I Love New York: Pootie is Without Bling, Cheddar or Paper
Previously – Ok, so I missed the “mangeant”. Seriously, I missed crazy guys in buttfloss. How could I have been so goddamn stupid? My only excuse is that it takes effort to re-cap this shit. It’s a goddamn stamina-requiring endurance race. Anyway, it looks like Token, and maybe the gay guy in the white suit, and the gay guy with the dead dog were axed. She suggested that the dead gay dog guy try Prozac. Now, I’ve been on Prozac (I’ve been on all the dolls), and it does nothing to cure closet cases or reincarnated dead gay dog fantasies. Trust me. I mean, I didn’t really have a dead gay dog reincarnation fantasy. But for a brief period of time I swore I was the reincarnation of Ms. Ann Jillian. She’s dead, right?
When is Flav gonna get here? You know you love New York! You sure? New York applies her customary two tons of cheap cosmetics whilst smoking. Why does Whiteboy’s pillow have dollar bills all over it? Bonez’ ribs get counted. Everyone makes a big deal over the fact that he’s a scrawny little Jesus freak. Bonez also has my boyfriend’s “I’m Really Excited to Be Here.” T-shirt from Target. Kayne from Project Runway had it, too. My boyfriend is fashion goddamn forward. 12 Pack admits that Bonez’ six-pack is more defined but you can “see his colon”. From the outside? What’s going on at night in that house? I woulda figured the Jesus guy for being one of the few non-practicing queers up in here. Just goes to show ya, book and cover. Whiteboy gets a call from his Dad and finds out a good friend of his was killed. He cries into an enormous red towel. He missed the funeral due to being trapped in Tiffany’s House of Horrors and now feels he can’t say goodbye to his friend. His friend was probably a previous resident of the house whom we didn’t see but had escaped into death to avoid having to hang out with these freaks, dregs, and psychopaths.
More of I Love New York after the jump.
Written by J. Harvey
Real talks with some guy in shades about Whiteboy’s loss. Some of these guys are hard to tell apart in their scrubness. Whiteboy is sitting with the towel over his head and I guess trying to hide the fact that he’s crying or maybe he doesn’t want to look at Bonez’ colon anymore. Some of the men gather round to console Whiteboy. Bonez does a laying on of hands Jesus thingy, and Pootie’s crying. Mostly because he’s criminally insane. Now, in these recaps I throw “crazy” around a lot, but Pootie is the real deal. Toys in the attic, best friend is a stop sign, making a vest out of tits crazy. The gay white suit dude (T-Weed?) is watching the proceedings and rocking a mean Swatch.
Chamo is all done up like he’s going to be on the Apprentice. Which is kinda the theme of this one. He delivers a note, which Heat reads. I can’t believe I’m writing something where there’s a character named Heat and it’s not a G.I. Joe live action film script. Heat’s sorta cutesy, though. Anyway, New York likes money which is a shocking plot twist out of left field. And she wants to find out which of these slam pigs has the most earning potential. May the richest man win, her missive says. We cut to T-Weed who’s a big homo and rocking this pink shirt and tie combo with makes him even lispier. Stop. Please. And is Mr. Boston wearing my jams from sixth grade? Seriously, he’s got jams on.. I’d think the fashion glitter ball had spun around and alighted on jams from 1986 as the current style but it’s Mr. Boston..
New York and her lopsided boobs (is the tattoo weighing one of her titties down?) need a man who can bring home the bling, cheddar, paper or whatever hip-hop slang you wanna call money. The guys have to assemble a resume and a presentation on their net worth and present and future earnings. Mr. Boston is hating on all the guys who can’t work a laptop. Chance wonders aloud if he can put “street pharmacist” on his resume. Knowing New York, that’s probably how he should have introduced himself to her. He also says that he’s a rapper/musician and he doesn’t make resumes. Well, how do you earn a living then because I haven’t heard of you, guy.
New York takes the opportunity to comfort Whiteboy and feels that she needed to give him her “bosom”. So basically grief is just like any other day for her. She gives him an out for the next challenge considering his situation. She’s acting sorta nice but she’s still walking evil. T-Weed’s hair is seriously fried, and he might have used too much relaxer. Seriously, I know nothing about black hair care for the most part, but I’m just guessing. Peace, love and hair grease. The completely kazoo Pootie steals the graph 12 Pack made. There’s a brief tussle in which Pootie says that 12 Pack should have signed his name to his work. That’s logical. 12 Pack doesn’t press the issue because he can tell a rabid dog when he sees one. Pootie is one burned piece of toast away from stabbing himself in the chest repeatedly to prove he’s not kidding. And might I say, 12 Pack is ROCKING that badonka donk in those sweatpants. He’s still a slice of brie, though. He just needs a serious de-cheesing.
The guys all have to go to this boardroom type set-up, and face Tiffany, her crazy momma and some bitch who is revealed to be Omarosa from the Apprentice. She looks like death. What is this woman’s job? Does she have solid employment? I usually just see her on a series of red carpets. What gives? Anyway, it’s a troika of castrating, evil, money-hungry harpies. Sign me up.
Chamo starts sending guys in. Seriously, Chamo looks like he’s playing Agadore in a dinner theatre production of the Birdcage. Give it up, queen. Tango is first, and Omarosa sets the tone by grilling/insulting him mercilessly. The men are here to be humiliated. Omarosa wants to know why, if Tango is worth 300K, he has cubic zirconium. Oh like you can tell, Low-Rent. Seriously, Trump was a long long time ago and the Surreal Life is pretty much a distant memory. You might have an I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter spot and a guest column in Sister 2 Sister magazine in your future, but it’s all Wal-Mart guest appearances from there. One of the guys talks about how he plans to breed Arabian horses and we’re reminded that New York doesn’t do the equine thing. She said she’s done with the “asses”. “Asses” would be “donkeys”, you dumb bitch. Unless you were talking about all these guys. and Omarosa. In that case, amen, girl. Chance talks about his rap group, The (wait for it) Stallionaires. AH AH HA HAHAHAHA. *wipes eyes* He’s got some weird big open butterfly collar shirt on. It’s not him. Omarosa tells him his presentation is “wack” (true) and he thanks her. Rico informs the ladies that he’s going to be a model. Sister Patterson shrieks that he will never be a model so many times that Rico flees.
12 Pack reveals a portrait that he drew of him + New York = heart. Sister Patterson thinks his art is for shit and feels he looks like he has jaundice and wants to know why New York is drawn with a white face. She feels he’s crazy. All the women are hypnotized by Onix. Who has a masters degree and a nice smile. New York and Omarosa are like melty butter over this guy. I’m not feeling it but obviously I have bad taste in men seeing I keep getting fixated on 12 Pack’s ass. Mr. Boston presents his future earnings as a CPA, and Sister Patterson wants to call him son-in-law. I feel that this is almost as bad as New York wanting Chance because he’s a thug.
Heat informs the ladies that his Mom and his “Ya-Ya” will eat before New York does. This doesn’t fly. T-Weed claims to have a 100 MILLION DOLLARS. And to like girls. Both are huge lies. Sister Patterson vows to do a personal credit check on T-Weed. Good idea. It’s gonna be just like when Toastee denied there was photographs of her in magazines, thumbing her goat. We all know how that turned out.
And next up, we have the piece de resistance, wacko jacko Pootie. Pootie is a freak of the week. Cuckoo cuckoo. Round the bend. Keep an eye on him because he probably has a butcher knife and he’s probably mistaking you for his mother. And he HATES his mother. Pootie basically tells the girls in 50,000 words or more that he’s broke and has dick. Nothing. Nada. Though he was an extra in War of the Worlds. I’m shocked he wasn’t made to embrace Scientology. He talks about a danger zone. He’s beyond this realm. The ladies burst out laughing. So do I. Pootie is shaking and crying. Omarosa, who despite being pathetic and fake has a lick of sense in her, calmly thanks Pootie for his honesty. Because she doesn’t want to end up stuffed and on his damn mantel. Pootie busts out of the boardroom, crying and yelling and throwing down the graph that 12 Pack and his perky buttcheeks worked so hard on. A couple of the guys follow him.
Everyone watches Pootie run past and thinks he’s supercaligragillisticexpialiCRAZY. Pootie sits on the stairs and sobs like I did when the hooker robbed me. He’s got tears running down his face and pooling. He ends this meltdown by passing out on the steps like a lox. Drama. Mama. Crazy bitch! An ambulance is called for the maniac. He’s fine, just nutty buddy. Pootie takes his embarrassed ass back to the waiting room. Those poor paramedics must have been so f*cking annoyed. People actually welcome Pootie back and high-five him. Way to reel in the drama, bro. Good job. Pootie bitches that people chased him and didn’t let him have a moment. They shoulda let him leap out the damn window.
The men leave, and Whiteboy and Tango get into it in the van about Pootie on the way home. Whiteboy asks Tango to step outside (the van). Tango does the typical thing where he gets all wide-eyed to try and scare anyone who might beat his ass off because he knows he bit off more than he can chew. He also pretends to be held back by the other guys in the van. Boy, please.
New York tells the men that she’s impressed (really?) and that the lowest scorer will go on a date with Sister Patterson and the highest with her. The lowest is crazy-ass Pootie. Take your rape whistle, Sister The highest is T-Weed. Enjoy your gay-ass date, Tiffany. As the foursome leave on their dates, 12 Pack teaches Mr. Boston how to lap dance. I’ll leave it to your imagination. Mr. Boston has a really nasally weird voice so when he says sexual things, it makes him even more awkward and laughable. Just stop representing my area. Please.
Sister Patterson takes Pootie to a diner, where he is having a breakdown. He’s shaking and telling her that he’s in danger. Sister Patterson better call the police. Is he acting crazy to get out of the house more quickly? Sister Patterson calls the date off, and goes home to tell New York to axe him and quickly before he burns the house down.
New York’s out with T-Weed, and he’s so boring that she starts literally rolling her eyes in his face. Heh. She claims he’s using words that she can’t understand, big words like “dollar” and “value”. She feels that he’s dominating the conversation and not paying enough attention to her. She ends the date to go home and make sure Pootie hasn’t torched the house. T-Weed camera-deludes himself that they had a great date. Yeah, and you’re not gay and actually have 100 million.
Sister Patterson gives New York the lowdown on Pootie Tang. New York decides to check into it and calls on Tango. Tango fills her in on the stairway meltdown and the decision is made to axe Pootie even before tomorrow night’s cut. Is that safe? New York is smart and has Tango axe him. That way she can leap out the window when the bullets start flying. Pootie’s under a blanket, probably with a gun. But he takes it well, and leaves quietly.
The next morning, Chamo invites the boys to a BBQ. Heat has a thing for Chamo, it’s obvious. Mr. Boston’s a freak and gives New York his special lapdance, and she takes pity on him and lets him kiss her. It looks like the worst kiss ever. Worse than the time that guy bit my tongue. No, really. But she says it was good. Is she already drunk? 12 Pack is toe-up drunk and is drinking bees and stuff. As in the insect. New York gets Tango to give her a massage and says she feels like a “big girl”. Oh, that’s sexy. Ugh. Yuck. New York ends up in the hot tub where she’s mainly mauled by Chance, but you get the impression she was pass-around-Pammy when the camera turned off.
That night, New York and Sister Patterson go over photos and decide. Bonez’ photo seriously looks like the 40-Year-Old-Virgin.
The highlight of that evening’s cut is when T-Weed gets called out. Apparently he’s got credit lower than mine, 11 accounts in hawk, and is unable to secure a credit card. Everyone cracks up. 100 million! HAH! He tells them that they would believe him if they checked his ATM balance. Uh, right. Please leave. 12 Pack is drunk off his ass from the bee cocktail. And New York is wearing the finest in Foxy Lady strip club wear. Bejeweled straps coming down off her choker. Is this Chamo’s fault? He should be beaten about the head and chest. Sister Patterson learns Mr. Boston gave New York a lapdance and threatens to kill him. New York also lets Bonez go because she doesn’t want to corrupt him. He’s one of the lucky ones.
Next – Sister Patterson speaks in tongues up in God’s house, 12 Pack gets his spandex on, and they have to build a doghouse. For New York to live in. Just playin’!