OK so I need to fess up about something. I was not babysitting for a friend yesterday. I was, in fact, out gathering virgins. You see, the new spell I've been working on was so multi faceted that it called for "7 nubile sacrificial virgins" in addition to the spotted owl feather I was gonna have to steal and the wooly mammoth tusk I was forced to dig for. My day began like a predator's might. I rented a windowless van, donned some Magnum P.I. glasses, and drove back and forth on the mean streets of Virginia. Spotting a virgin takes skill, practice, and a speculum. Back in the olden timey days of the Etruscans or the Ptolemites all you had to do was find an unmarried gal and you knew you had a virgin on your hands. Nowadays, in the black hole world of MTV and teen sexting, it takes a lot more than checking a ring finger to spot an untouched female. To facilitate my search for virgin blood, I put together a list of several questions I'd ask my prisoners. #1 Do you know who Alexander Skarsgard is and have you seen him naked? #2 Was Mickey Rourke a currency trader in the film 9 1/2 Weeks? #3 Do you or have you ever attended Catholic school? and #4 Are you or do you have any desire to be a neuroscientist? I figure if they answer yes to any of these questions, they're probably a ho bag slut face and not suitable for my spell. Fortunately, for BB fans everywhere I was able to find 7 virgins raring to go. Turns out all I needed to do was visit a cat store. That place is crawling with untouched spinsters!
With my gals all tied up to a long yellow rope I yanked and tugged and began the long hike up the highest mountain in Appalachia. Random moonshiners and grandmas rocking on their creaky porches looked at me quizically, but then decided to pay me no nevermind. It's always been the motto in the mountains of Virginey to mind one's own business and I've never been more thankful for that than I was yesterday. Once on my mountaintop perch I tied my virgins to a tree and went about gathering some wood for my cauldron. It was gonna take a whole mess of branches to get that pot boiling properly. I worked hard and fast always keeping one eye on my virgins. If one escaped, the plan would be shot to shit and I just couldn't risk that. Come hell or high water I was gonna get Britney to win that HOH dammit and nothing was going to stand in my way.
Using my Zippo with the Harley Davidson logo on it (a gift from Shambo), I lit my cauldron of doom and began my lengthy ritual. First, I disrobed and placed a crown of mountain wildflowers atop my head. The purple in the snapdragons totally brings out the green in my eyes. Just because you're in the woods, it's no reason to neglect proper color coordination. You never know what sort of bearded mountain man could be spying on you. Ok so I brought my pot to boil, chucked in the owl feather and the tusk I stole from the Smithsonian, and began to chant in Ancient Enochian. Translated it goes something like this: No more-a pizza pie, Enzo must-a go bye bye, a yo-yo here and a yo-yo there, Enzo can't seem to grow no hair. I think Whitman drew inspiration from those ancient words, but I'm not sure. With the tusk bobbing dangerously up and down I knew the giant scorching vat was ready. I went over to my squirming virgins and forcibly chucked them into the pot one by one. There were lots of angry "Quit your bitching!" and "I don't care if you are a nun!" quips flying out of my mouth, but eventually I got them all in and I was able to begin my sacred dance. I kicked one foot out, pointed my toe, snapped my elbows this way and that, and jutted my hips forward and backward. Yes, it's very similar to the dance Elaine Benes did at the office party. It may look spastic to some, but it's really like super powerful and whatnot.
After my herky jerky tarantella I collapsed, spent, into a thorny evergreen bush. I didn't really mind or even notice the tiny prickers piercing my skin. When you've reached a spiritual ecstasy like I had, pain has no meaning anymore. After several hours of quiet meditation (AKA a power nap), I slipped my clothes on over my blood spattered skin, emptied out the giant pot, and headed out to the nearest road to hitch for a ride back down the mountain. A donut seller named Mavis picked me up. She had a mean orange cat and a case of Lucky Strikes on her dash. I liked Mavis immediately. Her husky voice was soothing and her mullet made me giggle. I have a feeling Mavis and I will be friends for life. So yeah, that's where I was yesterday. Let's recap, shall we?
So, it was the big night of the DPOV and, for all intents and purposes, it was pretty anticlimactic. First, the dang thing crumbled into pieces and all the diamonds fell off of it. Next, Matt screwed up his carefully planned speech and C) We lost the sleepy Dragon Lady. Yes, it would have been frustraing had she sailed to the end, but deep down I, along with a shitload of other people, hoped that maybe, just maybe, Matt would put up Enzo. I guess Matt didn't have enough info to go on to warrant an Enzo eviction. Getting rid of Kathy is also an easy way not to ruffle too many feathers. Au revoir Kathy Faye, keep an eye out for a basket of Spam and Nicorette gum from yours truly. You were pretty boring in the house, but I drew great inspiration from your accent and I think The Tales Of Kathy Faye should become a Lifetime movie or something. Holly Hunter could play Kathy and Donald Sutherland could play her moonshining grandpappy. It'll be just as successful as those other great Lifetime movies: The Truth About Jane, Homeless to Harvard, and, my absolute favorite, Augusta Gone. Lifetime movies on a lazy rainy Sunday with a bottle of wine = heaven.
Kathy is gone, Matt is safe, and the house is absolutely floored. Ragan is flustered and caught in between wanting to jump for joy and weep in gratitude. He stares wide-eyed at his friend Matt and marvels at his tininess. Britney is our new HOH (hell yeah!) and Hayden is now confused, Enzo can't stop pacing, and Brendon is all sad and pouty. This dynamic will pretty much continue for the rest of the night. After the live show ended everyone was happy for Britney, but they couldn't really express exactly how happy they were until Bitch Boy was finally called to the DR. As soon as he leaves the kitchen area confetti dropped from the sky, a congo line started, and Ragan put on knee high gold glitter boots and a hot pink boa. It was celebration time! The HG's twirled and sang about how Bitch Boy is finally going home this week. At home I giggled in the merriment, but I also knew that the POV was probably going to be a tight jean wearing crotch sweating contest. The HG's can celebrate all they want, but I'm not planning my next party until I know for sure that the whiny Bitch Boy is going home. There's also a strict "No feeding the Leprechaun" rule that will be put into place at my next shindig. Whoever gave Mr. O'Shaugnessy those magic mushrooms last time is in deep shit. Do you have any idea how long it takes to convince a paranoid leprechaun he's not a glass of orange juice teetering on the edge of insanity? It takes like... a loooong time. Assholes.
While most of the house is shocked yet pleased that Matt has stayed, there is one frustrated Eye-talian who feels otherwise. This shit is mad crazy yo. That HOH was almost fucking his yo. If he ends up on the block this week, he's gonna unleash some mad Jersey anger yo. Oh Enzo, shut the fuck up. Seriously, you're useless in this game. You take the easy way out whenever possible, you turned on your alliance, and you will never, do you hear me, never win anything. There's been a lot of talk about "floaters" this season and I'm pretty sure not one person really knows the accurate definition. I think a floater is someone who bounces back and forth amongst both sides of the house and spends their week wherever the power is. Independent players like Kristen and Ragan (early on in the game) were never floaters. The king of all flotational devices is the one and only lip smacking open mouth chewing Enzo. He's either tight with the Brigade when it serves his purposes or he's planning a Final 3 deal with Brendon when he has nowhere else to turn. This chump is Floater Extraordinaire or, in Ancient Greek, Floatus Maximus.
All that floating and bitching about Britney has brought Enzo to this very moment in time. If, for some reason, Bitch Boy does not go home this week, then Enzo will packing up his fedora and hitting the high road. Britney's plan is to nominate Brendon and Enzo. If Brendon comes off the block, Enzo still has the votes to go home. There is a strong possibilty for a tie this week, and, fortunately for us, Britney will be the one to break that tie. She's sworn that neither Matt nor Ragan will be on the block so all that leaves are the big bohunky men. Thank god!
Eventually, Britney gets her HOH room and it's filled with some pretty hysterical pictures of her either drunk or angry in her pageant days. The note is from her mom and everyone one Twitter immediately wondered why it wasn't from Nick. Britney has said herself that Nick has no desire to be in the spotlight. It's clear she loves him and all the speculating that he's going to leave her is completely ridiculous. Fucking BB fans making mountains out of mole hills again. Grow up already and get your heads out of your asses. Did you ever stop to think that maybe her mom insisted on writing the letter? I know if I had a daughter in the BB24 house I'd want to be the one to write the letter. I'd be overbearing and have a giant beehive hairdo. I'd wear heels to vacuum the house and my apron would be organza with a big giant bow in the back. I have a very early 1960's view of what a mother should be like. So yeah, when I'm all growed up, that's gonna be me. I'm gonna change my name to Flo and take up clipping coupons. Awesome.
Later in the night, feedsters were treated to another episode of Just The Tip. Ragan is beyond excited and giggles like a schoolgirl throughout. Britney unleashes her venoumous tongue on Brendon and at home in our beds we all laughed and laughed. Some holier than thou tweeters think Just The Tip is just rude and awful. To them I say: get the fuck out of the kitchen if you can't take the heat. No one is making you watch. I have the good sense to walk away if Brendon talks or if Enzo eats. If you don't like something, simply turn it off.
So, were you happy with how last night played out? Will Enzo really wreak havoc on the house if he's nominated? Do you think I should try 9 virgins for next week's "Win Ragan Win" spell? Comment it out bitches and have a great day! Tomorrow's blog will probably be very late. The good news is that the coming 2 weeks should be relatively normal and uninterrrupted.
Super special shout out to one Miss Kristen Bitting - one of the nicest and classiest ladies I've chit chatted with. Thanks for everything. You rock my world. Let's all be sure to vote for Kristen for America's Favorite. Her time in the house may have been all too brief, but she has excellent taste in blogs and that should definitely be rewarded. :-)
Also, does this by any chance make you horny? Yeah, me neither.