January 23rd has just replaced New Years Eve as the feast day of all buzzkills.
Everyone knows what it's like to wake up on New Year’s Eve morning, spend the day primping and priming for what’s sure to be the best night of your life. You scenario yourself right before midnight happily buzzed and enchantingly flirting with that guy you didn’t have the balls to talk to sober. Welp, reality strikes and instead of getting your DFMO on with hottiepants as the clock strikes 12, you’re holding back your girlfriend’s pukey hair in the bathroom making a mental list of every hors d'oeuvres she b-lined for that night. Buzz. Kill. That’s how I felt on Sunday.
To answer the question that's probably circling your silly little brain, no... I'm not at all referring to the Jets loss to that far-better-and-stronger team. (Shocking realization insert here: No one cares about the Jets and green is an ugly color). I’m actually referring to the season premiere of Kourtney and Kim take New York on E! And no… I’m not being dramatic; it actually was that bad.
Similar to the vigor one would express on New Year’s Eve, I jumped in the car and floored it back to FSQ to make it there one hour before the premiere. This would give me the time to shower, adequately moisturize, throw on some PJs and stake a claim on the best part of the couch. “Mom! You’re gonna LOVE this show!” I told her. Ten minutes in to the show I cowered into a ball with my tail between my legs---I was wrong. The amount the show blew was no doubt comparable to amount of lines Scott Disick blows on a daily basis.
Why did it blow, you ask? The answer is simple: Kardashians – Khloe – Mason + Kim*1000 = a recipe for disaster. No wonder Kim hasn’t had her own spinoff until now; she has the personality of a damp bathing suit—uncomfortable, cold, and the cause of so many UTIs.
You know that Khloe is sitting in her giant house with her big chocolate man candy smiling her ass off that America finally sees she’s the real star of the show. And poor, Kourtney—my favorite! It’s clear that she wants to live with Kim in a NYC apartment just as much as she would like to have each one of her pubes tweezed (wait… I take it back… she’d love that).
What’s really missing here is the little Mason cake. That baby is so freaking cute he could have made Meet The Fockers enjoyable. Instead, we’ve been graced with Kanye West, who when introduced to a sales associate so gracefully replied “I think she knows who I am.” DOUCHEMONKEY!
If this show doesn’t get better fast, I’m approaching E! with the concept of “Mason takes Manhattan.” I’ll be his nanny and we’ll go to adorbs adventures like baby-likes-disco and feeding ducks in central park. A guaranteed hit for sure!
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