This week on a show that makes my own therapist worried about me, Ghost is little more than a thin membrane of double standards, Farrah orders her dessert before her drinks, and Whitney and Sara float blankly in the corner until they talk about hitting each other because they are “passionate.” It’s the kind of gorgeous bullshit that could only be sloppily manufactured for reality television — it’s Couple’s Therapy!
Last week, Whitney and Sara had zero opinions beyond “get in, make the money, get out” and Farrah’s fake tears were enough to prompt Ghostface Killah to shower her with a few drops of Wu Juice Wisdom. What does it say that Ghost is probably the most legit celebrity on this show but when I told my seventeen year old sister about it, she had no idea who he was? It says that my sister has shit taste in music, that’s what. Our Favorite (The Only) Lesbians On This Show remain the most boring housemates of all time, but I guess on a show about dysfunctional couples, that is probably a positive testament to their relationship. Hey, I’m cool with that. Team Cried At Their Wedding, Team Sara, Team Rootin’ For It. Anyway, I couldn’t stay bored for long because Taylor was off trying to revive her half-baked fame via drunken tantrum, and Farrah decided she is not an actual person but a bloated strangely-chinned caricature of a person. Loves it!
Apparently no one told Farrah that this isn’t The Farrah Show, but I don’t think anyone told the editors either. As a result, we spend a lot of time following Farrah around the house in a magenta cycling top while she forces the others to interact with her. She and Taylor discuss suicide and plastic surgery, and it’s about as surreal and otherworldly as you’d imagine. Taylor being contractually obligated to constantly bring up her dead physically abusive ex-husband is one thing, but Farrah reacting to the entire conversation by saying that Taylor’s reconstructive surgery is totally not noticeable is…so much worse somehow.
Also, what do we know about Taylor’s new fiance except that he is gonna look up Wu Tang “on the Internet”? And he skis, right? Those are the two things we know. He is gonna look Wu Tang up on the Internet and he skis.
Right off the bat, they decide to take it to the nastiest possible place and make everyone recount their darkest relationship stories. Those ratings aren’t gonna write themselves, guys! Taylor fulfills her contractual obligation to bring up her dead abusive husband. Whitney and Sara talk about the time Sara thought Whitney was flirting with some girl but she wasn’t, so then Sara starting attacking her. Whitney says she stopped herself from fighting back, because in her head she “wanted to kick her ass.” Sara says she attacked Whitney because she is a “passionate” person, which reminded me a little bit of when I was in an abusive relationship and fully believed with my whole heart that all of it was justified because love was supposed to hurt. I guess what I’m saying is that passion is not a reason to physically attack someone and love isn’t supposed to hurt. Still, this shit was the fucking minor leagues compared to the drama that was about to go down.
Kelsey reveals she was once a stripper, and Ghost freaks. the. fuck. out. because apparently he doesn’t date strippers, it makes him “a joke”. If you ever have to write an assignment on double standards for your Feminism 101 class, this shit is Exhibit A. Ghost’s problem with Kelsey being a stripper is that other men touched her, aka all that anxious masculinity shit. What, has he never been touched by a woman in his life? Is he Elizabeth the goddamned Virgin Queen? Again, let’s review:
I was excited that we got to see actual Whitney and Sara Downtime this episode, since everyone who watches reality television knows that Downtime with a Capital D is where the Drama with a Capital D typically starts to go down. Unfortunately, Sara has clearly mastered “shutdown mode” and Whitney barely gets a chance to tell Sara she’s being distant before Sara gets Ice Queen on her ass. You know that when the camera is turned off, Sarah refers to Whitney as “Pookums” and goes in for tickle fights. I mean, hey, you and I both know that Cloth + Justice ain’t paying the bills, but you know what just might? Cashing in those reality checks.
Another moment of suspended disbelief for me was Kelsey gingerly setting her head onto a pillow, fully clothed, and saying she was going to bed. I am willing to bet incredibly large sums of money that hair such as Kelsey’s is never slept on, nor does it go anywhere without its own insurance policy. If I was going to pay to get a cockatoo’s crest recreated on my head, I would be maniacally careful, too.
My mother always said that you shouldn’t make important life decisions once the sun has gone down, which is probably why I’m such a disappointment to her. Ghost tried to take my mother’s advice and not decide on Kelsey’s alleged whoredom until the sun had risen, but the sun cometh up and it do not bringeth wisdom to the Wu Tang Clan’s fallen brother. Quite the opposite: Ghost is still pissed that Kelsey was once a stripper, even if she says it was for like…two weeks maximum, maybe a little more, maybe a little less, it’s VAGUE, but who’s keeping track?
Farrah continues to roam the house in her partner-less state, looking for couples to interrogate in order to set up situations where she can talk about herself. Can’t someone buy this girl a vibrator or something?
The best interaction in this entire episode comes when Farrah, begged by the producers to interact with Whitney and Sara so they have something to do, tells the pair about her career as a “TV personality” and bestselling author. Why am I even going to get my MFA, guys? I should just pop out a baby before I turn 18 and get a chin job so my writing career can really take off. Since her work has thus far been a hit, she’s now working on “an erotic sex novel” and, just to round things out, a “Christian parenting book.” Sara says that writing two books of such differing natures is “against the law of physics” which leads me to believe that Sara is about as familiar with physics as I am. To explain that reference: I never took Physics in high school because I straight up lied to my guidance counselor to get into AP Bio, so I know between zip and zilch in regards to gravity and why bridges don’t tumble into the ocean. But I guess you don’t need to be an engineer to hold your hair every time you model a sweatshirt.
This cuts to a scene where we have to listen to Farrah talk about her porno again, which she says was an “accident.” Girl, Kim Kardashian leaked a sex tape and she is unapologetic about it. My incredible love for the Kardashians aside, I’m just saying, there’s something to learn from another person who made their fame in reality television being super “whatever” about that time she did anal on film.
Whitney is wearing a beanie that could hold a small country in it, maybe the state of Connecticut or Rhode Island, but I guess it’s hard to keep one’s White Girl Dreads in order all the time.
By the way, when you’ve forced a group of strangers to house together under the guise of “legitimately fixing their relationships,” the best thing to do is TAKE THEM BOWLING! Alas, Farrah’s chin did not secede from the union of her face and start beating everyone with a bowling pin. That chin’ll drink your milkshake, Taylor. It drinks it right up.
Everyone gets super wasted, until Farrah decides she is going to order food by herself, for herself. Apparently this is the greatest wrong that could ever be wronged, as in move over horrific despots of history because Farrah didn’t wait for everyone to order food, she just ordered her fucking dessert and now all the goodness in the world will topple over like a fucking baby kitten.
By the time they get back to the house, someone has clearly slipped Taylor a Benjamin or two for an extra tantrum. That’s right, folks. We’ve pulled the Taylor Train into Grand Central Meltdown Station and it’s Hot Mess O’ Clock! Taylor takes this bribe to heart, putting on a performance worthy of Jennifer Lawrence’s Oscar, having a shitfit about how inferior everything in the shoddily constructed Reality TV Mansion is these days. Taylor and Whitebread Simpson threaten to leave this palace of horrors, which is hilarious. For those of you who are like, wow, what a terrible diva, I’m here popping my popcorn and giggling like a schoolboy. I haven’t seen something this fake since Farrah’s fucking chin. Oops?
Next time on Couples Therapy: Farrah’s chin orders its own dessert, and that asscrack of a human being known as Jon Gosselin will show up to talk about when he cheated on his hedgehog ex-wife with the nanny. Be right back, buying my crate of wine!