Mob Wives: Save The Mama Drama For Someone Who Cares, Because It’s Christmas In Sweet Home Arizona.

 

 

My cosmetics line just launched Black Eye Blue and Fat Lip Fuschia, and I’m thinking of giving that bitch Ramona some free samples.

 

 

 

Yeah, it was a thong. But at least dat means she wears underwear. So dat’s kinda good, rite?

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously. But at least he works out.

 

 

 

 

Now I just got two more gigantic plastic ones to shove into the tree and then we’re good to go.

 

 

 

All I want for Christmas is a dog that will sever the artery in my neck while I’m ordering pizza for the girls.

 

 

 

Trust me, honey. You ain’t the first one to get on all fours and lick their junk when I’m around. True dat.

 

 

 

I mean…c’mon. Look at these chew toys. They’re like Staten Island-sized Snausages for really naughty Big Dawgs.

 

 

 

It was almost a Christmas Miracle, I tell you.

Like Barbie had somehow just landed on Sesame Street.

If Sesame Street was Benton Avenue and Barbie had just pulled a butter knife shiv out of the glove compartment of her convertible and cut a bitch, I mean.

This week’s episode of Mob Wives was brought to you by the Color Pink.

And the Letters F and U.

I swear.

And I know that for a fact because there was a lot of both being thrown hard and straight in our faces from start to finish this time around, in a festive pre-Christmas hour that began with a party and ended with a S.W.A.T. team fly over.

Just like any other Holiday Season on Staten Island, right?

It’s looking like Mob Wives might finally be getting their Mob Mojo back.  But Mojo…Mob or otherwise…ain’t cheap, which would explain the need for subliminal ad product placement.   And unless I’m mistaken, somebody clearly hooked them all up with that new L’Oreal Ombré hair coloring comb they sell at Duane Reade, because half the cast was totally rockin’ the latest on-trend dark to light look in every confessional shot.  Werk.

The whole thing started out at Big Ang‘s Ultra-Pink Christmas party.  Pink walls.  Pink dinnerware.  Pink table linens.  Pink wrapping paper.  And a Pink  Christmas Tree so vibrantly Pink that if you paused your DVR it would sting so bad you’d get Pink Eye.

It was like one of those Real Housewives of Beverly Hills White Parties they have every year.  Except Kim Richards wasn’t locked in the bathroom.  And it was Pink.

With just enough Jerseylicious Zebra print, of course, so as not to confuse the whole extravaganza with the little girl toy aisle at Target.  Cuz dat’s how they do on the Island.

Honestly, the only way I could differentiate between the actual artificial tree and Big Ang, all styled up in a well thought out coordinating outfit, was the size of her own ornaments as they overflowed that Pink blouse.  Love.  Her.  Especially during the holidays.

Every time Big Ang tokes on a smoke, an Angel gets their wings.

Drita, Karen and Ramona all made it to the party on time and got right to dissing about anyone not currently in the room.  Though Drita and Ramona had recently signed a peace treaty and were doing their best to uphold the terms of the agreement, their relationship was still a little awkward and it was clear that they’ll never be texting “BFF” on their brass knuckle iPhones.

Renee had chosen to skip the party to avoid any potential Carla drama, while Luscious Love Majewski had come down with Bronchitis and was also a no-show.

Bronchitis?  F’real?  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

(Seriously.  That joke will never get old.  How much do you love Sweet Brown?)

When Carla finally strolled in the door (…anyone else notice that the sun had completely gone down by the time she pulled up to the curb? Buy a watch, honey.  Lobster ain’t cheap…) it was immediately a little tense on the other side of the table.  Karen and Ramona were not big Carla fans at the moment, ever since that whole unfortunate ButterKnifeGate controversy had gone down at Big Ang’s last luncheon.

But enough with the cold shoulder.  Karen broke the ice and made certain that Carla knew Renee wasn’t at the Christmas party because of the way she had been treated at their previous get together, when Carla had played the Junky Card and swung that aforementioned butter knife all around the room like the Macy’s Parade baton girl.

Carla managed to spin the whole thing all backasswards in her head and somehow ended up proclaiming that she may have shown just the Tough Love that Renee needed, and…why yes, thank you…she probably was responsible for driving her into rehab.  So where’s the gold star?

Are you kidding me?  Karen and Ramona got all WTF?, grabbed some snacks to go, and hit the road to pack for their trip to Arizona.  Enough already.  Bitch is cray.

The food looked amazeballs, but once again Big Ang threw a party that tanked.

The next morning, Karen and Ramona headed to beautiful, hot but not humid Arizona to confront ex-boyfriend David Seabrook.  There had been a lot of unanswered questions lately surrounding Dave and his new girlfriend Rebecca, not the least of which was what the (bleep) was one of her nasty a** thongs doing in little Karina‘s bedroom?

Do NOT even tell me that you were living in the house, rent-free, and shagging yo’ girl when you were supposed to be feeding the dog?

Oooh, Child.  Karen smelled blood in the water.  And Ramona loves that shizzle, as she egged her on during the entire limo ride to the house.

When they finally arrived at Karen’s AZ home, it was like one of those quaint suburban houses where the family had been sucked into the TV set or through the back wall of the bedroom closet, leaving only a stray dog to wander around the kitchen and wonder what happened to his owners.

The place was empty.  No Dave.  No Dave’s clothes.  No Dave’s Playstation 3.  Not even a nasty a** thong hanging on the microwave handle.

Only Ozzie the Dog, who had to pee a manic mean streak by the time Karen showed up at the front door.

It didn’t take long for Karen and Ramona to do the math and realize that Dave wasn’t even living in the structure anymore, which meant that Karen had been paying a redoinkulously high mortgage on a dog house all these months.  My psychic powers told me that Karen was going to blow a nutty before next week’s previews hit the screen.

But we let that pot boil for awhile as we switched limos and drove up to Anytown, CT with Love, Big Ang, Drita and Renee in search of a brutally savage attack dog.

Since returning from rehab, Renee was finally sleeping in her Big Girl bed like a Big Girl, but was still terrified that someone might break into the house while she snoozed.  And she had already installed Best Buy video cameras and the same state of the art security system that laser beams the Hope Diamond.  But she was still stressing.

So the only thing left to do was buy one of those slobbery attack dogs that they leave in Nissan car lots after closing time.  (Trust me…it’s a fact, Jack.  Whatever you do, don’t try and stick your nose through the chain link fence at midnight to see if they still have that Turbo Z you test drove the morning before, unless you want to go home with wet pants and a dog on your face.  TMI?)

Now I’m not really sure why they had to drive 3 hours away just to watch some gigantic black dog maul a guy’s padded foam arm, but they did.

And it was totally worth it.  At least for me, because the whole scene was an odd cross between Cujo trying to get in the car window and that episode of I Love Lucy when she got a vase stuck on her head.

A lot of screaming and panic and bumping into each other.

Big Ang had enough fur on her body to pass for one of the attack animals if she wanted to try chewing on the dude’s wrist.  Drita pretty much laid a patch of yellow snow and ran as far away as possible.  Love the Dog Whisperer somehow managed to give the dog a bone, as we say in the porn biz.  And Renee ended up changing her mind and driving another 3 hours back home with no puppy in the backseat.

Six hours, people.  That’s gotta suck.

But not as badly as being in Arizona and walking blindly into a house full of hostile Karen and Ramona hormones.  Dave didn’t stand a chance.

Before his arrival, Karina had already shown up and given her Mom some serious 13 year old ‘tude.  The Duh You’re So Lame kind of ‘tude that somehow genetically and magically manifests itself when a girl hits that age.

You know exactly what I’m talking about.  It can hit anywhere.  She can just be walking down the street and it hits.  Or in a fitting room.  Granted, she’s usually directly in front of me in a Burger King line OMGing on her cellphone, but it can be anywhere.  Bitch.

Needless to say, by the time Dave walked into the Karen Trap, he didn’t stand a chance.

And it didn’t help that Dave’s kind of a DoucheBag.  Or at least his gum chewing is.

He has that Chump Dbag way of chewing his Nicorette that is truly an art form.  I can’t explain it.  But there’s just a certain way to chew your gum that just shouts to the world that you’re a DoucheBag even louder than any Affliction tee shirt ever could.

It’s like the way tough girls can crackle their gum in one bite so it sounds like Pop Rocks.

That’s an art form, too.  And probably code for F*** You Up, because as soon as one chick Pops the Rocks there are like 5 more girls surrounding the picnic table.  They’re like bad a** seagulls or something.  Whatever you do…don’t feed ‘em.

Anyway.  Dave fesses up to not living in the house and Dbags his gum and excuses all over the place.  He didn’t tell Karen because he didn’t feel like it.  And then he told her to stop trippin’, which on Staten Island immediately makes someone start trippin’.  And then the whole Whoa Is Me I Was In Prison thing started, which prompted Karen’s What Did You Think I Was Doing Out Here While You Were In There thing to kick in, which in turn took Dave’s gum chewing to a whole new level.

Yeah.  This one ain’t over yet.

Back on SI, Drita showed Carla where her new Just Me Cosmetics store was going to be located.  Nothing much to see yet, since the whole thing was still under construction and all.  But it did give Drita a chance to go on Twitter after the show and pimp out the website, so at least Mama can start making some money.

And Carla had a strange Mardi Gras mask-themed birthday party in an empty VIP room with two friends from Brooklyn, where Drita showed us all how she dogged a huge hoagie during labor contractions.  Don’t ask.

Finally, back in AZ it was nothing but full on MobStuff for the remainder of the show, which was probably a little slap in the face for those of you who keep forgetting that these are actual people involved in The Lifestyle.  And possibly a little disconcerting for anyone thinking about writing a snarky, though HIGHlarious blog on a television show about real life Mobster types who could probably find you if they really wanted to on their way to The Wendy Williams Show.

Awkward.

Karen took Ramona on a little tour/TV montage flashback to where her Dad Sammy “The Bull” Gravano was busted by the Feds.  We also saw the stop sign where his enemies had planned on blowing him up with a bomb.  Karen even opened up about all the bad life choices that she had made throughout the years, not the least being that hair style she was showing off in her mug shot.

Whoa.  Seriously?  Sorry, K.  Love you.  Mean it.  But I just can’t.

We finished the whole thing off on a remote, undisclosed mountain top location.

Seriously.  They said it, not me.

These people know they’re on a TV show, right?  Even if they arrived separately in two black Escalades like Destiny’s Child (…one for Beyoncé and one for what’s her name and the other one…) they can still see the camera guys, right?

Honestly, sometimes it’s better to just go with it.  I mean, if you can watch Superman and believe that a man can fly, then I think we can all overlook the fact that they probably didn’t blindfold the sound tech before dumping him in the trunk.  And that’s why I love me some Mob Wives.

Karen and her brother Gerard wanted to be cautious and meet somewhere secluded to discuss new developments in their father’s case.  Developments that could potentially have him back out on the street by next week.

Again.  Great for the Family.  Not so great if you still plan on writing that snarky, yet HIGHlarious blog for much longer.

Gerard had discovered a discrepancy in the plea deal their Dad had made with some legal mumbo jumbo about Upward Departure and living in The Hole.  Google it.

Then a Black Ops helicopter buzzed overhead, and Karen knew it was a sign.

We Go To War.

It’s on.

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