I don’t know whether the DVR didn’t record one of two new episodes last night, or whether obnoxious Bridezilla Sofia and meatbag Sully were just contained to a single episode that ended short last week.
But whatever. From what I’ve seen of how the St. Joe’s grad Zilla treats haters on Twitter and on camera, it’s best that I not lose another 44 minutes of my life watching her camera-eager exploits. It’s akin to getting bored with the fake when some respectable real gets up on the pole.
Besides, we got two noobs, including Bridezilla Ariane, who is a) marrying a 14-year-older gentleman named Jorge and b) a total asshole.
She says “if things don’t go my way,” people better “watch out” because they might get “punched in the face.”
From La Crescenta, Cal., they head off to a sex shop the week before the wedding.
“I love sex shops,” she says. “People get married because they want to have sex and make babies.”
That is Hawkingian in its depth and insight.
They bring Jorge’s cousin-in-law. A roomy gal. Ariane DGAF if Jorge’s uncomfortable. Because Ariane DGAF about anything but herself apparently.
But anyway, Jorge doesn’t think he doesn’t need a cockring.
As to the assplug with a horsetail, he’s “open to it.”
Anyway, she’s so hungry at the sex shop that she eats edible undies as a snack.
Off to the bachelorette party now. She’s drunk before they head out. I suspect it’ll intensify her disconnect between how attractive she thinks she is and how attractive she really is.
She’s talking about her vagina, and how it will be visible because of her attire. She’s going to a pool hall.
“Do you want to party and have a good time? Then you want to do it with me,” she says after readjusting her skirt to cover her vagina. “I’m not shy about my sexuality. If it feels right, I’ll just, like, do it.”
Moments later, she tells people that Jorge turns pictures of Lady Gaga around when he’s about to tap Ariane’s azz. Moments later than that, she’s taking a tour of the pool hall in pursuit of condoms. Moments later than that, she toasts vagina and talks about “propaganda schemes.”
Then, she twerks like a rhythmless cracker. Look:
Her brother C.J. then realizes, after getting hauled along to the florists with Sister Headache, that the bridesmaids bailed on account of just not wanting to be around her.
“Country Bumpkin Bridezilla” Ashley, a hillperson from Tennessee, is marrying Cooter. It’s like the Blue Collar Comedy Tour decided to do a mashup with Cars’ Tow Mater and marry off a couple real folk. The type of real folk that git painted into loose-fitting clothing.
She’s gonna wear cowboy boots at the wedding. Cowboy boots that she used to wear working gas-station shifts. When this proposal faces pushback, she asks her dad for some Jack Daniels. Then, she complains about gittin’ bit by dang bugs, so her mama applies anti-itch cream.
Except it was cream for “anal-itch relief.” This is discussed in front of two young kin who look one degree removed from the X-Files “Home” episode.
“Well guess what, pal,” Ashley says to Cooter, pointing at her ass-itch-cream covered face. “You kiss this anus!”
You know what, these two are likeable as all hell. Day before the wedding, they’re at the state store. She’s aching for vodka. Cooter wants some “shine.” He goes ahead and grabs a jar of some 190-proof shine.
Here’s a picture of Cooter tellin his womanfolk she’s gotta stop with the attitude.
He ends up leaving the store after a yellin’ fight at the liquor-store counter.
After the commercial break, talk turns to how Peanut will be at the wedding. Peanut is Ashley’s pet squirrel.
She pauses and pleads the fifth when asked if she loves Peanut or Cooter (who they call Chris for some reason) more. Realsies. Side note: Squirrels are the worst creatures on earth. This includes things that spread disease and flesh-eating bacterias and whatnot. Fuck Peanut. Fuck Peanut all the way to hell.
Anyway, at the altar, she chooses Cooter over Peanut, who pooped all over her wedding gown. (That didn’t stop her from walking up the aisle with a squirrel in clenched in her hand.
As much as I dug Cooter’s style, it’d have been flat-out awesome if she went the other way and decided to marry a squirrel on cable television. Let’s all hold out hope that there’s a spinoff show about her making Cooter live in the garage and giving Peanut the run of her house, body and soul.