DanThat'sCool!

 

 

If I can make Al Pacino cry, then youz better watch whatchoo say to Lucifina Rizzo. Capiche?

 

 

 

I swear to Gawd, if I hear that Donnie Brasco story one more time, I’m gonna Unleash the Beast right on her face.

 

 

 

 

And then I put on my invisible Indian headdress and pretend I’m Cher while they fight.

 

 

 

 

 

Dat’s rite. My teeth are whiter, and her boobs look amazing. Haters gonna hate.

 

 

 

 

Whoa. And all     these years I thought Hasselbeck was the biggest bitch.

 

 

 

Today’s episode of Mob Wives: Reunion Part One is brought to you by the letter “F.”

And U…and C…and…well…you get my drift.

Get a snack or break this bad boy up into two readings, because we have a lot to cover.  Pay attention.

The ladies may clean up nice with their designer dresses and Louboutin red soles, but somebody obviously forgot to wash out their mouths during the pre-show hair and makeup session, because there were so many (bleeped) out (bleeps) that VH1 more than likely just signaled an alien Mothership through unintentionally transmitted morse code.

But that’s why we love them Wives so much.

And just because I’m nosey, I’m dying to know which was higher…the wardrobe budget or the overtime payroll for the guy working the (bleepin’) censor button.  I’m going to assume that both departments were approved for cash advances, because within the first two minutes of the show it was clear that both the Fashions and the F bombs were bumped up a notch or two this week.

Andy Cohen…are you listening?  All those Real Housewives could actually take a note or two from the Mob.

The Mob Wives were all decked out in their fancy clothes and accessorized with all the obligatory Staten Island bling.  But unlike the last few Bravo TV Reunions, these girls all had their makeup pretty much under control and didn’t come across half as greasy as their Jersey and Atlanta sisters.

I mean…it can’t just be me, right? Was that WD-40 on NeNe’s legs?  How do you  even keep those things crossed when they’re that slippery?

One wrong move and…Bloop!…Hello Kitty.

And then there was all that glitter on Teresa’s dress and face.  Really?  Good luck getting into prison to visit your husband coated in Swarovski dust.  The drug sniffing dog will be all over you before you even finish autographing your cookbook for the warden.

So shout out to the Mob Wives for looking pretty dope, no drug pun intended.

Granted, Karen’s boobs almost needed their own space on the couch…but overall, nicely done.

The only thing that really stuck out more than Karen’s cleavage was Joy Behar sitting between the two couches.

Yeah.  That Joy.  From The View.  Tell me that’s not an odd match-up.

Joy took time out from yelling at Bill O’Reilly and sampling healthy lunchbox snacks to host the Mob Wives Reunion.  Wha–?  I guess that since Wendy Williams was too busy hawking her new accessory line on QVC, somehow Joy’s name got pulled out of the Running out of Ideas Hat.

Side note:  ”HowYouDoin? Handbags” would have been a waaay better label motto, but I was apparently not at home when Wendy called to ask for my opinion.

And that “WW” emblem that they keep ooohing and ahhhing over during every presentation?  That’s pretty much what Wonder Woman wears on her bazongas.  But I still love you, Wendy…even though it is borderline copyright infringement.

Joy got the show started by keeping a visual on all the security guys and then jumping right into it with Renee and opening up that whole can of Junior worms.

I love Reunion Shows because you always get pummeled from every direction with clips from the past season, like Reality TV Cliff Notes the night before your final exam.

As we watched scenes of Junior moving back in with Renee and AJ and then making false promises and not wanting to switch daytime watches and then acting even sketchier and finally disappearing again, a random sampling of the Wives’ reactions were captured in a little box at the bottom of the screen.

In my head I pretended I was a soldier overseas Skyping with the Wives.

It was also kind of like watching them report on tropical storms off the coast of Florida the way they do on The Weather Channel.  Either way, we got to see a lot of uncomfortable seat shifting and lip chewing down in the left corner as Junior’s cheating and wire-wearing past was relived.

By the time they returned to Renee and she admitted to having a miscarriage due to the stress, Joy’s glasses fogged up and you could slit the tension wide open with a rusty box cutter.  And that was probably three minutes into the show now.

Jennifer Graziano, Renee’s sister, was also plopped on the couch.  She is the show’s executive producer and defended her decision to keep the cameras rolling while Renee had her infamous kitchen meltdown. If you can even get past the fact that mental deterioration is TV Gold (…Hello?  Calling Taylor Armstrong…) Jennifer claimed to have asked Renee if she wanted to shut down filming.

The story goes that everyone was on board with letting the cameras roll, including Renee, but personally I don’t always place that much value in the opinion of anyone going NutWad crazy pants on my kitchen floor.  But again, nobody asked me.

It was right about this point when I spit out my drink.  Renee casually mentioned that Junior had been denied acceptance into the Witness Protection Program and would have to fend for himself when he got sprung, and all I could think about was all the smack I have written over the last season and how fast I could delete this website and go back to working retail.

Have you ever tried getting someone to change your locks on a Sunday night?  Not easy.

To lighten the mood and keep me from having a paranoidal seizure, Joy gave a quick lesson in Staten Island linguistics with another montage full of Up In Yo’ Face, Get Over It, Squash it, Go To War With Me, Come Out Yo’ Face and other SI gems.  The only plausible reason for everyone talking the same and swearing the same in every Borough appeared to be some kind of scum in the water floating upstream, which I don’t believe only because they all ingest enough booze to kill any parasite out there.  But it was fun to watch everyone recite the same catch phrases with different Italian hand jives.

But not as much fun as watching my girl Big Ang.

Trust me, if I hadn’t been so afraid that Junior would see me through the open window I would have jumped up to record the Big Ang montage, if only to capture that delightful Herman Munster laugh.  Anyone know a good DJ who can loop that thing into a dance mix?  I could easily go another 30 minutes on the treadmill listening to that wheeze, fo’ sho.

We got a rundown on her plastic surgery bucket list, as well as her love for the Wise Guys and her justification for having such enormous bazookas.

Big Ang claimed that she’s tall, and therefore requires a slightly enhanced proportional balancing to offset her….whatever…it got almost scientific.  And like the elusive Holy Grail, we finally discovered her actual bra size!

Thanks to some poor traumatized Victoria’s Secret part-timer who happened to be wearing a tape measure around her neck on that fateful day when Big Ang went to the mall, all of America can now sleep a little easier knowing that somewhere in Staten Island there’s a 36J serving drinks at the Drunken Monkey.

Rewind, please.  Did she just say 36J?  Now I’m not really a boob man, but isn’t “J” what they cover outdoor grills with in the winter?

Yow.  Za.

I do love me some Big Ang.  I think I may love her even more now that I know I could wear her bra for a beanie during inclement weather.

Then it was time to start percolating the coffee.

Joy tossed the ball to Ramona “Lucifina” Rizzo with a flashback to her protective relationship with Karen, followed up with at least 45 minutes of Ramona talking s*** about Drita.

Ummm.  You do know she’s sitting right over there on the other couch, right?

As Drita winced and began to unconsciously inflate the vein on her forehead that always signifies rocket lift-off, Ramona and Karen retold the story about Ramona’s Grandfather and the whole Al Pacino/Donnie Brasco connection.

After reliving how she took Al Pacino into his trailer and roughed him up a little, Ramona vaguely veiled some less than complimentary zingers towards “somebody” and that she and that “somebody” should have a conversation off camera at some point.

“Off-camera” being code for “behind the dumpster that you live in, bitch.”

Uh oh, Spaghetti-Os.

Joy pushed up her Sally Jesse Raphael glasses and nervously moved on to Renee and Carla’s relationship, pretending not to see the steam building up under Drita’s cushion.

It was the same she said/I heard you said thing that has gone on all season.  Ever since Renee momentarily flat lined on the post-op cot after her full body reconstruction, there have been a lot of questions as to why Carla never came to visit.  Somehow those questions also morphed into inquiring minds wanting to know why Carla claimed that Renee knew all along about Junior’s wire tapping.

Check it out.  Turned out that the whole thing was a little bit overblown since Carla never said that and Karen never said that she said that and Renee never said that Karen said that Carla said that and Carla’s done with all that.

No lie.  That’s how it went down.

You follow all of that?

At some point during all of that I must have blinked, because suddenly Karen and Ramona were ganging up on Carla.  For someone who pretty much sat out a lot of the season on the sidelines, Carla wasn’t going to take any crap from anybody.

The argument escalated into Ramona shouting that she ain’t afraid of Carla, and Karen shouting that Carla needed to respect her family, followed by Carla threatening them both if they EVER bring up her family on television.

Holy Manzo, Batman!

Does every Italian argument always circle back to respect of La Famiglia?  I honestly expected Caroline and Dina to bust down the studio door in a New Jersey fit of rage, waving pepperoni sticks and bottles of blk water.

(It’s a Real Housewives of New Jersey reference.  Google it or watch it.  I can’t do all your homework for you.)

Then there was a whole lot of “you’re a liar/no YOU are!” until Karen unleashed on Carla, claiming that she (bleeped) one of the Gravano uncles.

After a quick Cher hair flip, Carla swung back with a claim that Karen had slept with married men.  Karen politely requested names while Carla and Ramona recited “you’re a fool/no YOU’RE a fool!” about 37 times each.

It was around this time that Joy just gave up and tossed all the raw meat on the rug and let the wildlife have at it.

With a deep breath, she asked Renee about her Celebration of Life Party.  The one where she was supposed to celebrate surviving her torso rebuilding with some dinner and dancing, and instead everyone ended up pulling Drita off Karen’s face…and Ramona’s boob out of her dress.

That party.  The one with all the plate throwing.

Cut my girl some slack.  Big Ang thought it would be a good idea that night if Karen talked to Drita.  She meant well, right?

And word on the street was that Drita had said she was ready to talk, even though we never seem to find out where these streets are every week.  I need to find these streets and set up camp, because there sure seems to be a lot of gossip at that address and it is my duty to eavesdrop and report back to my loyal readers.

Jennifer even had to come back out from behind the cameras to settle a few arguments, since it appeared she was the one who had spoken to Drita and/or Karen at some point over last summer.

As the tension built, I was momentarily distracted by Jennifer’s Popeye mouth.  Earlier on I hadn’t noticed that she talks slightly sideways, which is pretty endearing for a Mob princess and cartoon sailor.  But it took my attention away for just a second, and when I regained my focus Ramona and Drita were screaming and pointing and (bleepin’) their brains out.

Next thing you knew they both stood up to Unleash the Beast and Light the Fire, which caused everyone else to jump up and go into their defensive tackle positions. Renee started in with that patented “NoNoNoNo” thing she does under pressure, one camera man had nervous pee on live wires and then it was over until next week.

It was enough to make me come outta my face, I tell you.