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When I think about who I want life advice from, The Real Housewives are not the first D-list celebrities to come to mind. I think of a stint on The Real Housewives as something that ends at best in prison for tax evasion and at worst in an off-Broadway cabaret show. However, some of the show's ten million-plus fans apparently wanted to know "their top-secret tips on shopping, styling, travel, fitness, and real estate," so in 2010, The Real Housewives got a book deal. The cover featured fruits representing each of the states that had a Real Housewives franchise at the time, except for New Jersey, which was represented by the state of New Jersey because, I guess, they don't make fruit there, and half of a soggy corn dog didn't fit the vibe?

Unfortunately, there's only so much juice you can squeeze out of The Real Housewives. These women have already told us everything. I don't think I've ever intentionally watched a full season of The Real Housewives, but I still knew who Slade Smiley was and that he sucks, even before I read the passage in this book where he swears he didn't hold his ex-girlfriend hostage.

 

The thing about this book is The Real Housewives have already told us everything. They were not going to hold anything back on that show. These are women who would let you film their full birth canal for attention. What more could this book possibly have to give us? Did you say "charts comparing the housewife's titty size?" No? Then you lose because, as usual, titty charts was the correct answer.

It goes on for two more full pages.

The Real Housewives, The Fake Boobies is the centerpiece of this masterwork. This book is mostly sassy graphs, and this one is the sassiest. By carefully measuring each titty's size, mushiness, exchange rate for foreign markets, and seed content, each Housewife gets assigned a boob fruit and a fun boob fact like they're Pokemon cards for boobies.

According to the presented stats, you win boobs by making other women feel bad about their bodies. Yes, that checks out. Thank you, Bravo.

Let's take a closer look at Kimberly's titty chart.

I would call this chart weirdly thirsty, but really it's more of a product of the way that the producers of The Real Housewives have tried to give every division of the show their own personality, and Orange County's personality is boobs and other general plastic surgery. They also gave a full-page spread detailing every inch of Lynne Curtain's multiple facial surgeries. Legally BRAVO owns all of her secrets.

They mention plastic surgery in Orange County repeatedly in this book and stress how that is their thing. They're the boobs ones, New York is the rich ones, and New Jersey are the ones the producers hate. Gretchen's quote about Alexis's “alluring hooters” also got its own full-page spread.

You know, in case the half-page graph of boob fruit wasn't enough to underscore the fantastic analysis of how The Real Housewives Of Orange County have breasts. Then to make a graceful, and classy transition to New York they hammer home the boob point one more time with this intro to a chart of which New York housewife owns the most expensive apartment.

In case you aren't familiar with The Real Housewives Of New York, it's the Real Housewives franchise that is most specifically designed to make you angry. These women know what they are doing, and to some, it's an art form. When they grin into the camera and say, "I have a lot of money and I use most of it to kick innocent sick dogs for fun." They know they're performing Cruella de Vil for your entertainment. It's a whole cast full of Cruella de Vil's going to lunch and fighting over who gets to skin the most puppies.

Perhaps the sassiest graphic of the book is from the New York section. It asks readers to check a box to decide if Countess LuAnn de Lessepe's behavior "befits a countess" in certain situations, including when Jill's dog farted on her bed. Is it countess or not-countess to tell a dog it farted in French? There's no right answer, but this book lets you give one!

They probably squeezed a whole episode out of that dog fart and got even more content out of it for this book. That is the real talent of BRAVO and all the Real Housewives. A single dog fart can fuel an entire franchise. Of course, that's not to say there isn't drama on The Real Housewives. Of course there's drama! We all remember what happened at the big hat brunch right?

It was too brutal; I won't get into it. The world of big hats will never be the same. Anyway, the producers decided that The Real Housewives of Atlanta's thing is that they throw the best parties. There was the men's spa party, the wig party, and the benefit party for the victims of the Big Hat Brunch. This proves difficult to translate into graph form, which the makers of the book are clearly frustrated by. The best graphic work in this chapter goes to a breakdown of the season's best fights, where someone found the most unflattering picture of Dwight possible. His utter outrage at the shoddiness of Lisa's runway show really accentuates the graphic.

The book's final section is on New Jersey, and as I've mentioned before, the producers seem to be angry at New Jersey. The section begins with this shady quote about how the casting process wasn't "aided by society pages and websites" because no one is covering New Jersey. They literally walked into an expensive New Jersey hair salon, talked to one lady, and cast her entire family.

A list of New Jersey's most notable past residents includes Kelly Ripa, and maybe Michael Jackson for three months? Good for New Jersey! They so clearly struggled to find a personality for New Jersey, and what they ended up landing on is that it sucks. It's the sucky one. They don't have enough boobs, money, or dog farts to please Bravo, but for some reason, people love watching them.

They included a quiz you can take to learn if you can survive working for Dina Manzo that directly implies she is a "psychotic crazy bitch." They also called working for her "a gig not for the faint of heart," which is wild because she plans parties and runs a charity for pediatric cancer. It's hard to imagine anyone going full "psychotic crazy bitch” in those situations. Is she screaming at a birthday party clown for not twisting up the balloon animals correctly? Is she suing the cancer children for not looking cool enough in the wigs her charity provided? Did she punch a bride's wedding cake? No, Bravo would love that.

Every once in a while, BRAVO's kingpin, Andy Cohen, will chime in with his opinion on a specific housewife, and for Dina Manzo, he chose to directly insult her cat. I guess it's one of those hairless sphynx cats which are pretty weird looking but I feel like he had to neg her at the end. This woman already lives somewhere Michael Jackson couldn't even stand for three (rumored) months. Give her a break, Andy!

In the end, there is almost no life advice in this book, which is great because that’s the exact amount of advice The Real Housewives should be giving out. Someone at BRAVO did a public service by selling us the concept of extra wisdom from The Real Housewives and delivering only titty charts instead.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Jim Salter, who is rated Gooseneck Squash on the Gourd Chart of The Real Househusbands of Jacksonville.

You can read this article and every other one on the much better in every way 1900HOTDOG.COM.

Comments

sissyneck

yes thats nice for her but not gonna work once we get over 50 ccs they make me get a special license

The Parallel Viewmaster

Dogs fart. Judging by mine, It's their primary means of communication, and they communicate a lot. The bigger question is why are you allowing a visitor's dog on your bed if you don't like smells? Or at all? It's almost like they're trying to drum up artificial drama, but if I believed that I'd lose all respect for the show. If I understand my odours, the dog agrees with me, and she's busy providing an essay to back up my point.

Matthew Harris

Well I've got an uncle who used to work for the Lewis County sheriff and I think if you got pulled over down in Chehalis, you could just say you don't follow the big government tyranny of how big a man's scooter can be and they would understand, at least as long as they can see you aren't the wrong kind of riffraff.