Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Recap – 4/14/15

Kim Richards, you are a thin-lipped, brain-fried terrifying speck of questionable humanity.

You deserve every bit of the verbal viciousness people currently enjoy heaving your way. You deserve for random viewers and your Bravo co-workers and the maître d’ at the Encino Chili’s to openly question your sobriety – because you forgot where you left it that time when you were high in public and while being paid to appear on a reality show about your life. You deserve all of the sh*t you are getting, and I kind of hope that someone even tosses gum into your hair while you’re crossing the street and that the gum’s flavor is Blue and that it stays gobbed against your scalp until the very last second of time. Because Kim? You are quite possibly the very worst person I have never met – and just so we’re clear, I’ve never met Robert Durst either, but I’d sooner dine with him on cheese that is passed its expiration date and braid the strands of hair still left on his scalp and listen enraptured as he explains how he didn’t commit any of those three murders before I would deign to sit in a room with just you for five straight minutes. And perhaps if I were more religious, I’d even go ahead and pray for your children every hour on the hour because the level of f*ckedupness you have possibly poured into your own spawn makes me fear for the future of this entire stratosphere.

You are a nasty, damaging assh*le, the human equivalent of a runny hemorrhoid before it dries crusty, and the very first woman I have ever wanted to call a douchebag – and it makes me nauseous that you think you are doing well, that you think you are coming off as so very composed at this never-ending Reunion when the reality is that you should have been thrown tongue-first off of Witch Mountain back in the days when Ford was still President.

Kim, you seem legitimately incapable of telling the truth and you tell the sh*ttiest and most poorly constructed lies of all time and your best friend is a Botoxed-stuffed monster and the most significant thing the two of you have in common is the fact that you’re both such good mothers. Wait – that’s wrong; it’s that you are both severely allergic to accepting the blame for your own repulsive actions and if you withered away like a slug coated in salt on some broken asphalt in the crushing humidity of a late August evening, I might finally start to believe in the Law of Attraction.

Suck it,
Nell