In a harsh toke of a finale, Taylor brings up New York (not again!), Kyle calls her sister a drunk (oof!), and Kim finger points and sobs.

Oh man, buzz kill. Was this the weirdest, saddest, most abrupt Housewives finale ever? Imagine if New York ended with Kelly shoving jellybeans in her mouth while tears ran down her Caribbean-tanned face. Nobody can feel good about last night. It began awkwardly in New York with Kelsey answering his wife’s pre-Tonys toast. “Here’s to love,” he said in a clenched voice. “Isn’t that nice.” We segued miserably to the limo ride where Camille told her out-the-door husband that she hoped he won that night. “I’ve won already,” he assured her. Won the heart of his younger true love? Won the PR battle? Won the better divorce lawyer? All I know is nothing good ever happens in the back of a limo on Bravo TV. Do you hear that, future Housewives of America? If anyone from production ever tells you that they’ve arranged for limo transportation, call a cab.

Poor Kyle, who I still love, I don’t care what you all say, did not shine brightly this episode. She began with a trip to her psychic, who is apparently very gifted, unlike that ass-clown Allison Dubois. (I don’t know, at this point I think the lot of you are ridiculous when it comes to paying people to tell you about yourselves.) Anyways, Kyle had brought along what I assume was a cloaked box of her mother’s ashes. “Do you think I’m crazy?” she asked her psychic. She’s a psychic. You’re a dream client. Okay, she also brought a lock of Ma’s hair. Maybe a little crazy. The psychic wondered if someone recently hadn’t had Kyle’s back. Oh for the love of … Drop it, Kyle!

In what was perhaps my favorite scene of an otherwise dark evening, Taylor met Lisa for lunch. These two women despise each other and it’s rather delicious to watch them smile and circle one another with gleams of hatred in their shiny eyes. “Doing what you do best? Shopping I see,” purred Lisa. “Only second to you my darling,” Taylor shot smoothly back. “Glass of rose?” Lisa wanted the truth. And what Lisa wants, Lisa will…not get from our cagey Tay Tay. Somehow Snowball’s original mistress deflected the conversation from her culpability to her frustrations when dealing with Kim. Well fix it, demanded Lisa, before shifting insincerely to concerns over Taylor’s unhappiness in her marriage.

Poor Kim. It’s not her fault she wears the wrong shade of lipstick. It’s because she was always on set, slaving away under the hot lights so Kyle could have her fancy cars and the family could have a roof over their head. Maybe if she’d had friends like Kyle or gone to school like Kyle she wouldn’t find herself sitting as an adult in Chuck Taylors in a makeup chair being barked at by a makeup artist to dab, dab!, at the eye instead of smear. If she’d learned proper application techniques as a child she wouldn’t find herself so lost today. Something tells me it’s going to take a lot more than finding the right blush to get our wounded bird some wings.

Speaking of clipped wings, Camille’s IBS was back in full force what with her marriage going up in flames. D.D. found her idly sifting through her gowns in a tank top and hot pants. New York had been a disaster. The doorman at the apartment building refused to accept that she was the Mrs. Grammer. She’d been forced to show I.D. to get up to the little closet that she herself had hired someone to decorate. (Harsh, Kelsey.) The dissolution of one’s marriage is a terrible thing, whether the abandoned party is a terrible woman or not. Camille kept telling us how betrayed and heartbroken she was, how Kelsey had her locked in a Malibu cage all these years, how she was reasonably sure her husband had left her for a woman. (Who, what, now?) Occasionally she lifted a finger to rub at her dry eye. Hmmm. Either she really wasn’t that surprised, or that bummed, or all those chemical peels and little shots here and there have prevented her face from ever slipping into an expression. The only evidence that she was feeling emotion was a light sheen around her taut cheekbones. How could anyone expect her to pull it together for a party?

UP NEXT: Not a single person had fun at Taylor’s birthday party.Hooray, Taylor’s special romantic party that Russell threw just for her! Or rather, his assistant threw for her. Or rather the Bravo production team hosted, with the only guests in attendance besides the Housewives a sad coterie of makeup artists, psychics, managers and publicists. Somebody, anybody, please eat some ravioli. Kim for one was intent on having some fun. She showed up late, with half of her face professionally made up, in a new party dress, with a Forever 21 six-string pearl choker holding her little head up. The sisters greeted each other coolly, the mysterious Melody got an exuberant hug, and Kim blushed a little at the sight of blurry Martin. Ever the gentleman, except when it comes to calling the morning after, he offered our lady a drink. “O shno shi shinks I’m good sthank shu,” said Kim. Uh oh, somebody hit the limo bar on the way over.

The ladies mingled, Paul and Adrienne squabbled over the food, Cedric canvassed the space for his next surrogate family. Clink, clink, toast time! Come on Russell, this is your moment. Surprise us with a rogue tear on your cheek, or maybe a tender declaration of your devotion. He found his wife’s hand, he gave it a little squeeze. This was going to make up for an entire season of dry-lipped tension. “It’s been a wonderful year,” he said, after lamely welcoming everyone to his wife’s 30th birthday party. “I really… look forward to next year. And happy birthday.” Lisa looked like she wanted to throw a balled-up cocktail napkin at the man’s enormous head. Taylor cringed, and tried to take her hand back. It’s really her 39th birthday she told everyone. “But she’s 39 and ruhhhly hawt,” said Russell with a nerdy snicker. Run, Snowball! Hide under Serena’s bed and don’t ever go back to the big sad house again.

Okay, let’s get this party started, shall we? Taylor stalked up to Kim and threw some Oklahoma down. I’m not sure this is what Lisa meant by resolving matters. Kim sprang out of her seat and her index finger started helicoptering every which way. Kyle may have been faked [sic] by Taylor, but not her. Did she or did she not call Camille insignificant at the airport? (Roll tape!) Bless Kim’s heart, she couldn’t quite frame her argument. And Taylor, that clever minx, has dodged her responsibility for the New York fray all season. Somehow the conversation devolved yet again to whether or not Kim had Kyle’s back.

The Housewives assembled, with Kim in the cross-hairs waving her finger like a sword. Melody, where are you?! Kyle went into attack mode, which was regrettable, especially because she was wearing that aggressive black dress which just made her look mean to begin with. “You better watch your step,” said Kyle. “No, you better watch yours!” said Kim. (This seems to be the structure of most of their fights.) Finally Kim wobbled off, ruined by yet another confrontation. But for some unexplained reason—had she driven to the party and Kyle was merely trying to keep her off the road?—the poor woman wasn’t allowed to go home. The sisters’ manager forbade the valet from letting Kim leave.

UP NEXT: Don’t ever make me go back into that limo again. So instead Kim found herself in the back of a limo, croaking to a thoroughly sodden-looking Martin about the world’s cruelty. “They were really mean. Mean. Mean,” she said. “Who?” asked Martin, worried that she would say the ghosts in her head who tell her that she doesn’t deserve a life of makeup or pretty dresses.

Luckily Adrienne showed up, humming a soothing song of reason, talking Kim down from the ledge. “Rude, unthoughtful, attacking, oh my God!,” Kim cried to her. Adrienne nodded encouragingly, agreeing that she had been unfairly ganged up on, but wondering if perhaps the woman was just lonely. “I’m not lonely,” said Kim, in the forlorn voice of a horror movie starlet. “I like being alone.” Oh Lord, this was very bad. Meanwhile, Martin looked like he wanted to lay his head in Adrienne’s lap and take a little doze. Andy Cohen, please give Madame Maloof an over-sized Mazel onesie for her generosity of spirit on this carousel ride of crazy.

Kyle appeared, looking ready to blow. That angry dress, her warrior swath of hair, those fingers pointed like a glock to her temple and chin. “I don’t want you that close to me,” said Kim. “I don’t trust you.” Hmm, okay, remember on Scary Island when Sonja warned the others that Kelly was not well and it was best just to nod without judgment and back slowly away. Kyle should’ve dove out of that limo at a stop sign and hoofed it back to the party. But after Kim called her a f&$ing phony, Kyle went for the jugular. “And Mom had to die worrying about you and stressing about you and leave this s!%@ on my shoulders,” she hissed. Again with the weird promises made on Mom’s deathbed? Kim then witch-roared that Kyle stole her house! Viewers, what back story are we missing? It sounds important. Kyle screamed that Mauricio helps her out every month and treats her like a second wife! Helps her with rent? Kyle’s a f!@$ing liar!

At this point, Kyle lunged at Kim, somehow managing to hold her tube dress down. Kim’s little body disappeared behind a horrified looking Adrienne, before her head popped up upon claims of being an alcoholic. Okay, so let’s get this straight: Kim is crazy, demented, and a drunk. But, if we were to believe Kim, Kyle drinks the whole damn day long? Finally Kyle removed herself, swearing that her days of supporting her sister were over. They were done. Done! Kim looked at Adrienne with confusion. “I feel… attacked,” she said slowly. Oh honey.

In the end, Kim was left alone in the back of the limo, not for the first time this season mind you, sobbing to the boom operator that things were really, really bad. The credits told us that her family sent her to rehab a week later but she only lasted a week in treatment. Kyle stormed back to the party and in an unfortunate moment I bet she regrets, ended the evening posing for pictures with the ladies. Taylor said goodbye to her guests, swatting at her husband’s cigar smoke, looking as miserable as ever. This was the worst party ever. Good thing Camille stayed home. Back in Malibu, she balked at picking her daughter up and said Nighty Night to her children curled together in a ball on the sitting room rug. She is fighting for custody of them, while Grammer and his 29-year-old flight attendant fiance plan their February nuptials.

Who here is glad they’re not rich? Was this finale too disturbed to truly enjoy? Despite all the bombshell accusations, so much was left unsaid. What in fact has Kim been through that’s made her such a shell of a grown-up? What has Kyle actually done on her sister’s behalf that’s made her so resentful? What kind of car did Kim buy Kyle? Why is Kim so cadaver skinny? Why wasn’t Melody shoving ravioli down her friend’s throat to soak up some of that pre-party Grey Goose? Did you too think Andy’s poll of Team Kyle or Team Kim was crass? There was nothing fun about watching a sibling relationship unravel like that, and Kim clearly needs real help. (Incidentally, it was Team Kim by a landslide.) It’s Saturday night and you’ve got two choices of a date: Marky Mark or Adrienne? On a lighter note, how big of a nerd was Russell in high school?