I hate to admit that Kristen, the world’s smartest living bottle of Aqua Net, is right about anything, but she is correct: It is shockingly hard to do a Google Image search for “dick pic” and find a photograph of an actual erect human penis. Thanks to some internet magic, the first row of results for such a query turns up two images of Dick Cheney, a photo of comedian Andy Dick, a shot of a guy who covered his junk in tiny mirror tiles, and a mosaic of Donald Trump made out of 500 dong shots. It is surprisingly safe for work, even if you don’t work in a dildo factory.
Still, that does not excuse Kristen using a snap of Jax Taylor’s member in her sketch-comedy show. Well, let’s walk that back a minute. The original sin is that Kristen, a human being about as funny as stubbing your toe on the dresser, is in a sketch-comedy show. (Note that she’s excited to be on the main stage at the Improv, yet everyone showed up in what is clearly the middle of the afternoon, probably on a weekday.) Kristen shouldn’t have been up there at all, really. But, even when she was, she shouldn’t have had to use Jax’s johnson (which is the name of my Jack Johnson cover band) in her stupid sketch about an app that will turn dick pics into something artistic.
Well, whatever. If she had asked first, I think it would have been fine. I mean, no one in the audience except for Jax, all of his friends, and every person in attendance that he slept with (which was half the audience) would know that it was his, so no biggie. But a head’s-up from Kristen and a warning to Brittany would have been the polite thing, honestly. Also, if Kristen had just changed her Google search from “dick pic” to the slightly raunchier “hard cock,” she would have seen more soldiers standing at attention than in the entire movie of Jarhead (or me and my gay friends watching shirtless Jake Gyllenhaal in a Santa hat). Finding a dick pic on the internet is hard (pun intended) but it’s not that hard (ton inpended).
Speaking of Jax and Brittany, I was really peeved with his behavior when they were visited by Brittany’s mother, Sherri, who is basically Snooki if she grew to the size of an actual human. Sherri keeps bothering Jax about when he and Brittany are going to get married and have children. She asks them if they’ve joined a church and Jax says no because of something about how churches spill dust everywhere, because he has no idea how incense actually works.
The problem is that Jax says repeatedly that he wants a “traditional” girl, one who will clean up his mess, make a sandwich for him when he gets home from work, and put out whenever he wants, wherever he wants. Well, sorry, Jax, but if you want a “traditional” girl, you have to take everything that comes along with her, including her “traditional” mother, her desire to get married and have children, and her reliance on religion to opiate the masses. Wanting one but not the other makes no sense at all. It’s like wanting a cat but hating to clean out the litter box. They’re pretty much inseparable, my friend, so either clean out that litter box or kiss your sweet pussy good-bye.
Ugh, is this the part of the recap where I have to talk about Lala? I feel the same way talking about Lala that I did about waking up for high school. If I could just put it off for 10 more minutes, then everything in my life would be so much better and I could just lay in the protected cozy warmth of my comforter until the day I died or graduated or whenever I got tickets to go see Tori Amos. (Shut up, I am old and gay and high school was in the ‘90s.) Why can’t Lala just quit already? We know it’s coming. Can’t we speed this process along?
The way she approaches Tom and Ariana and the excuse she gives for skipping out on the birthday trip is totally stupid. She tells them that she didn’t want to be around people who don’t make her a better person and as soon as she heard the list of people who were going, she got a pit in her stomach. Then why did it take until that morning to decide not to go? This excuse is even flimsier than every single pair of panties that Lala owns. It’s just stupid and I’m glad that Tom and Ariana are probably done with her forever.
So is DJ James Kennedy, a future Ben & Jerry’s franchise owner. She comes over and tries to peer-pressure him into drinking in the middle of a weekday afternoon because she is a bad person with nails that make my toes want to fall off every time I see them. She treats him so shabbily and talks so much trash behind his back that he tells Stassi and Kristen, his sworn enemies, that her boyfriend paid for their whole Coachella trip but forced them to sign a nondisclosure agreement that said they couldn’t talk about him.
Now, I am skeptical about this agreement because it doesn’t have the boyfriend’s name on it, which should probably be stipulated should it be legally binding. I also feel like this is something Lala would do so it would seem like her boyfriend is a bigger deal than he probably is. Also, not to brag, but I am friendly with a handful of celebrity types and I have never been on a private jet or been asked to sign an NDA, but then again, I am not a “bitch” with “tits” like Lala so maybe I am doing something wrong? I don’t know.
Because of this NDA and the fact that Tom and Ariana constantly defend Lala, Stassi and Kristen decided that they signed the NDA to go on the Coachella trip too. Even when Ariana denies it, Stassi decides that they did sign it because, I don’t know, she’s like the thought police or something? These two are definitely living in Trump’s America where truth doesn’t matter and gilded furniture is good. As for Tom and Ariana, maybe they’re just real people who are actually friends with Lala and don’t think she did anything that bad. I love Ariana and I don’t get why she was still defending Lala at Katie’s Taco Bell Baby Shower, but the point she raises is valid: What about all the awful things they have done to Lala? Everyone seems to forget about that. I mean, they’re all horrible, but one set of horribility does not negate the other. (I just made that word up, but I like it.)
With each episode, I love Ariana more and more. When she, wearing the chicest flowing white maxi-dress, decided to take on Stassi, wearing the Kyle Richard–iest Kyle Richards sleeves I have ever seen in my entire life, I couldn’t have been happier. Yes, she should not have been defending Lala, but Ariana is the only one who will stand up to the Rage Borg Hive Mind of Stassi, Katie, and Kristen. I think she should be commended for that. Scheana tries, but she’s way too much of a robot to actually pull it off. Ariana, on the other hand, seems like an intelligent person with values and that is stupid-girl Kryptonite right there. She’s the one thing they can’t defend against. She’s like a SoulCycle class to their DryBar blowouts — basic as hell, but absolutely ruining them.
The day after the Taco Bell Baby Shower, after the tiny bottles of rosé tequila had been handed out and Tequila Katie verbally assaulted each guest on their way out, Tom Schwartz woke up in a house that was full of Taco Bell leftovers. Katie had gone to work and he hit me up on WhatsApp to come over and help him work through some of the extra food.
He answered the door wearing nothing but a pair of saggy sweatpants and put his Fiery Doritos Loco Taco right into my hand. “Thanks,” I said, as I put it in my mouth, enjoying the taste and the full feeling it gave me between my molars. By the look of his sweats, he was still working on a Soft Taco Supreme, but I had a feeling he wanted to move on to Steak DoubleDilla. We sat down at the table and he shoved an XXL Grilled Stuft Burrito in his mouth, taking it all the way to the hilt, not even triggering a gag reflex. I grabbed his Loaded Potato Griller and licked it along all sides, savoring the anticipation before inhaling it with sweet satisfaction.
“You want to fill this Cheesy Gordita Crunch?” he asked, getting up and walking over to the fridge, opening it up to reveal a refrigerator full of sour cream, cheese, and guacamole. I nodded yes and followed him into the kitchen, standing behind him and reaching into the fridge to pull out three little plastic containers of condiment. I slathered one all over the gaping hole in that taco as Tom tried to wiggle away from me. But I was too quick. I squeezed my Chalupa Supreme and the white mess squirted all over his face. “I think you got some in my eye,” he laughed. I closed the refrigerator door and spun him around. We stood, chest to chest, as I licked my congealing mess off his face.