Apparently I am now watching Housewives of Beverly Hills. How does this happen? One day you hate the show, and the next you’re watching it. I’m watching it because I hate it, which is so weird.
This Taylor chick. What the hell? How dramatic can you be? What a big whiny-butt. This other English chick says, “I’m not your best friend, but YOU CAN COME LIVE WITH ME.” Yet somehow Taylor forgets the little word “best” and is whining and crying about the English chick saying, “I’m not your friend.” How did she miss the whole YOU CAN LIVE WITH ME thing? Who cares if she’s your friend? She said YOU CAN LIVE WITH ME. Have you seen the English chick’s house? She could say, “I hate your freaking guts, Alisa Carter, and you’re a complete bitch, but YOU CAN LIVE WITH ME,” and I’d say, “Why, thank you, English chick. I love you so much. Can I paint your toenails?”
I think Taylor should go live with the English chick. In the dog house.
Wait a second — have you seen the English chick’s dog house? Damn. Those rich women get all the breaks.