DanThat'sCool!

 

 

My Botox brings all the Feds to the yard. And they’re like…it’s tighter than yours.

 

 

 

 

 

Stick dat in her lip, bitch. That makes all the Wise Guys itch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holla.

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t like that rap s***. Don’t like it all. Just crack the bitch’s jaw in half and we’ll go to the Mall.

 

 

 

 

Poke dem needles   in my eyes. Plump dem up to match my thighs.

 

 

 

 

Where all my Mob Wives at?  Can I get a whoop whoop?

It was Word To Your (bleepin’) Gangstah Mother Week as our favorite Mobettes rapped, snapped and laser zapped themselves into a frenzy, all thanks to Karen and Drita’s up and coming careers.

Finally putting aside at least a little slice of the drama surrounding Junior and that wire-wearing fiasco, Renee and the girls were working at moving on with their lives.

And what better way to move on than by getting a facial or robbing a bank in a nun mask?

Am I right?

Maybe not necessarily in that order, but both are pretty certain to make you feel better about yourself.  At least on Staten Island, anyway.

But first we had to deal with some of the petty legal ramifications that come from being the victim of a Federal Agency sting operation, as Renee finished up with her Dad Anthony Graziano’s first court appearance since getting busted for talking into Junior’s lapel corsage.

As Renee strolled back to the car she reached out to everyone’s favorite raspy go-to Voice of Reason, Big Ang, for some cell phone counseling.

Gah.  I love me some Big Ang.  I would call her for lottery ticket numbers.  Any excuse to hear that Herman Munster laugh in my ear.  VH1—where is my Big Ang ringtone?

And my Fan Club duel purpose decoder ring & lock pick?  Did my application get lost in the mail?  What’s the hold up?  (No pun intended, but pretty funny in retrospect.)

It was a brief phone call, but it will surely open up another can of worms on the whole Right vs. Wrong thing that the online forums are loving lately.

As they both complained about the Feds basically doing the jobs they are hired to do, Renee also played the sympathy card for Daddy.  During the initial booking and fingerprinting they apparently took the change from his pockets and the Miracle Ear from his head, because he couldn’t hear anything the judge was saying.  Dad also walked with a cane and a guard.

When Renee started in on how Dad should be respected because he didn’t do anything wrong, I immediately washed my hands of this one and am going to leave it to the Talk Radio stations.

Helloooooo, Staten Island.  Long time Mobster, first time Caller.

I’ll leave it to the online community to stick it to Renee, because next we all had to go and stick it to Big Ang.

Literally.

Accompanied by her sister Janine, God’s Gift to Reality was looking to score some Botox at a discounted Costco quantity price.

Meeting with Dr. Lederman, who was a delightfully mashed up version of The Muppets’ Swedish Chef and that vixen Natasha Fatale who always wanted to “Kill Moose and Squirrel” on The Bullwinkle Show, Big Ang proudly rambled off all her previous cosmetic surgeries.  Kind of like a completed Bucket List.  But a really long one.

(Side note: You can totally use Natasha’s last name at your next Trivia Night Out.  You’ll totally win the free appetizers.  Consider it my gift to you for faithfully following my site.)

As Dr. Lederman sang the “Plump It Plump It” song, she stuck Big Ang in the face as many times as allowed by malpractice legal journals and then dramatically unveiled the results, which were unfortunately nowhere near as severe as Big Ang had hoped for and the Doc had to go back in for seconds.

Seriously.  I love me some Big Ang, but if they plump her up anymore it’s going to take at least 32 of those Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade clowns to hold her down so the wind doesn’t blow her out over Long Island Sound.

As Big Ang drifted back home on a crosswind, Drita was receiving another pre-paid call from Lee.

Turned out he had just finished up his state sentence in whatever prison it is people do state sentences in down there, and was being relocated so he could start working on his federal sentence.

Initially more focused on her new bite sized puppy than Lee’s call, Drita snapped back when he announced that he was going to be incarcerated in Brooklyn.  She got a little freaked out by the fact that he was going to now be just down the block instead of 8 hours away. So much so that she knocked the gigantic pink bow right off the puppy’s noggin, which thankfully allowed Lucky to finally lift her little nugget head into an upright position.

Now even though Google Earth shows that Brooklyn is fairly close in proximity to Staten Island, I would think that the prison could just as well be on the Moon and Drita would still have about the same chances for ever running into Lee at Target.

Prison is prison, honey.  They still lock the doors.

Since Drita is currently in full Don’t Need No Man mode, she scored the chance to use her rap skills (?) for a new music video to help put food on the table.

There is no question that Drita can split a human skull open with her elbow, but the jury was still out when it came to her mad gangstah rap skillz, so she met up with her crew at Bad Boy Records to get the full fashizzle on the job.  VPs Nick and Jason, one or the other of whom she had met a bazizzle years ago at a Diddy party, filled her in on the deets.

The video was for a French Montana song, and involved Drita being the driver of a getaway car used in a bank heist.  If you were like 99% of the country, you probably initially wondered what bank robbery had to do with the state of Montana, and how a secret French province had somehow slipped by you all these years.  Are they really that close to Canada?

Der.  He’s a rapper.  Does your cable company not offer those stations?  Most aren’t in full HD yet, but either check into it or lose all your street cred.

Even Beyoncé knows you gotta upgrade, bitch.

While Drita was getting the LD (…gah…low down…) on the beat spitting, Big Ang was doing some more remodeling on her head.  Now that she was all plumped up, that new face needed some new hair…and fast.

Big Ang had put in a 911 to someone I swear had to be a second cousin to one of those Jerseylicious girls, who immediately rushed to the house with one bag full of extensions and another bag of gossipy attitude.

As she clamped and glued and stitched Big Ang’s new doo into place, the two of them dished on finding love outside the Mob and how Big Ang’s loser sanitation worker husband was still living with his mother after being kicked out of Casa Raiola for too much partying and late night carousing.  The aerosol and the root glue must not have been flammable, because Big Ang was puffing and flicking matches like it was her job as the two of them dragged her husband’s name through the mud.

But we all know how those sanitation workers like it dirty.  Pun totally intended.

Trust me, the only thing missing from the scene were 3 other nosey women sitting under helmet dryers reading InTouch and going “Oooooh, girl…you so right.”

Then it was on to Karen’s latest venture.

Now that her book was launched and shooting up the charts like a bullet from an unregistered sawed-off, Karen was looking to expand her empire and make New York her home.

Somehow between all the publishing drama and rooftop chick fights, Karen had still found time to hook up with the wrinkle-free Dr. Fiorello for a business venture.  He was opening a new Nip/Tuck kind of office space in Manhattan, and had asked Karen to bring some of her Arizona Spa magic to the second floor.  The place was a full blown construction site, but the Doctor was still planning on opening up in a few weeks.

Realizing that she needed some help, Karen asked Ramona and Renee to join her in this new project.  Ramona was put in charge of the laser equipment, which either meant finding some or building some I guess, while Renee was sent to iParty for the gift bags.

I have a feeling that Karen wasn’t 100% certain that Renee wouldn’t melt down in the middle of the project if someone mentioned Junior, so I think she gave her the easy one as a test.  They’re gift bags.  How hard could it be?

Not as hard as rapping, that’s fo’ sho’.

Drita hit up Anthony Acid’s studio to lay down her rap tracks and quickly found out that bustin’ thug tunez on a 16 count was a lot tougher than it looked on Behind The Music.

The whole thing started out a big hot mess, much like if you asked your Mom to recite some uncensored Li’l Kim while the two of you were making cupcakes for the bake sale.

But eventually Drita channeled her inner street punk and through the magic of way too many gratuitous boob shots, auto tune and a soundboard mixer, she laid down the trackz, haters.

That street punk channeling resulted in a mad rush of adrenaline, and for a second I thought she was going to throw a city trash can thru the window of Best Buy and go home with a plasma.  But Anthony talked her down and she went home happy with just the head rush.

Oh, yeah.  Carla.  They almost forgot Carla this week.  She went to nosh with Renee, where she refused to go to the grand opening of Karen’s spa, waffled on whether she would make up with Ramona and then ate while Renee talked.  I think they’re running out of things for her to do.

Carla really needs to slap somebody soon or they won’t ask her back for Season Three.

Over at the Drunken Monkey, Ramona was getting bullied by Big Ang into making up with Drita and Carla.  Renee and Big Ang just want everyone to get along.

And they want better boobs.  Everyone get along.  And bigger, better boobs.

Then Carla, Renee and Drita got together for even more snacks.  This time around Drita was bullied into making up with Karen.  I swear, this show should come with a spreadsheet in TV Guide so you can track who hates who and who makes up with who and maybe recipes for some of those salads they eat.  Some of them look pretty tasty.

Then it was Party Time.

The Nip/Tuck Shop had their VIP grand opening, but Ramona didn’t get the lasers there in time.  Way to go.

And then Renee strolled in with no gift bags.  Again…way to go.  All the times you go to Rite-Aid to fill your Xanax prescriptions and you couldn’t go down the Hallmark aisle?

Karen was not happy.  But like any Real Housewives show, the opening/launch of whatever it is always ends up going off without a hitch, so the place was a success and everyone was happy.  Renee even found an all-night party store and stuffed bags like Lucy on the chocolate factory assembly line before the guests had to leave empty handed.

The music video also went of without a hitch.  A van full of bank robbers wearing nun masks always makes for a good time, especially when they squeal away in a hail of gunfire to a (bleeped) out rap soundtrack sung by a Mob Wife with a new puppy.

You can’t make this stuff up.

By the time Karen and her cousin Rena, who looked remarkably like Chaci’s mother on Happy Days, sat down for yet another meal, I was losing track.

Big Ang wants Ramona to make up with Carla.  Renee wants Karen to make up with Drita.  Somebody wants Drita to make up with Ramona.  Rena wants Karen to crack Drita’s jaw.  Ramona still wants her jewelry back.

And now I just want a puppy.

 

 

Then I was all like…whatever, bitch.

 

 

 

Then they push your head down like this and call you their prison girlfriend.

 

 

 

Then I thanked the Baby Jesus for making me the pretty one.

 

 

 

Then after I sniff all this I don’t even remember I’m a Giudice, and it all goes away.

 

 

 

Then I’ze gonna nail her like a Home Depot project.

 

 

Don’t be alarmed.

The sound you just heard was simply a stampede of Prostitution Whores running for cover, which can only mean one thing.

She’s back.  And she brought friends.

Or at least they used to be friends.  Now I’m not sure what they’re called.

But regardless…they’re all back.

And it’s all going down.  Down to the shore.

The Real Housewives of New Jersey just returned for another season and wasted no time stirring that big spaghetti pot of drama.

Apparently Television Time, or at least Bravo TV Time, doesn’t work off of the same clock that you and I do, so Teresa (…say my last name 5 different ways…) Giudice and the gang pretty much picked up right where we left them all those many months ago.

Since the previous season was so dysfunctionally tasty, and Teresa’s life was still such a guaranteed hot mess, Andy Cohen and the Gods of Reality were quick to think on their feet and filmed this new season right on top of the one that just wrapped.

That means that all the Giudice vs Gorga head butting is still as fresh as the day it came out of the oven, with only a TV Time break for the 14 part Reunion Show.

It’s like time stood still.

So welcome to Season 4.  Or Season 3.5.  Or Season 3 SuperSized.

To steal Teresa’s nervous go-to line…Whatever.

It was still Summer in Joisey as we got reacquainted with The Family.  Everyone was trying to deal with the less than glowing remarks that Teresa had laid down in her second cookbook.

Though Teresa (…ok, allegedly…everyone happy?….) didn’t appear to be very hands-on in creating the recipes or even lighting the stove’s pilot light, she did find time to stick it to a few of her closest family members as soon as you cracked the cover of the book.

Between implying that a part-time Olive Garden waiter had more Italian DNA than Caroline, and that sister-in-law Melissa stalks Teresa’s front yard at night with an infrared camera so she can copy her style when Crate & Barrel opens in the morning, Mrs. Giudice also managed to slam Caroline’s son and his bikini car wash before we even got to the first recipe.

And if there’s one thing we’ve all learned over the years, you don’t mess with the Manzo Family.  You just don’t.

Summer in New Jersey always means cookouts and shirtless Guidos, so there were plenty of weenies to be had as the Gorgas and the Wakiles enjoyed a poolside picnic.

Bro Joe Gorga, his newly waxed chest and BluBlocker model Richie were all trying to figure out what was really going on inside Teresa’s head as they grilled up some dogs and made little meat jokes.

Seriously.  Richie.  I don’t think that even railroad iron welders are provided the level of eye protection that Richie wears.  Dude does likes his shades.

Kathy and Melissa usually play the Can’t We All Get Along card more than the boys, but even they have their breaking points.  Kathy’s made for Reality TV sister Rosie took time out from whatever it is she does, and was more than happy to do a little Teresa bashing.

I love Rosie.

Between last season’s never ending Chelsea Dock runway couture, to her self deprecating humor and that  punch you in the face if you get in mine attitude, she is one ManChick that you do not want to mess with.

In retrospect, she is also one ManChick that you probably should never refer to as a ManChick.  Someday I just need to start taking my own advice.

Over at Jacqueline’s, the aforementioned Manzo Famiglia were also getting together for some snacks.  Apparently having drawn the short straw, they had also invited Teresa’s entire circus to join them, and were all trying to get in their Giudice Gossip before the caravan actually showed.  Luckily, Teresa has never been on time in her life so they didn’t have to rush through any of the good stuff.

On top of the tension between Teresa and the rest of NJ, Jacqueline was still dealing with Wild Child  Ashley.

Except now she’s Ashlee in Real World Time.  And now she’s a seriously over processed blonde.  And Mom said she had tattoos, but I couldn’t bring myself to look.

Honey.  Listen to me.  Tweaking your name might buy you some time when they are compiling all your DUIs, and maybe even score you a Grand Supreme Miss Pretty Face if you were 13 years younger.  But trust me…you’re still a sloppy mess who can’t figure out how to piece together a Dyson vacuum.  Give it up.

When Teresa finally decided to show, she and Caroline scooted outside for a minute to deal with the Cookbookgate controversy.

As Caroline massaged the side of her face to prevent an oncoming stroke, Teresa slipped right into full denial mode and couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t think the cookbook jokes were funny.

Umm.  One…they weren’t jokes.  Two…they weren’t funny.  How ’bout that?

Caroline just wasn’t in the mood, so she forced out one of those fake hugs you give that creepy uncle with the unzipped fly and then went back in for leftovers.

Then it was time to pack for the beach, because most of the gang was headed to the beach.  The Jersey Shore!

Relax.  Not that one.  Not the Snookie one.  Gross.

Well…yeah, it is the same shore…if you want to get technical.

And horny Bro Joe was going on and on about the Smush Room even while he and Melissa were packing up their zip lock bag full of nasties.  He’s like a dog that never stops humping your leg at dinner.

And Richie probably does own a pair of those light up glasses for the club, but hopefully the Housewives and Househusbands aren’t going to be passing out on the boardwalk with their naughty bits all blurred out on camera.

Hopefully.

Getting all of the Giudices out of the house is always good for some laughs, and this time didn’t disappoint either.

As Teresa tried to rope up Gia, Audriana, Gabriella and Milania like they were sheep that somehow got out of the barn, greasy Jabba Joe was dumping a full Tupperware garbage can of Alpo into paint buckets to feed what appeared to be wild wolves that roam their yard.

After he fed the livestock, Joe also hoisted a ginormous mound of tied up plastic tarp over his shoulder like Lou Ferrigno’s stubby, chubby Italian stunt double and heaved it onto the roof of the car.

Memo to Joe for next time:  Check to see if your camping gear is infested with rats before you transport it across city lines.  When they got to the beach house and unleashed those rodents, GottaPeeAh and Mexicana and Espadrilla all jumped on the table like Hooters Girls.  Good practice for later in life when Daddy is serving time, I guess.

Since having everyone all under one roof would cause the Jersey Shore to implode, Teresa and Jabba Joe had their own digs while Bro Joe and Melissa bunked with Kathy and Richie down the block.

Melissa’s new dream beach house was far from being completed, so they couldn’t sleep in their own home quite yet.  As the construction overseer guy, Joe couldn’t remember to install toilets but he made certain that the bedroom had enough soundproof insulation blown behind the sheetrock to handle a Rolling Stones concert.

Daddy likes it quiet while he’s serving a wedge of his Gorgazola cheese, if you know what I mean.  I swear when he dies they’re going to have to bury him with the lid still open until the swelling goes down.

Over at the Giudice beach digs, Teresa wanted to talk to Jabba about a few issues.

Personally, the first one I would have addressed would have been why he insists on never wearing a shirt or doing sit ups.  That’s what I want to know.

Beyonce is right.  I am not so ready for that jelly, dude.

I could care less about what he thinks they should do with all the magazine covers that Chia and DingDongBella are starting to read at Target.

Just put your shirt on.  And make it a hoodie.

Teresa is concerned about all the gossip surrounding whether or not Joe is going to jail.  Now I’ve met a lot of dopey people in my short career as a freak-seeker, but Jabba is right up there in the Top Five.

Unless one of the beach patrolmen just accidentally shot him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart, Joe has to be be the most blahhdoofiest guy I’ve ever come across.

He’s so blahhdoofy that I think I just made up a word.

Trust me.  I’m Exhibit A.  Nobody likes waking up, but sooner or later you snap out of that fog.  I bet my salary Joe’s been in that fog since elementary school.

Back up the Expressway in the ‘burbs, they were filming a commercial for the blk water that Albie and Chris launched last season.  Or at least that’s what I thought they were doing, until I realized that it was just Caroline, Jacqueline and Lauren power walking through the neighborhood.

Just power walking.  All in black and white.  All holding bottles of blk.  With the blk logo on Lauren’s plus size tshirt.

That’s just what I want when I exercise.  A nice big gulp of black Jersey water.  Am I the only one who noticed that nobody took a swig out of any of those bottles?

Impressive color-coordinated product placement though.  Props to the ad guy.

Next week Teresa will be driving the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile to her hair appointment.

Back at the beach, Teresa and Bro Joe plopped it down to discuss the same thing they’ve been discussing since last year’s shows.  They just replaced the christening and the book signing with all-weather adirondack chairs.

Teresa was still in denial, and Bro Joe was still frustrated.  They went on and on about the InTouch Magazine story and Jabba Joe’s debt, and Jabba Joe’s jail time, and Jabba Joe’s DMV scam and blah to the Jabbah Joe to the blah.

There was also some confusion as to why Bro Joe never called when Jabbah Joe “went away,” which is preschool talk for a week in the slammer being someone’s cell bitch.

Before anything was really settled, Teresa started in with the “whatever, Joe” thing again and you knew this one was going nowhere.  But they’re family.  One big screwed up family.

While everyone else was sunning and gossiping, Jacqueline and Chris were back home dealing with the Wild Child.

After giving Ashley/Ashlee more than ample time to get her s*** together and also figure out how to attach the Dyson carpet nozzle without poking her own eye out, Chris was done with the drama.

Ultimatum.

Agree to move in with Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary out in Las Vegas, or get kicked out of the house in the morning.  How they think that sending a 24/7 party girl to Las Vegas will tone all that down is beyond me, but I’m not a parent so I’ll let Chris be the Bad Cop in this one.

When Ash complained that she already had made drinking plans with friends that were home from school and that getting kicked out would like OMG totally interfere with the club scene, it was pretty clear that she had lost her grip on reality.

She also appeared to have lost her Clairol root touch-up brush, because Girrrrrl…that hair was looking shady.  Don’t make me mess up my Housewives and get all NeNe on that bad weave.

Fix yo’ face…and yo’ hair…and then we’ll talk.

So it looked like Ashley, or Ashlee, or both of them are out the door in the morning because she agreed to the Las Vegas scene.

And no one held anyone’s head under water down at the shore.  So it looks like everyone survived the first week back.

But never say never in New Jersey.

 

 

 

Seriously? That Alaska chick again?

 

 

 

 

 

Friends, family and your health are so highly overrated nowadays.

 

 

 

 

I smell ‘em, Pa. They’re out there. Bugs. Bees…and Biebers.

 

 

 

 

 

I meant Facial Beauty and Free Puppies. Duh.

 

 

 

 

 

Trust me honey,   you ain’t alone on that one.

 

 

 

Well, sheeeoooooot y’all.

It’s time to load up your tanning gun, snap on that flipper and mosey them pretty feet down to the Circle City Wild West Showdown, cuz there’s trophies and crowns and that nervous little Taco Bell dog all yours for the takin’!

That’s right.  Toddlers & Tiaras went Western this week and it was everything you would expect, complete with more glitter than Porter Wagoner’s Opry jacket and enough inappropriately naughty Cowgirls to start a brawl at any pre-school saloon.

And to add to the tension, the Showdown pitted three kinda sorta long distance BFFs against each other…and then topped off that sparkly dessert with yet another appearance by that scene-chewing piece of arrogance better known as pageant girl Alaska.

Pageant Director Max Mason, best known for his receding faux hawk and amazingly perfect porn name, got us all wound up from the start by showing off the shaking little bug eyed puppy that the lucky Ultimate Face winner gets to take home as a prize and then housebreak.

Trust me…nothing makes me want to enter a pageant more than the potential to win a freakishly over-sized crown and then have to go home and clean up nervous chihuahua pee.

Where do I sign up?

Max was the only other one I was worried about wetting the floor, because that dude was seriously excited about this pageant.  Not to get ahead of myself, but by the time he was reading off the winners at the end of the Showdown, I’m pretty sure I saw one of the judges put newspaper down under the podium.  But more on that later, if you make it through all this…

First off we got to meet 8 year old Spacy Jacy and her Mom Gina.

Jacy was a little tightly wound and couldn’t sit still for a second.  I’m fairly certain that she was supposed to have been born as twins, but something happened and she ended up as one kid with enough personality for two.  Since I don’t actually have access to any medical records, there is a good chance I could be making some of that up, but regardless, Jacy was a hoot.  Two hoots, actually.  In order to make room in her tiny body for all that personality, something else had to give.  And it was focus.  But you can’t have everything.

She shimmied in her Peace Sign groovy chick outfit, demonstrated so many voices and hand jives that I lost count, and generally just made me smile.  Mom needs to strap a monitor bracelet on her ankle soon just to keep track of where she is headed next.

Then we were off to meet 8 year old Daisey Mae and her Mom Amanda, who was either Mother of the Year or on sedatives.  If it’s the latter, I want to know where she gets the good stuff, because Amanda was redoinkulously calm in the middle of what can only be described as khaos.  Yes.  Chaos with a “K” it was so Krazy.

Now I know I’ve used this analogy before, but it’s so perfect for this house that I’m going to recycle.

Have you ever been on a plane when it’s about to land and the change in cabin pressure makes all the babies wake up and start crying at the same time?

Replace the stewardess with Amanda, replace a full coach seating section with Amanda’s house and then put in your ear plugs, pull down the oxygen mask and enjoy.

I don’t really know how many kids she has.  I don’t even think she really knows anymore.

It was wall to wall…to wall…kids.

And crying kids and kids screaming and babies throwing Cheerios and one kid with his head stuck in the couch cushions and another one scooting around in one of those baby scooting wheelie things.

So.  Daisey Mae.

She told us that she had 8 brothers and sisters, but yet when they ran through the opening credits montage like we were watching the TLC Brady Bunch, it only came up to 7 kids total.  Even when you filled the middle spot that used to be for Alice.

There was also a photo that was ready to fall out of a frame at any second, which also had less than 8 kids.  So I’m not sure if they can’t do math, or if the missing kid(s) were still back in the couch cushions…I don’t know.

But it was a lot of kids.  That’s the short version of the story.

Daisey Mae was so chilled and calm that it was almost a medically induced coma.  Like a Star Trek Borg.

We will Assimilate.  And Sparkle.

She had a great grin when she hit the stage, but the lack of attention that she receives at home seemed to have sucked the smile muscles out of her face.  There’s only so much quality time you can get when you’re just one pickle in the barrel, I guess.

She addressed the lack of attention, and then proceeded to declare that Facial Beauty is the most important thing in Life.

I’m gonna leave that one to the parents and the counselors, thank you.  Not touching it.

Besides, we have bugs to squash.

Over at 5 year old Bridgett’s house, she and Mom Amanda#2 were goin’ huntin’ in the backyard for some bugs and worms.  Slimy ones, little ones, medium sized ones and the biggest, slimiest worm of all…Justin Bieber.

Turns out that when Bridgett is not finger kissing and making that Taylor Swift up and around heart shaped thing over her head, she is in her Carhartt garage mechanic coveralls looking for things to kill.  She wants to be the world’s first triple threat pageant princess/exterminator/destroyer of all teen heart throbs.

When pressed on what member of the food chain she wanted to kill next, she set her sights on Justin and it all got dark for a second.

For being only 5, Bridgett has really raked in the crowns.  So much so that Mom had to start hanging them from the ceilings in what can only be described as a one room Liberace Planetarium.  After the sun goes down, with nothing but the glow from a Hello Kitty nightlight, that room must be like an acid trip.  A faaaaaaaaabulous acid trip.

All three contestants knew each other and seemed to be friends, and were also all being coached by Katie Boyer from Katie’s Kuties, the home of Pageant Winners and BeDazzled logo tees.

(Side note: I figured Katie must be a pageant girl herself so I Googled it to be sure, figuring that just this once I could try giving you accurate information.  She is.  And honey, the music on one of the websites is so loud it woke up at least ten of the Daisey Mae babies.  For real.  Turn it down…it’s not worth going deaf just for a puppy.)

Anyway.

Daisey Mae lived 6 hours away from the studio, so she Skyped her coaching via a laptop, which was kind of like watching someone in Iraq pretend to wear a cupcake dress while enemy artillery rained down around them.  But again…it is for a puppy.

Locally, Bridgett stopped ripping worms in half long enough to practice a little, and Spacy Jacy demonstrated the youtube planking fad on some folding chairs.  Later on she also had a photo shoot that brought out another couple of voices when she discussed playground paparazzi and how VERY pretty she felt.  She almost drowned out Katie’s website.

But not even for a puppy will that girl focus.

Packing for Pageant Day was a sight to behold in all three households.

Daisey Mae’s entire…entire…family follows her to every pageant like Aerosmith groupies, all crammed into a Scooby-Doo van packed with diaper wipes and Tupperware containers.  Any bets on how many times they have gotten to the first toll booth before realizing that a few kids were still on the front lawn or that the baby car seat was on the roof?

I bow to Amanda and her organizational skills.  Full disclosure…her voice made me chuckle, and she swears a lot which is a wicked pissah…but she can organize the crap out of that Khaos.  I salute you.

When they all made it to the Ramada, Max had already soaked one set of newspapers, and word was already out on the street that the self proclaimed Pageant Diva herself…Alaska…was there gunning for their Western crowns.

You will remember, as one of the Top Dawgs in the Glitz Globe right now, Alaska had recently begun trying out both a new hairstyle and a new arrogant attitude.  She roared back earlier this season proudly proclaiming her fierce-ness and general better than you-ness, much to the chagrin of many.  For those of you who do not commit my every word to memory, feel free to read all about it here….I’ll wait till you come back.

As always, the makeup rooms were a hot mess.

Spacy Jacy was MIA for the Beauty portion, which set off more alarms than a leak at a nuclear plant.  As everyone tried to put her together in the hotel room, she cracked under pressure and started to cry, which undid a lot of the spackle that was just applied.  For a young girl she had already mastered the soap opera kleenex dab under her lower lashes, so as not to smear the goop.

After running and crying and crying and running all the way to the stage, Jacy turned it on and worked the judges, even though points had to be deducted.

Daisey Mae actually smiled.  That was nice.  For the first time since this show began five seasons ago, the room was actually filled with no empty chairs, thanks to her 25 brothers and sisters and two hitchhikers they picked up at the city line.  Team Daisey all the way!

As each girl graced the stage, Cowboy Max (…who refused to wear the cowboy hat that was right in front of him on the podium because it would flatten his faux hawk…) would smooooothly announce…”As we stop to admire Macaroon…she has lovely brown hair and blue eyes…..”

Stopping to admire a little girl in makeup?  All I could picture was a dirty old man slowing his Buick down as he’s passing a school bus stop.

Cowboy Max needs a new catch phrase, asap.

Then it was Wild West Wear time.

Bridgette pulled the Q-tip out of her nose in time to rock her pink Cowgirl Couture.  She also called out her own Mom for being “so jealous to me,” which in 5 year old exterminator talk means that Mom wishes she was up there on stage.  Well that ain’t gonna happen, lady.  Suck it.  That’s what that meant in 5 year old exterminator talk.  I looked it up.

Jacy blew the doors off her red barn prop and line danced around in what appeared to be her 4th of July parade costume.  Unfortunately she forgot to take off her denim jacket before she got on stage, and the judges made a note.

Daisey Mae smiled again and then ripped her own skirt off which was so unexpected that it woke up a few more of her brothers and sisters.

When the awards came around, Bridgett didn’t get called, which in PageantLand means you get pulled for a higher title.

I’ll be honest.  When her Mom said that “Pulling Out Is Always A Good Thing,” I spit my drink out though my nose and immediately began the process of putting that line on a t-shirt.

Coming soon to a skeevy corner store near you.

Then some kids won some stuff.

Jacy ended up winning Grand Supreme even though she didn’t make it to the stage on time, which made Amanda#1 swear again.

The evening was capped off by Alaska scoring the Ultimate Face title, snatching up the Taco Bell dog like it was candy and instantly BitchMorphing into a mini Paris Hilton.  She clutched that sissy dog like she was trying to sneak through an airport with drugs and told all the other girls to give her some space.

Alaska completely dissed her supposed friend Daisey Mae, which made DM feel lousy and made me want to write something nasty on someone’s Facebook wall.

But even Cowgirls get sleepy when they’re out past their bedtime, so everyone headed out of Dodge before sunset.

Mark my words, Sheriff…they’ll be back.  Nobody takes their puppy and lives to tell the story.