Good grief, back at SUR. Lisa is right. Joyce has proven herself a formidable opponent against Brandi. “You don’t need rehab, you’re just tacky,” she told the increasingly limp Brandi at one point. Shop by Bravo, put it on a t-shirt! Joyce’s husband Michael acquitted himself well too in my mind. He struck me as calm, sober, and protective without being weirdly macho or camera hungry. Brandi and I disagree on this. “Let me get my husband to come in and talk to you,” she snapped at him. “Oh I don’t have one, so shut the f— up.”
Brandi quickly seemed to understand she’d lost control of the argument and it was hard seeing the air rush out of her so quickly. I don’t think she’s purposefully manipulative when she so abruptly switches from amused serpent to battered lamb as just completely lacking in self-awareness. “I miss my puppy,” she blurted out. “I’m depressed. You just don’t get it.” In the background a smirking Jax was loving all of this. Meanwhile poor Ken just wants everyone to get along and a little dessert but their “waitress” Stassi just shrugged. “That’s why we shouldn’t have dinner at our own restaurant,” Lisa reminded him. Brandi shrunk off in tears to her limo, Yolanda urging her to go home to her boys. And then her loyal Dutch friend urged Michael and Joyce to trust in Brandi’s innate good heart.
“I’m worried about other people who don’t know her story to judge her,” said Yolanda. And yet who at this point—between the tabloids, Twitter, the book tour, podcast, to say nothing of the reality show—doesn’t know the Brandi story? In the end, Joyce said that if Brandi ever came to her with an honest apology she could move on. It’s like, if God can forgive humanity for what it did to his son, who is Joyce not to forgive such a stupid little bitch? Stupid little bitches deserve God’s love too. Shop by Bravo!
Kingsley came home from rehab, wearing a Hannibal Lecter muzzle. (Something tells me wittle Kingsley might have snapped at the sound guy or PA on his last shooting day.) Back to his European king fluffy mattress down quilt and Kimmy chew toy. What followed was a rather grim scene of Kim trying to use her new training commands. Check! Check! Kingsley! Check check check! Am I doing this right? Check! Poor Kingsley looked stupefied by what was expected of him, his little tongue lolling through the opening of his muzzle. Go to your happy place Kingsley, that field where dogs can be dogs. Also, forgive me Kingsley, I don’t really want to see any more scenes of you.
NEXT: Let’s be honest, not much.