Welcome to 2010! Now Here’s a Lesson in How to Catfight Like a Lady

Happy new year/decade, y’all!  Seeing as it’s now January 5th, we should obviously file this under my inimitable sense of blog timeliness, but can you blame me?  You’d be taking your sweet time getting back into the swing of things if you were missing the following deliciousness like the desert misses the rain:

Brokeback Mountain jokes are still relevant in 2010, right?  Whatever.  Between the chicken biscuits and that damn Polynesian sauce that they inexplicably insist on calling Polynesian sauce because I guess that’s less culturally insensitive than “Sweet and Sour sauce” (?), I’m already trying to figure out how I get myself to Paramus, New Jersey just so I can get myself another Chick-fil-A fix.  Don’t judge me.

ANYWAYS, now that we’re back in action, I think it’s appropriate that we discuss the human train wreck that is season four of Bad Girls Club because I just got caught up this weekend.  And because this catfight is the classiest thing I’ve seen in ages:

If you’re confused as to what just happened, fret not.  That feeling is a natural response to having your mind completely blown.  You must keep in mind–after all–that this is a show where one of the girls repeatedly boasts that she runs L.A., which doesn’t make much sense because why would you be on Bad Girls Club if you’re in charge of Los Angeles?  Also, the girl that runs L.A. is a Chris Brown apologist.  And also, she whooped a bitch in a limo for saying she was from L.A.  In other words, Natalie Nunn runs L.A. AND great television.

Besides, trying to contextualize this plot in some sort of broader narrative isn’t nearly as important as trying to figure out how THREE WHOLE SEASONS have gone by before I finally caught wise to this shit show.  I mean, I knew about this crazy:

But at no point did I ever realize that Bad Girls Club was so batshit that just watching one of the catfights could give you a concussion or tear out a chunk of your weave.  Best I can tell, Bad Girls Club is essentially Jersey Shore but with more back-stabbing bitchiness and booze-fueled anger-management issues, so basically an even more perfect Jersey Shore.  

And if you’ve so far remained unconvinced about how you should be making a New Year’s resolution to watch more Bad Girls Club, look at what’s in store for tonight’s episode:

Oh man.  “Wake up and smell the pussy in your face, you stupid bitch”?  I just love it when people quote William Shakespeare’s Showgirls.

One Response

  1. that’s why i don’t tell hater ass bitches about my life, either.


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