We are back at the scene of the bomb threat and Phaedra makes her way into her office taking elf sized steps because her spanx are too tight. There are about four painfully evident staged extras posing as paparazzi outside the elevator. Phaedra hand picks one of the paparazzi to enter the office and be honored with the true scoop, which turns out to be a whole lotta nuthin’! The man enters, wearing a hat that reads, “I Pledge to Hustle”. We learn that the man who threatened the office with a bomb is a ‘90’s rapper named “Drama” and he is a former client and good friend of Phaedra’s for over 20 years. He did some prison time and apparently looks crazier than a bed bug, he entered the wrong law office and announced he was “dropping of some bomb new music” and apparently, the conservative white people got it twisted. What kind of f*ckery is this? Racial profiling at the receptionist’s desk, that’s what! Or so Counselor Parks believes, so she decides to hold a summit to discuss preventative security and how they can teach the office staff to brush up on their Urban Dictionary vocab so they may decipher the difference between “bomb lyrics” and an actual “bomb”.
Over at Moore Manor, Cynthia drops by to admire the disposable furniture and the untouched Gucci cake from Matt’s birthday. Cynthia confused – why baby Matt no eat his cake? Kenya explains how Matt hulked out over her throwback Thursday photo with Jay-Z. Cynthia gives her some incoherent speech about how Papa Smurf went on Wendy Williams to air their dirty divorce laundry, Kenya needs a strong man who has the upper body strength to carry her crown, and well overall it’s not all rainbows and panda bears and Kenya needs to think about how she can do better to improve the relationship. What in the fresh hell is this untoward advice? Better advice would have been “drink a pint of Tequila Rose and find some stooge on Tinder”. Kenya starts tearing up because she is at a fork in the road, I say pick up the fork and eat the cake before that fondant goes stale!
Later, Cynthia visits her divorce attorney and finds out they can proceed rather quickly and she will receive a divorce certificate – oh Cynthia and her love of formalized paperwork! They each check the box saying they can go be happy and marry other people, they each receive a laminated copy bound in a genuine Corinthian leather folio, and hopefully move on with their lives.
The OLG Restaurant is still a slapdash shit show and Todd is bee-bopping around the restaurant shell talking to himself, when he really should be hitting leg day at the gym to pump up those Tweety Bird legs! OHMYLANTA…he is wearing a backpack, LOOK ALIVE KANDI! This is how it all started with Apollo and his backpack o’ scumf*ckery. Kandi and her “I dream of Jeannie” hair piece can only fixate on the liquor license, which is about to expire in 45 days if the restaurant isn’t finished!
Speaking of 45-day time frames, Porsha needs to be out of her current rental home in 45 days, which she thinks “is like three weeks, right?” Thank God for her sister Lauren, she is there to guide her out of the underground railroad of stupidity and into the kitchen to start packing her shit. Porsha sits Lauren and her mother’s camel toe down in the living room for a serious chat – the real motivation behind moving into a larger home is her plan to receive her ex-Todd’s seed and start the family she always wanted. Porsha reminisces that Todd’s last name is also Stewart and he had sent her a text years ago, on her wedding day, pointing out that she was “marrying the wrong Stewart”. Oh Todd, you should’ve gone all “Benjamin Braddock” on her and stopped the wedding! Oh wait, these millennials full o’ fluff are too young to remember “The Graduate”.
In other news, is it just me or does Mama Joyce need some serious meds? She saunters over to Randy Kessler’s office wearing a pathetic excuse for a disguise and poses as if she is seeking legal advice “for a friend”. Yeah Mama – you’re about as subtle as Kenya’s knockers in her Forever 21 clearance rack outfits. Mama grills Kessler about her “hypothetically incarcerated man, divorce, how long, etc.” questions and he gives her a standard legal answer about as clear as Georgia mud, yes if incarcerated, no if less than a year, yes if more than five years, but not for a qualifying misdemeanor, third felony maybe, but hypothetically speaking if he earns more than $500 a week for twerking, overall likelihood is no, yes, well probably they could divorce rather swiftly, but not if his prison uniform is orange. If he is assigned a blue DOC jumpsuit, then he can appeal the divorce and get divorced in seven years without any paperwork, but he will never see his backpack of tomfoolery again.
Mama clearly has nothing to do with her life. Jeez lady, take a pottery class, learn how to knit, watch Judge Judy…anything but this. Mama tells the camera, “I wouldn’t piss in yo’ mouth if yo’ guts was on fire!” Dayum Mama, that is just unbecoming. Furthermore, I have now become entirely mortified that I am actually using brain cells to figure out her disguise choice, much less her warped psyche.
Kandi decides she needs to start testing the OLG recipes with the new chef, which consists of fried chicken and mac-n-cheese. If these are the heavy hitting recipes – including banana mush in an over-sized wine glass served with canned whipped cream, then I truly fear for the success of this restaurant venture. Kandi decides to hold the tasting at a culinary school since the restaurant isn’t finished and, well who wants a li’l asbestos sprinkled on their mac-n-cheese? Not I said the OLG. The OLG’s arrive wearing their support hose, ready to taste food and be despondent for the camera. Kandi has invited her cast mates and Mama Joyce starts salivating at the thought of giving Phaedra a taste, Mama Joyce hood rat style. Kandi senses Mama’s hunger and warns her to lay off of Phaedra and to not use the word “bomb”, “fuse”, “lit” or otherwise!
Kenya comes boppin’ in and her knockers are having an explosion of their own, over the top of her undersized outfit, they are just too much. Anyhoo, She by Shereé (SBS) sits next to Mama Joyce and pounces on her own opportunity to stir up the shit pot and informs Mama that Kenya threw shade on her wiglette hairstyle, Mama shoots a harmless stink eye, but let’s Kenya off the hook. Mama is too focused on Phaedra’s arrival, as soon as she walks in, she takes Phaedra’s hands and acts as if she is trying to comfort her. There are not enough prayer cloths in all of the ATL to save Phaedra now…oh wait, sensing the dis-comfort, Kandi pulls Mama away and Phaedra gets the zinger of the night, “thank God she kept her shoes on!”
Phaedra takes several seats and explains what happened with the alleged bomb threat. Mama Joyce said that she heard that the guy was tired of being messed around and wanted to blow Phaedra the f*ck up. Phaedra sloughs it off, drops a “Homeland Security” on her, and BAM…Mama Joyce is now on a watch list somewhere in D.C. Phaedra explained that her office is conservative and this was all a result of racial profiling, but her former BFF, Kandi, calls bullshit and thinks Phaedra is Phakin’.
So with that shit put to rest, SBS asks Kandi what’s going on with Block and asks Porsha if Block talked about Riley while they were dating. Oh SBS, you wily Mama Joyce wiglette wearin’ minx. Porsha is getting her money’s worth out of the anger management sessions, she counts to 10 and keeps her cool. She and Kandi squash it like a road lizard and move on. Besides, Porsha dated Block, like…ages ago…it’s been at least 45 days!
For the final drama of the night, Kenya is dealing with a bomb of her own, apparently Matt vandalized Moore Manor in the middle of the night by kicking in a window on her garage like a swift, effective, killing machine. Yeah, bummer…that IKEA grade glass is thin. Kenya doesn’t know what to do, so she rings her resident relationship expert Cynthia Bailey. Cynthia tells her to kick him to the curb, but Kenya wants this relationship to work so badly she cannot accept the direction given. Her mind is ablaze with indecision, so she comes up with a better idea to consult a producer who job it is to facilitate pointless drama. Kenya defends Matt, she really loves him and her success is f*ckin’ him up. While this all occurs, we watch her two teacup terriers wrestle and play on the floor, which is the cutest thing I’ve seen this whole hour, but also symbolic of Kenya’s struggle.
Kenya calls Matt and summons him to Moore Manor for an in-person chat about their hot mess of a relationship. He shows up looking like he smells of hot dog water and rage. The fuse on his tampon is lit up the moment he sees the camera crew lurking. It seems Matt doesn’t want their relationship on camera, so I would reckon he stay off the show and they keep their shit private. Nothing some creative pixelation and a few modesty boxes won’t fix…BAM, crisis averted. However, they start fighting and he calls her disrespectful, claiming she talks to him like “a farm animal on the daily” – she is “manipulative and fundamentally deceptive”. I’m pretty sure he has those words tattooed somewhere on his body. They exchange a few more heated words and he squeals out of the uncured driveway. YOU IN DANGER, GIRRRL!
Next week – Family feuds and Kandi and Phaedra have it out.