I just about screamed with pleasure.

Remember the clip Bravo slid in just minutes earlier, vintage Camille? Let's watch!

"The person that remains in control is someone that wins," Camille told us weeks ago.

 

Camille, you were your usual grinning, gloating, simpering self, shrugging your shoulders, smiling your gloating smiles, spreading out your tells, your blatant tip-offs, to us, like a delightful smorgasbord, letting us know you're up to something, something bad.

 

All this comes complete with your giggling, but you skipped the happy face because you had something so serious to say.

Camille, when you're hot on a lying streak, your delivery turns increasingly rushed, and your face flushes with excitement.You start repeating yourself and elaborating on the falsehoods, stating them quickly, and in several different ways, so that by the end of your performance you seem as convinced of their veracity as you'd like your captive audience to be. 

You might have used your powers for good -- learning how to act (you can't, not well), getting, if you were lucky, acting jobs to pay the rent, or trying to helping others -- but you chose a different path.

"She lost," you said, referring to your favorite enemy, Kyle Richards. Camille, you sly fox, conjuring up a She-Devil to serve as your target for the season. Why? How about for something you say that every single woman feels toward you. Envy! 

Kyle doesn't envy you. Why would she? You're the one who's maniacally obsessed by Kyle. You ENVY her. For her hot husband, her good marriage, her children she dared to carry herself (you hired a surrogate), despite it possibly causing a figure flaw, and for just being Kyle. She has two sisters; you seem to have no brothers or sisters, and your mother doesn't seem so crazy about you, either. You envy Kyle for her happiness.

 

Envy! That's your motivator. The force behind your Machiavellic (sic) schemes.  All your sick schemes.

Taylor, Kim, Lisa and Adrienne, we could certainly hold court on all kinds of things that went on last night, including Camille's plodding dimness and total lack of humor (which Andy Cohen, your host and creator on the six "Real Housewives" reality shows, could have pointed out was paradoxical because of Camille's "It Was a Joke" strategy -- to be applied when her evil plots backfire).

 

As when Camille went on Howard Stern's Sirius XM radio show on Jan. 12, the day before Episode 13's big divorce reveal, telling Stern (with whom she appeared in his movie, "Private Parts," naked) that Kelsey is a cross-dressing freak who adores wearing women's lingerie.

 

A couple of days later, Camille's cross-dressing revelations were being turned against her.

 

What did she say? What did she do?

 

"It was a joke," she said.  She laughed, she did.  Pretending to.

 

So, Camille, I can't blame Kelsey for leaving you after 13 years of marriage (though why he stayed with you that long is the question I've been puzzling over for weeks). I don't blame him at all.  Actually, I'd have a hard time blaming him for burning you at the stake.

You didn't get Andy's Machiavelli joke, Camille. You didn't get that Andy was joking -- for real . He said "Machiavellic" in jest, but you, Camille -- paradoxically lacking a smidgen of a sense of humor that could lead to joking --straightfacedly corrected him.

"No, it's Machiavellian," you corrected Andy, dutifully, your inner schoolteacher squelching the old porn star -- or, really not star, just featured player.

"Based on the whole book -- 'The Prince' -- and we all know about Machiavelli," you summed up for us. And thanks to you, now we all do. 

(Andy, if you're reading this letter over the girls' shoulders, let me say that last night you were a prince -- but not not Machiavelli's. You were calm, cool and collected, your questions were focused and you had good followup.

 

Please lend Camille those black Buddy Holly eyeglasses you wore for your one-on-one "Watch What Happens: Live" after Episode 12 on Jan. 13, when the truth, as it were, comes out about the Grammers. Camille needs to at least look smart.)

Oh, and thanks, Camille, for letting us know that you went to college, and you were an English major and you studied literature. So you don't want the eyeglasses?

And thank you, also, Camille for clearing up that whole porn thing those other girls so meanly revealed.

"I did a movie for Cinemax in my early 20's," you told us, revealing at once both a lie of omission (implying that there was "a" movie, ie. one movie; there were more) and commission: you were not in your early 20's.

 

"The Naked Detective" is the porn flick here, right?  It's been the most written about and talked movie about in the tidal wave of media coverage about you the last couple of weeks, and I doubt you'd go out of your way to introduce one of the other, lesser-known films.

 

Right? Anyway, that porn flick was made in 1996, when you were a 27-year-old woman, not some footloose 20 year old. "Early 20's" does not include the number 27. 

You lied about something else last night, but you didn't get caught. Whew! Close one!

 

Last night on "Real Housewives" when you learned that your dinner guests had been sitting in their limo outside your home looking at you naked in your film stills?  And the sequence of events and the blowup over the term "morally corrupt," which you called Faye Resnick, Kyle's guest, who, like you, posed for Playboy. But, unlike you, she did it once, not 15 times from 1993 on. And unlike you, she didn't lie and say that all she did in Playboy was to model lingerie. Suspicious.

Speaking -- now! -- of words rhyming with "suspicious,"  the porn'n'Playboy chatter followed a stomach-churning discussion about your past usage of the word "pernicious," a word that in my experience has never led to anything good. I, and so many, many others, assumed that "pernicious" would be a word you'd know.

"Unfortunately," you continued telling us in your pornalogue, "we do things when we are younger. I wish I didn't. But, yes, I did."

Then you headed smack into the dissembling parlor. "It's not a hard core. It's soft. That doesn't make it any better, but...."

As ever, Camille, you played a mean game of "J'Accuse!" You take all your nasty character traits and attribute them to other people: envy, victimizing, attacking, bullying, preying on people -- a mere handful.

 

Your other go-to in your war with the world, or really, your war on women, is accusing others of doing to you what you do to them. Then whipping around and playing the victim. 

And when you're not accusing people (women, mostly), you're blaming them.

Why, Kyle asked you, at one point, would she have invited you to come on the show when Bravo was casting (Camille is, or was, with Kelsey, one of Kyle's husband's real estate clients) if she were setting you up, as you claim?

"Why?" Camille said. "Because you needed a target."

Camille being Camille, you made sure to take your games -- fun only for you -- to serious levels. Texting Kyle that you and Kelsey no longer needed her husband, Mauricio, to be their real estate servant.

Camille, it was hard to watch the fear and dread spread across Mauricio's face when Kyle told him what happened. This was no joke to this family, as it wouldn't be to most people. Kyle was hurt, feeling that she hurt her husband and family. But she did nothing wrong. Your actions, Camille, have real, irrevocable life consequences.  Even alpha bitches fall, and fall hard; it's karmic that with your divorce, Kelsey will be selling those houses.  Like Mauricio, you'll be out. Good karma for them; bad karma for you. 

Attacking Kyle's family financially was on top of your having spread sexual rumors about Mauricio. You strongly implied that he had made sexual advances to you, as well as to others. "Mauricio loves women," you said. "Let's leave it at that."

Any shred of sympathy I might have had for you, Camille, simply vanished last night, in a twinkling. As Kyle put it so well, You did it to yourself.

In this game, Kyle, you win. Kelsey, you win. The rest of the world, we win. Camille, your children, now that you're fighting for custody, are the ones who would win least of all. 

"I'm not a liar!" you declared last night (and so many other times), apparently unaware of one President's similar declaration, "I'm not a crook." And like any former college student, even with a major in English, you know what happened to him.