Bravo is not like crack anymore -- it's like a pile of burning autumn leaves: slightly acrid and mildly destructive, but strangely pleasant nonetheless. In that context, I find myself consuming "The Real Housewives of Atlanta" because ... it is there. And within the useless haze I have found Kim, and Kim levitates me with stoopidity:
NOTE: Jan, the professional, is ICE COLD.
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