, Brandi’s toddler urinated on Adrienne’s lawn a few weeks prior to the Game Night Showcase Showdown, and Kyle, who had by then run out of euphemisms for “slut” and “white trash” for the new girl (Brandi! She’s adorkable!), “went there.” And her inebriated, sick, sad sister only stoked the flames.

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“Ha-ha-ha!” Kim cackled while Kyle lay into Brandi’s parenting skills (a VERBOTEN AREA OF CRITICISM on this show) and her economically suspect roots. Kim sounded like Jerri Blank laughing at footage of a chimp washing a cat. But in fact, what the Housewives demonstrated at Dana’s party was more indicative of what chimps actually do in the wild. It’s horrible. There is brain-eating. Face-ripping-off. And shit-throwing.

So, let’s move on, instead, to the matter of crystal meth.

It was a classic Game Night move. What trumps mention of a young child going to the bathroom in public? Condemnation of a former child star who is repeatedly going to the bathroom to use what we are going to assume is meth. Crystal meth! That’s what Brandi accused Kim of being on that night. And while Brandi did, perhaps, rush into playing the Breaking Bad card — indeed, the lion’s share of the episode’s remainder was spent giving ample soapbox time to each cast member opining that Brandi overreacted when diagnosing Kim — it’s important to keep in mind that:

A. Brandi was being bullied to her breaking point when she dropped the CM bomb. Her crutches had been hidden, her child’s behavior was called into question by the same woman who had just called her a ho, and she had no allies in that trashy, dusty, underfurnished, and tackily decorated room.
B. Kim has admitted that, until recently, she was routinely using room deodorizer as breath spray.

So let’s not all hitch our skateboards to the Brandi Bully bus quite so fast, McFly. In fact, was anybody else a little shocked that when Brandi began to cry, nobody so much as gestured toward a Kleenex? Crying usually ends bullying! That’s, at least, a lesson I learned when two neighborhood kids cornered me on my bike and told me I wasn’t allowed go home. Tears got me out of that fix right fast! (Oh, and by the way: Marshall and Adar? I know who you are, and I’m keeping track on Facebook of exactly how fat you’re both getting.)

Physical violence was dabbled in, as Brandi swatted away Kim’s knotted twig of an index finger. And only then did Taylor, remaining consistent with her character’s aversion to hitting, flail her skeletal frame in between the crippled seated girl and the Disney Princess with the brain of a poison apple and the skin of a cigar store Indian.

“No touching!” Taylor barked, like she was auditioning for the part of the anorexic bailiff in the new Arrested Development movie.

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But nobody had Brandi’s back. Taylor’s display of enforced neutrality was the only thing that came close to somebody being on Brandi’s side. Even when the ladies went to different crappy wings of Dana’s shitty house to cool off, Kyle and Kim got the glad-handling of Camille, Taylor, and the hired bartender, while Brandi was left to be passive-aggressively non-comforted by the hostess with the least-ess, Dana: She did the equivalent of soothing a victim of domestic violence by explaining that her husband probably had a long day at work.

Dana, as I mentioned last week, is an asshole. Here is what she said to Brandi, after she found her sobbing, crippled, bullied guest’s crutches (remember when Kim hid them?). “You did start a little bit about the bathroom.” Terrific. Great job, Dana. Can somebody please page the Countess for a little Housewives crossover, if only to teach Dana, with flashcards if necessary, that there is there more to being a hostess than putting carnations in the shape of two large dominoes on a snack table?

“I have a little boy, too,” Dana said to Brandi, as though she were about to come to her defense or be nice to her in any way other than not tossing her guest’s crutches into a bonfire. Then, Danasshole added, about her boy, “He’s not perfect.”

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Done! I am done with this woman and I had never begun. It wasn’t necessary for her to chase backhanded neutrality like, “Everyone has their crap; everyone has to share it” with a minstrel-like attempt at obsequious social felching. “Kim! Pam! Love you! Mwah!” Dana showed her cards in the Housewives civil war when she, grossly, hugged the Other Richards Sister and proclaimed to the other girls/no one, “I love Kim.” She even offered herself up to go on a “safe, healthy vacation” with Kim? And gave Kyle a creepy BFF speech that should have been accompanied by promise clit rings? Dana stinks. I know it’s a redundant thing to say, but I want to say it again, because you know she has a Google alert, and I really hope she sees this, if not learns it, when she searches: “Dana Wilkey” “is an asshole” “who is the worst” on “an already pretty despicable cast this year.”

Even Camille, who’s so far had a good season, showed off some really unseemly, retro, “Season One Camille” behavior around the girls once Brandi was gone. “After what I went through last year, with my personal life?” Camille said, exhausted from the display of conflict, “It’s too much.” Yes, Camille. Good point. “Me, me, me, stop it.” Look, I love cats, but they’re not dogs, and these women are emulating the behavior of cats according to people who really hate cats. As in, when you’re hysterically crying, cats aren’t necessarily going to go over to comfort you, like a dog would. Their tiny brains tell them instead: “There is distress afoot. If I avoid this, maybe I won’t be hurt. I want treats.” They are narcissists and can be dumb jerks, but their fur is very soft, and I like them.

Thank God for Kevin.

The rest of the episode was basically about Kevin. Oh, sure, Kim and Kyle did some waxing and waning and they went to that house that Kim accused Kyle of stealing last season, which was sad and uncomfortable when it wasn’t boring. There was also a charity event that featured Camille’s adorable mom, which hosted some major league ignoring and awkwardness between Kyle and Brandi, who wouldn’t talk to each other beyond going through the small-talk steps that established that Brandi lives near Mulholland. And Taylor and Brandi had a lunch that existed to show that Brandi ordered food and Taylor didn’t.

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But mostly, the rest of this episode was Kevin. We Need to Talk About Kevin. No, I am not referring to the upcoming major motion picture starring bewitching he-she Tilda Swinton!

If you’ve seen any of the promotional ads for this season, you are aware of Kevin. He is the Asian, mulleted, Martin Short from Father of the Bride character who, in the promo, says, “Beverly Hills, darling! Chi-chi-chi-chi!” under his aviator BluBlockers: an instant sound bite. He is terrific, congenial, and hilarious, and I applaud Bravo for finding and casting him.

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Nothing Kevin said was really worth quoting: He’s more for the stage, less for the page. But Kevin’s accent, cosmetic choices, and body language lent all of his lines the patina of WTFabulousity that fuels the beautiful machine that is this franchise. May he mince around and chomp, open-lipped, on his vowels, for the remainder of the series. What a marvelous human prop to enliven the mean girl proceedings of this series. And what a culturally acceptable way to still laugh at “Gay-r O-lientars!” That was me spelling “Gay Orientals” in an ironically racist way. I regret it: Please don’t bother writing in the comments below that I should be ashamed of myself. Way ahead of you.

Otherwise, that was about it this week. Oh, and Adrienne Maloof wore a short-sleeved cropped exercise jacket that utterly confounded me. Next week, the girls are going to go to a spa, and maybe the Richards sisters will confront Brandi, and maybe they won’t. Kevin will definitely be back this season. And Kim, in case you were curious, will never change. There’s too much denial and social insulation protecting her bananas behavior to motivate a life overhaul from that withered rose: not the least of which is a reality series that showcases her fading star on a silver platter.

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Here are some other stray observations from last night’s show that you can chat about in the comments section below. Or add your own! Or don’t!

• The return of the wrapping paper shirt! Kim hid behind that glorious pile of ribbon candy and wrapping paper in several of her testimonials, and I couldn’t have been happier.

• Adrienne Maloof. If I were doing the “Who won this week’s show?” thing that Chris Rovzar and Jessica Pressler mastered when they wrote their great recaps of RHONYC, Mrs. Maloof would take the cake. When listening to Kyle’s recap, Adrienne remained cautiously defensive of all human beings involved in the Game Night brouhaha, even as Lisa Vanderpump rushed over to Team Richards. Adrienne even mentioned the possibility that Kyle was in a bit of denial concerning her sister’s mental state and possible addiction. That was such a lucid, well-reasoned statement, it barely belonged on this episode.

• Dana using “We’re from Beverly Hills!” as an attempted method of breaking up the ladies’ fight. In theory, I don’t believe in Class Warfare, but if Occupy Wall Street bleeds over to Dana’s neighborhood, I have a great idea for a Valentino-clad effigy.

• “What should I do? Should I jump on it and catch his pee with my fucking hands?” was what Brandi exclaimed when Kyle complained about her son’s public urination. Do you think that’s what LeAnn Rimes did, sex-act-wise, to seal the deal with Eddie Cibrian? I am not presuming! I am ONLY ASKING!

• Taylor’s “I identify with victims” shtick is really high volume. Do you think this is a conscious act of manipulation on her part, in terms of setting up her public persona? I’m not saying she wasn’t abused — I’m sure she was. But it was almost like, throughout this season, she was laying the groundwork that would later exempt her from any implication with her and Russell’s dirty dealings.

• Dana looked stupid in that fur coat. Remember in Ghostbusters, when fur coats come alive and attack the ladies who are wearing them? Just saying.

Photo: Bravo