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Our thumbs are basically numb from texting back and forth 24/7 about everything we love (AND HATE) that's happening on our televisions, iPads, and eye glasses (hi, we think we're funny) and we thought WHY NOT SHARE THIS JOY WITH THE WORLD?!  

RHONY FAN FICTION

RHONY FAN FICTION

We return to the Big Apple this week with an opening shot of Sonja Morgan, dressed in head to toe early 90’s Gucci sitting in her daughter’s bedroom clutching an oversized stuffed animal from FAO Schwartz. She’s not sure if this monkey is the same one her daughter clung to in her sleep each night as a girl or if perhaps it was the rabbit, or the bear…where have those gone to anyway? The basement? The attic? It does the trick though. It provides the comfort of nostalgically holding her little girl before bed in the same way she always wished she had. “Sleep well, my darling girl.” She says and strokes the stuffed animal gently on its head. She slugs back a sip of her Skinny Girl wine that she has poured into a Tipsy Girl promotional champagne flute and her eyes slowly begin to close. “Sleep dell, my warling…birl…”

Cut to outside the door her where her newest intern Breighton smiles, he thinks it’s sweet. But he’s only 21 and his entire life is stretched out before him like an endless highway so he thinks everything is “sweet.” We see Sonja’s former intern, Kelsia (with a “K”) tear down the stairs carrying a backpack and a handful of designer shoes. “Whoa, where are you going?” asks Breighton.

“I’m getting the *** out of this place. It’s like, scary as *** here.” Kelsia (with a “K”) responds. A look of fear washes across her perfect 22-year-old skin as she realizes Sonja is just beyond the door. “You should come with me, B. Grab some stuff to sell and let’s get the *** out of here. You don’t want to stay here!”

Breighton looks at her cautiously then laughs. “Have you lost your mind? This is the best job I’ve ever had. I’m getting $200 in i-tunes cards and three college credits. Plus I think she’s sweet.” (See?)

“You don’t know everything about her, she’s ***ing crazy!” Pleads Celsia, I mean Kelsia.

“Crazy? Please. She just misses her daughter. It’s like, sooooo sweeeet.” Coos Breighton.

“You ever see so much as a picture of her daughter? Have you ever answered her daughter’s calls? Have you ever seen any kid around here, anywhere?” Kelsia (“K”) stares deeply into Breighton’s eyes.

“You’re the crazy one.” Breighton responds, somewhat less sure.

“Suit yourself. I’m outta here.” And we see Kelsia (“K”) fly down the stairs grabbing a couple gold picture frames on the way.

From inside the little girl’s bedroom we hear Sonja, singing “Camptown Races” softly until she suddenly cries out,  “Breighton! Bring me a Fresca, a curling iron and one of the dogs!”

Breighton pauses, only for a moment, and then responds, “Right away Ms. Morgan!”

STREET SHOT! We see normies walking around doing normie things like carrying shopping bags and crossing the street. Music plays as we pan up to the fantastic new penthouse of Bethenny Frankel. She is wearing white leather capris and “Skinny Girl Red” stilettos with a cropped black T-shirt that reads, “Gangsta” in gold sequins. She pretends to dry a dish (because remember, Bethenny is one of us) when the doorbell rings. In walks Carole, shell-shocked. Her hair has not been brushed in days, she wears no makeup. Her fur vest lacks its usual volume. She clutches a rumpled newspaper and her purse in one hand, in the other she holds two kittens and a sideways Stabucks Americano which drips slowly onto the floor. “I can’t believe it.” She mutters.

“What?” Demands Bethenny. “Can’t believe what? That I’m cleaning or that I’m not murdering you right now for dumping that coffee all over my new white carpets!” Bethenney smiles broadly and cheats just slightly for the camera.

Carole collapses into a ball on the floor. “He won.”

Bethenny clenches her jaw, growing impatient. “Who won? What are you talking about? Use your words, Carole!” She flicks a piece of hair out of her face and gives a half grin directly into the camera.

“Donald Trump! He won the presidency!” Cries Carole. She touches her botox-filled face and pulls at her extensions and thinks to herself “I must be inside here somewhere. I must be…can’t anyone hear me? Help!”

Bethenny rolls her eyes. “Carole, that was DAYS ago! Stop being so obsessed. Don’t you know that I’m going through a DIVORCE?”

Carole uses one of the kittens to wipe away her tears. Then, robotically adjusts her outfit, stands and smiles. “I’m sorry, how selfish of me not to ask. How are you feeling?”

Bethenny screams out in sudden anguish “HOW AM I FEELING? Oh just great. My life is in shambles! I have no idea what color to paint the foyer in the Hamptons house! I had to go to the office for FOUR hours today! And I feel like I’ll never be on the other side of this DIVORCE! Oh god! Do you know how hard it is to get a DIVORCE?” Bethenny covers her eyes and sobs into her hands, peeking through her fingers at the camera. Carole hands her a kitten to dry her eyes with. Bethenny takes it gratefully.

“No, I can’t imagine.” Says Carole. “I never went through a divorce. My husband died.”

Unsure how to respond, Bethenny just laughs. Then Carole laughs. And ever so faintly from behind her laugh the camera audio picks up the tiniest voice yelling “Please! Please, God! Let me out of here!”

Cut to stock footage of normies walking around Central Park. We find Countess Luann and Dorinda using Shake Weights while sitting on a bench in matching workout attire as pedicurists work diligently on their toes beneath them. “So, how are you feeling about losing the title of Countess?”  Dorinda asks.

“Well, darling, it’s not really lost, if you think about it. I’m happy to retire it but I will still always have been the Countess, which means, of course, that I am still the Countess. No, no! That polish is too pink, try again!”

Dorinda looks more confused than usual. “I don’t follow…”

Luanne smiles and adjusts her gigantic turquoise tribal necklace. “What’s not to understand, I was the countess when I married Alex, and remained the countess while I dated Jaques and now that I’m marrying TOM WHO LOVES ME AND WHO I ALSO LOVE I will retire the title and no longer be the countess. However I will still have been the countess which means, by all laws and standards that I will remain the countess in a less countessly way, you know what? It’s very hard to explain, don’t worry about it just continue to call me Countess.”

Dorinda vomits.

“Dorry, I’m juss duddenly so drunk. And you know what? No one is ever gonna mess with me, or there will be drouble! D’you understan?”

Countess Luann rolls her eyes. “Dorinda how did you get so drunk, we aren’t even drinking?”

Dorinda falls over into a weeping puddle and the pedicurist holds her while continuing to paint her nails.

“Sorry you had to see that, Tinsley, I guess it’s like I always say, money really can’t buy you class.” She winks.

The camera pans to a nearby trash can wearing a diamond necklace. “Word.” Says the trashcan. Finally we meet the newest housewife.

Cut to a street shot of Park Avenue, it is evening but the streets still bustle with people because this is New York! The camera moves slowly down the entryway of Ramona Singer’s redecorated and pristinely white penthouse. Almost as though the person handling the camera has trepidations about entering any further. The camera zooms in on an unsuspecting Ramona who is on her hands and knees scrubbing blood and gore off the kitchen floor. She wears a pink satin teddy and a green avocado facemask. She doesn’t realize she is being filmed. On the counter above her are two glasses. One is filled with, of course, Pinot Grigio. The other appears to be filled with blood. Both have lipstick and avocado mask stains on the rims. Ramona scrubs and scrubs then stands, exhausted, and places a bloody hand on her hip, leaving a gruesome handprint on her nightie. She sighs, rolls her head side to side and rubs her neck. Then she takes a large gulp of the Pinot Grigio followed by a large gulp from the blood filled glass. She walks over to a nearby wall mirror and considers her reflection. She pinches her cheeks and widens her eyes. She bangs a bloodied fist against her chest and howls, then grabs the glass of blood and finishes every drop. “YOUTH!” she screams into the mirror and laughs maniacally, “YOUTH!!” The camera pans to a limp hand sticking out from behind the kitchen island, holding an application that reads, “Personal Assistant Application” and next to it, Kelsia (with a “K”)’s backpack. The camera falls to the ground. Ramona turns sharply, we see her scowl and run towards the camera and then…cut to static.

During the closing credits we see clips for next week’s episode! The Housewives attend a charity ball together, but it’s not all fun and games when Sonja and Countess Luann arrive in the same dress! Dorinda has harsh words for Trashcan Tinsley and Bethenny cries hysterically while delivering some devastating news to her sixteen-year-old dog Cookie, she’s getting DIVORCED. Tune in!


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