Mr. Moylan did his part and offered up his insightful observations about last weekend's NFL games and, in turn, I have done the same for those haunting temptresses from RHOBH. I hope you find my critiques helpful in your continued enjoyment of this reality show, which I watched for the first time ever last night. If I've excluded anyone from this list, please just assume that I'd probably enjoy having acrobatic sex with them, too.

Brandi Glanville:
Eddie Cibrian you, you heartless motherfucker, should be drawn and quartered for your treatment of our gal Brandi. What could Leann Rhimes offer you other than prolonged pain and heartache? But your loss is my gain, you oily dickhead, as I plan to take Brandi on a romantic carriage ride through an Italian villa as soon as I figure out how to book one. And, yes, I will nuzzle the nape of her neck while riding in said carriage and whistle Venetian love songs in her ear until she melts like a popsicle in Haiti. I hope that mental image haunts you, you two-timing bag of tit milk.

Dana Wilkey:
Dana is only listed as a friend of the Housewives but, this does not in anyway diminish her attractiveness. She's brassy and sassy and has a backside I'd sniff like a pooch in a fire hydrant factory. Her ample cleavage taunts me with its crease and the more I stare at it, I can't help but imagine how fun it'd be to swipe my ATM card through it before we'd make sweet, gentle Viking love in a waterbed.

Taylor Armstrong:
New boyfriend, new shmoyfriend. I can only hope that this rent-a-beau is satisfying lovely Taylor the way I would: multiple exotic positions each and every hour until we drown together in an ocean of sex sweat. You've been warned, beau. Go work on your tantric positions or lose Taylor forever.

Lisa Vanderpump:
More like Lisa VanderHUMPuntililosecirculationinmylowerextremeties. Lisa's personal website lists her many achievements as a restauranteur, humanitarian, and mother of two. I'm more piqued by her nickname, "Pinky," which was also the nickname of my first girlfriend in junior high. My Pinky moved fast on the ugly floral couch in my parent's living room and taught me the wonders of premature ejaculation. I have no doubt this Pinky could achieve the same result, only quicker and, in my fantasies, while we're smooching on an ottoman.

Kyle Richards:
I know I'm not the only one who thought Kyle was positively radiant last night in this shiny red dress. And what's with the patronizing "shows off her curves" comment, faceless Zimbio editor? If those are "curves," well, I'd happily strap on a crash helmet and serpentine them. While I'm, boinking Kyle, of course.

Adrienne Maloof:
I find nothing more appealing than a woman who makes a chunky hot artichoke dip. Her recipe calls for two cups of cabbage, which just gives me three cups of erection, if I think about it too long. And two— TWO—packages of cream cheese? Someone go fetch me a fainting couch because I'm about to fall hard.

Kim Richards
I've been informed that this woman is currently in a rehabilitation clinic. Rehab for what? Foxiness, I bet. Or possibly mainlining va-va-voom. Because there's no way a woman with eyes so twinkly should have a spirit so dark. You're the serenity prayer of my loins, Kim, and I will gladly help you make amends.

Camille Grammer:
I usually don't like it when ladies artificially enhance their bazoongas, but I'm oddly drawn to Camille's. I picture us dashing off to a remote Island location, where we'd partake in gentle petting underneath a waterfall. I'd fondle her bundles of breast with furious abandon as the water crashes over us. Then we'd scamper off back to our beachfront palapa for the rest of the day. While inside our secret thatched hut of love, I'd massage her feet with coconut oil and scrape them with a piece of fresh coral. Then I'd play her songs through a conch shell and fondle her boobs some more.