We’re back at Kyle’s White Party, and it seems like we never left, because we really didn’t. Everyone’s having a great time, especially the big fat person who looks like Anne Burrell from the Food Network (who seems to be a good cook but the growling irritates me), while out on the lawn the Armstrongs are out of here. Good riddance! With them gone, Camille takes off her raincoat and oh thank God there are clothes under there. I was worried she was going to get more comfortable than I would be comfortable with.
As they make their limo-driven escape, Taylor tells Russell that he shouldn’t have sent that e-mail. Russell replies that he can’t just let people [like his wife] say horrible, false things. Taylor says the horrible things were exaggerated, not false. Right, says Russell, they were an out and out lie! Taylor acknowledges that she talked about their marriage at times she shouldn’t have, and that she has apologized for it. After all, all couples fight. And the door closes on the Armstrongs, and that’s probably the last we’ll see of the late Russell. Sad, really.
Paul has no remorse about booting them, probably because he was really just the messenger for Bravo. The ladies gather round the fireplace to kvetch with Taylor’s best friend, failed boy bander Nick Carter, and consider the neverending mystery of Why Doesn’t She Leave Him? Kyle and Camille are continuing to question whether what Taylor has told them is the truth. Dana (who looks very pretty tonight, but the odd single button, probably logoed, affixed to her sternum is a bit peculiar) says that if her girl said it, it happened. Kyle finally sizes it up once and for all: God forbid if he did do it, but what if God forbid he didn’t? And we shall never really know, although Taylor has photos and plans to share them in her memoir, on bookshelves this spring. Keeping it klassy for Kennedy.
Let’s change this ghastly subject and get back to the party part of the party, which seems to be sponsored by the makers of Plastic as well as by Fatburger, judging by the plastic drinkware and even white plastic chapeaux on prominent display. Here come the white-suited mariachi (mariachae?)! Nothing says fun like a blast of trumpet in the face, that’s what I always say. Kyle’s distressed orange-faced publicist, Elliot Mintz, who forgot to pack his Beatz by Dr. Dre headphones in his murse, tries to shield his sensitive ears by burrowing his head into the armpit of his bullet-boobed escort, Donatella, clad in tasteful skintight white stretch lace. Other than on bedding and wedding or first communion dresses, white lace never fails to look tacky. Deeper, Elliot!
Inside the Casa Umansky, Dana and Lisa tell Kim the news that Taylor got the boot. Was she drinking? whispers Kim, employing the subtle rocking-longhorns sign recognized the world over. “No,” says Lisa, “they’re all kicked off.” Did you hear that? I rewound and watched three times. They are ALL KICKED OFF. Sounds like Radar Online’s source may have had it right! “Thank God it’s not me this year!” crows Kim. Oh honey, you’re next if you don’t go to dry-out camp. And away she went.
Paul wants to know what the girls did on their weekend in Vegas. Was there a tiger, or Mike Tyson? “Well,” says the Glands, “I made out with a hot blonde named Camille after your wife turned me down.” Paul totally gets gross face at that. Oh no, Dr. If doesn’t find that hot at all. Why? Adrienne says it’s because he knows he couldn’t compete with a woman. Honey, I think any man would be a bit intimidated by a lesbian having sex with a lioness. And now more footage of Camille dancing. You could fill a show with that stuff. Kim’s out on the dance floor, too, doing the Funky Chicken until The Bear returns from the loo and she launches herself at him like Baby in Dirty Dancing and they Take Over! Sweet old people love happening here! Kim’s daughter Lil’ Kim starts to gag, Kyle’s totally disgusted…Kim’s on a happy kick and Kyle thinks she’s full of it. She’s full of something, that’s for sure.