DanThat'sCool!

 

 

Snookie, JWoww and Deena from the Future return to present day Staten Island to smush some Juicers and shop Forever 21.

 

 

 

 

WTF? “You’d look great with bangs” they said. “Trust me” they said.

 

 

 

 

OhMyGawd. Stop. Seriously. Did you see that wig? That’s what I look like when my dog falls asleep on my head! I can’t.

 

 

 

They did The Bash. They did the Botox Bash. The Botox Bash. It was a Big Lip smash.

 

 

 

 

Hell, yeah. I would totally shovel this s*** down like a Bath Salt Zombie if I could move my face.

 

 

 

If I stay perfectly still maybe she’ll pick up a different scent and go find somebody else to chew on.

 

 

 

 

When it comes to Wiseguys and Petco, Mama always says sniff out the biggest sausage or go home hungry.

 

 

 

Pack it up.  And plump it up.

Stick a “For Sale” sign in the ground and a needle in your face, and there you have it.

You just summed up the latest episode of Mob Wives.

It was all about moving on, moving out and not moving your forehead as the Wives got right down to business and Botox as soon as the credits stopped rolling.

You know I love me some Mob Wives, but I have no idea what was going on this time around.  It was just cray cray.

After last week’s I Can’t Believe It’s Not Buttah knife fight between Carla and Renee, the first step was to get Ramona up to speed.  Since she had not attended Big Ang‘s brunch and therefore had missed Carla working her stubby little margarine lightsaber like some kind of hoochie Princess Leia, Ramona needed to scoot over to Renee’s for the recap.

And who better to accompany her than Karen.  And Karen’s new hot mess of a wig.

Seriously.  What was that all about?  It kind of looked like the hair you get at iParty on Halloween to change up last year’s Naughty Nurse outfit.  You know you don’t want to spend too much money on it because it either ends up on the curb like hairy roadkill or caught on that jagged piece of metal that’s always poking out of a Motel 6 screen door.

It also sorta looked like that Jessica Simpson QVC bang clip-on apparatus that might have had some issues on the ride over.  Maybe the window was cracked down a little too far.  They smoke, you know.

But then again, it also looked as though maybe KG had just gotten back from the rough part of town and gotten a weave sewn in approximately 1/4″ above her natural hairline.

OhNoSheDin’t.

We’ll probably never really know what was going on up there.  Girl, pleez.  Next time, just leave it to the sistahs.

Renee filled Ramona in on all the (bleepity bleep bleep) name calling and accusations from the night before, as Karen kept getting her new bangs caught on her eyelashes.

Those things should come with White Girl directions.

Ramona got all Italian gangstah like they used to do on Mob Wives: Chicago (…oh, Leah DeSimone.  Gone too soon…) and either called Carla a Butana or Butanna or Putana.  They all kinda sorta mean the same thing if you do your research, and no matter where I looked online I realized that everyone had a different opinion on which was the correct spelling and pronunciation and meaning.

After about 15 minutes I also realized that only teen age boys should spend that much time Googling the Italian swear word for “whore,” and I decided to clear my Safari history and move on to Carla’s pool like it never happened.

Over at Casa Butana…or Butanna or Putana…Carla was putting her twins through some serious interrogation regarding their Dad and his new girlfriend, Raquel.

Fresh out of prison, Joe had already somehow managed to score a fairly attractive girlfriend and a new three-story home.

Yeah.  Three stories.  I thought the same thing.

I’ve never been to prison, and I’m barely making rent on 2 1/2 rooms.  What’s wrong with this picture?

Watching little Carmen and Jo Jo boing around in their floaties and inflatable donut rings almost made you forget all the bad stuff they’ve had to endure in their short little lives.  But then Carla kept bringing it all back up again, and at the same time I noticed that 10 year old Mini-Me Joe already had his first gold Guido chain when most kids his age still wear those edible Sweet Tart necklaces.  So there you go.

Down the street, it appeared to be Take Your Dog Shopping Day as Big Ang and Drita hit up the local pet shop for some gossip and kibbles.

Drita’s little yapper Lucky Santangelo was more than overly excited to see Big Ang show up with her pocket pup Louis, and almost wagged himself into a coma before they even made it into Pet Oasis.  It should also be noted that sometime over the Summer Louis had apparently gone from gangster to gangstah rapper and now suddenly wanted to be addressed as Lil Louis.

Or Snoop Doggy Lou.  Whatev.  It’s a dog.

There was also a potential romantic interest creating what could prove to be quite the puppy love triangle moving forward, because Big Ang had also added a purebred mix of pink Hello Kitty and Sissy Dawg to her barnyard.

Boys.  Meet Chanel.  Kind of makes you wish you still had your marbles, huh?

As Drita and Ang rehashed the buttah knife drama again, the only thing of any importance was that for some reason, out of the store’s entire inventory stock, somebody chose to film Big Ang against a colorful backdrop of PetSolution Wee Wee Pads.

The ones you tinkle on.

I’ll just go on record as saying that the puppy they show on the classic Wee Wee Pad How-To youtube video is sooo freaking cute that if the Humane Society was open this late at night I would be down there right now grabbing anything that didn’t already know how to pee outside.

Yes.  I Googled Italian dirty words and the aromatic placemats that baby dogs unload on, just for you people.

I said I did it.  I didn’t say I was proud.

At least not as proud as Carla was when she hit the boardwalk with Big Ang and Drita, dressed in whatever the f*** that sheer thing was that she found in her costume closet.

It was like Cher took one of her back-up dancers and one of her favorite drag queens down to the waterfront for cocktails to celebrate selling out the San Francisco Pride Parade closing ceremonies in under 25 minutes.

I can’t.  I just can’t.

It wasn’t even the butt-less Turn Back Time outfit.  I don’t know what it was.  And I certainly don’t have any idea where you would go to find it, much less find it and then decide you want to own it.

And Drita was there, dripping in what appeared to be one of Liberace‘s gold chainlink hairnets, if Liberace had been allowed anywhere near a boy’s prep school cafeteria and needed a hairnet while he plopped wieners on a tray.

Even Big Ang seemed Big Angier than normal, with those googly eyed sunglasses and a dress made from the same fabric they hot glue to moccasins at those highway off-ramp souvenir joints.

The whole thing was such a hot mess that it made Karen’s iParty wig seem pretty tame in comparison, and almost made me miss the part when Lee called Drita on her cell phone while the girls were tossing back funky martinis.

He is getting out of jail in 6 months and Drita wasn’t sure what to do next.

I say return that chainlink thing, and then worry about Lee.

And I’m all set with the getting dirty on the phone visuals, too.  TMI.  I think I just figured out how Lucky Santangelo got his name, and why he never blinks.

Where’s my Wee Wee Pad when I need it, Mama?

And don’t prisoners have to make their calls from a public phone in the hallway with a guard watching them?  Let that one sit in your brain for a moment and then try to get some sleep tonight.

Back at Renee’s, AJ had just returned from his grandfather’s court hearing.  Thanks to Junior going all RatFace for the Feds last year, Renee’s Dad had been caught in the fallout and carted off to jail right before she had that big meltdown.

Grandpa had spoken at the hearing, via a note, and told Renee and AJ that he didn’t blame them for anything that had happened.  We then got our weekly awkward Mob Wives Moment when Renee spoke about how it’s all AJ’s Dad’s fault that Grandpa got sent to jail.  It’s all Junior’s fault.

I’m thinking that maybe it also had something to do with all those years and years of breaking the law and doing Mob stuff, but maybe that’s just me.  Every week there always has to be one head scratching comment that makes you go hmmmm and wonder whether anyone really knows if crime does or doesn’t actually pay.

I leave that debate to somebody who went to law school while I was busy watching cartoons all those years.

While Grandpa was keeping busy on the inside, Joe Ferragamo was busy enjoying life on the outside.  And that included his new girl and that three story home.

After spending some time shooting hoops with Raquel, which gave me so many opportunities for jail jokes that my head almost exploded, Joe decided it was time to tell Carla that Raquel was going to move in with him.

Seriously.  Raquel asked Joe so many innocent questions about playing manly prison ball all night that I could have easily twisted every last one of them into HIGH-larious off color jokes that would have had you choking on your Starbucks.   But I was afraid your office Spam filter would block my site all week, and I know how you like to use me to kill time at work.  And you know I’m always thinking of others.

So I’ll pass on this round.  Rewind the DVR and make your own R rated movie.  I guarantee it’ll occupy the kids for hours on a snow day.

Speaking of kids.  Drita took her two little nuggets to the park, and then to meet with the realtor as she began the process of opening her own cosmetics store.  Turns out that before Lee went to the Big House the last time, Drita was a pretty big deal in the makeup industry.  Unfortunately, when Lee got sent away her stress level went up and her client list went down.  Way down.

But now she was looking to rebuild the Just Me Cosmetics Empire, if she could only find some decent store front property.

It couldn’t be as difficult as finding Renee a new home.  Not even close.

After the break-in at her house and the whole Junior fiasco, Renee wasn’t feeling safe anywhere.  Any.  Where.

So she was looking to get out of Dodge and find a new crib.  The only requirements were that it be safe, have no windows, no basement, no detached garage, bullet-proof siding, Bat Poles and a Star Trek force field bubble wrapping the entire building.

And no Dish Network.  That (bleep) never works when it rains.

Renee is scared of everything, and even Karen was at a loss as the realtor felt the color and commission drain from his own face.  To be continued.  And continued some more.

Drita had better luck, though, when Big Ang casually mentioned an open store across the street from The Drunken Monkey.

Boom.  Rented.  That was easy.

Not quite so easy, on the other hand, was telling Carla that Raquel was going to be moving in with him, which Joe quickly found out in the driveway.  Carla got all angry Butana or Butanna or Putana on his a** and then squealed off in her car, leaving a trail of dust and (bleeps) behind her as Joe went back inside to clean the house.  Because that’s what the kids say he does all the time now.  I guess that being able to use a mop instead of a prison-issued tootbrush around the tile grout probably makes the process a little easier.

We finished off the night with a Botox Bash.

Big Ang brought all the Wives together for some poking and plumping and drinking.

Nothing major.  Just the usual fillers and such.

Newbie Love Majewski even made an appearance, all wrapped in fur with a champagne flute suction cupped to her face.  Love.  Her.

I’m pretty sure she was just holding the glass to be polite around the ladies, because with those new lips she could have easily just planted that thing on her mouth and kept both hands free for appetizers.

I hate to say it, but Big Ang better start ramping up the crazy, or Love may be my new TV girlfriend.  She is whackadoodle.  And I eat that kind of shizzle up with a spoon.

Along with the lip shots and the liquid shots, the Wives also had the opportunity to have any annoying spots laser tagged off their persons if they so desired.  I assumed the Doctor meant little freckles on their necks, but before I knew what was happening Love had pulled her top off, lifted up a pair of breathtakingly ginormous jugs to the ceiling and then Jimmy Hoffa fell out onto the floor, all dazed and sweaty, clutching his throat and gasping for air.

As a little preview for next time, Renee was back home where she received a note in Junior’s handwriting, which caused her to tear off down the highway in her car.

Because that’s what they say you should do when you’re emotionally at your breaking point and about to lose your nutty.

Get behind the wheel of a car.

Bad Boys.  Bad Boys.  Good luck with that one.

 

 

You mean even the burglars didn’t want to steal this chotsky (bleep) before they ran out the back door? Go figure.

 

 

 

 

Dude. Not in front of your mother. That’s just (bleepin’) nasty.

 

 

 

 

The only thing more unsettling than that punk fingering his stress ball is this 8 foot ceramic horse watching me.

 

 

 

No. Seriously. He was (bleepin’) diddling it right in front of his mutha.

 

 

 

 

How’z about I take this buttah knife, slit your fat throat and watch all the pills fall out like a (bleepin’) Pez dispenser, you clown-faced bitch?

 

 

 

Holy (bleep.) Please tell me she’s just swinging that thing around because she brought the Nutella.

 

 

 

 

Nobody even touched the fresh Brodetto. Can’t believe I stood on my bad toes all morning for this.

 

 

 

Well it’s about (bleepin’) time.

What the (bleep) took so long?

That’s right.  The sound of deadbolt locks being replaced and network censor panic buttons being activated can only mean one thing.

Mob Wives is back.

Staten Island’s Roughneck Royalty have all returned for a new season, bringing with them even more over the top drama and questionable fashion choices, as well as a few newly injected faces thrown into the mix to keep it interesting.

The last time we had all hung out at the Drunken Monkey with the Wives, Renee was still spinning from the fallout caused by Junior turning Snitch on the Mob.  His intricately wired wrist watch and dress shirt combination had resulted in her own father being dragged off to the Big House on the same night that her ex-husband vanished into the world of Witness Protection.  And no one has seen Junior since.

In the real world Junior is probably half way across the country with different colored hair and a newly laminated license by now, but on General Hospital they tend to just stick a rubber prosthetic on your face and leave you in the same neighborhood.  So you never know.  And not knowing for certain is what makes Renee a shaky hot mess.

Shakier than on a normal day, that is.  You’ll see.

Our first glimpse back into their WiveLives came when we joined Drita and Carla and their two little pocket dogs on a boardwalk stroll.

Those two little puppies do like to pee.  Almost as much as those two grown women like to gossip.  I don’t know which pair would explode first if they weren’t allowed to satisfy their needs on an hourly basis.

After discussing the status of Monkey Mama Big Ang‘s son AJ and his current 18 – 24 month stint at rehab, they moved right to the topic du jour: Renee.

Let’s just say that there is no love lost between Carla and Renee.  None.  Especially since Carla had been hearing “on the street” that Renee had a problem with her…and Homie don’t play dat.

Ok.  Hold up.  Where are these streets that everyone keeps talking about?

Seriously.  We’re now into the third season of this show, and not one person has been able to scientifically explain the Staten Island gossip phenomenon.

Every Wife says the exact same thing during every argument right before they swing that first punch.  They heard it from 10 people in 10 neighborhoods (…Spoiler Alert: Renee throws that one in Carla’s face a little later…) but they can’t say who said it or where they heard it.

I even asked Siri where to find good gossip in Staten Island, and the Bitch just said to bring an umbrella tomorrow.  I give up.

Carla explained to Drita that Renee was nothing but a (bleepin’) pill popping junk box as her tiny dog rubbed his butt on the grass and everyone headed home for lunch, temporarily drained of all gossip and water bowl bloat.

Renee’s ears must have been ringing as she met with a locksmith over at her own home.  While she was gone on an overnight trip to Atlantic City, someone had broken into Graziano Grove and trashed up both Renee and son AJ‘s bedrooms, so she needed every lock in the house changed before she lost her mind.

Not having access to the Mob Manual myself, it was a good thing that Renee explained how Payback works on the streets.  Junior had really stuck it to a number of Staten Island’s…ahem…fine, upstanding businessmen, so she was sure that the break-in was retribution for being connected to a Rat Faced Snitch.  Having your home broken into is traumatic enough, but when the brother of the wife of the son of the uncle who Junior just sent to jail knows where you live…that has gotta suck.

One.  I’m not sure I would show the world on national television what type of new lock the guy from A&S Locksmiths brought over and how easy it is to install.  One quick Google and a paper clip and someone is back in your bedroom again.

Two.  I’m really not sure I would then walk the guy from A&S Locksmiths to the back patio door and have him announce to the world on national television that there really is no way to secure that entrance except with one of those hotel sticks that always break in half when you forget your house key at work and bust back into your own kitchen.

Three.  If you can literally just walk in the back patio door, why bother armoring up the front door like Iron Man’s pants?

Just saying.

The entire time the A&S guy was drilling and sweating it out, AJ was slumped on the couch like a free loader, getting intimate with one of those Dr. Phil stress balls while Renee blew her first nutty of the season.

 It was Round #439 between Mother and Son as they (bleeped) back and forth about Junior’s decision to choose the RatPack over his family, leaving them on opposite sides of the argument.  Again.

AJ never budged from the couch the entire time, which was just as well because then he might have had to cook or clean or help out around the house.  Or pay rent.

Shlep much?  Prada specs don’t pay for themselves, Junior.  Junior Junior, I mean.

Yeah.  There was not much love at the Graziano house that night.

But there was love to spare over at Big Ang’s house.  Love Majewski.

There was a new girl in town.  And (…allegedly…) some new boobs.  But I’ll let the gossip blogs figure that one out…we’re legit news over here.

Love went to high school with Karen and Ramona, was engaged six times and involved with the Wise Guy from The Untouchables.  (The real one, not the movie one.  Der.)

She also knows Big Ang.  But then again…who doesn’t?

Love dropped by to check on my girl Angela and see how she was doing after some toe surgery.  Our Hostess with the Mostess (…and the Biggest…) was recuperating from some gnarly ingrown toe/bone breaking thing that resulted in her feet looking like those Mexican Wrestling thumb puppets they sell on the Boardwalk.  Poor Ang’s little piggies were all individually wrapped up in gauze and decorated with magic marker smiley faces.

It was Classic Angela.

As was her new home, which was now fully furnished and decorated in so much pink and white and black that it made my eyes sting.  I always wondered who manufactured this stuff, and who buys it.

Now at least half of the mystery is solved.

Since we know that all the Wives like to eat, Renee and Drita hit up Hotel Z for some snacks, wearing identically enormous Jersey Shore hoop earrings.  Thankfully, you could still tell them apart because Renee was the one wearing the crazy psychedelic 1960′s Laugh-In dress that made my Big Ang kitchen eyes water up again.

The two Wives gossiped and noshed while discussing the break-in, complaining how the man who had lived a life of crime and then gone RatFace on them all had just caused a crime to be committed on them in retaliation.  And that wasn’t cool.  But the life of crime that led up to it and paid for the furs and the house that had just been broken into…was…well that is…umm…

Sometimes it’s better to not even attempt any in-depth analysis of this show and just move on to hardcore Carla bashing.

Renee called Carla a Sewer Whore, which I’m going to assume is worse than an above ground whore, and denied any neighborhood rumors that she had chopped up her own body in a futile attempt to look like Carla.

Just the idea that Renee would go through a life-threatening medical procedure to look like some horse faced subterranean whore who sleeps with married men was laughable.

So Renee laughed.  And got crazy eyes.

She then unleashed the season’s first “You Wanna Go To War With Me?” and life was good again in Staten Island.

Across town, the producers must have had some Go Kart tickets left over from last season because Ramona, her kids and her freshly whitestripped teeth were all back at the track doing a few laps on Family Fun Day.

Ramona’s Mystery Boyfriend Joe (…remember, you can’t do an authentic Mob show without at least two Joe’s on the payroll…) was still in jail from that unexplained traffic violation which had somehow ended in a 20 cruiser road block, and the whole soap opera was taking a toll on both her family and her mortgage check.

Because she was running low on cash and couldn’t count on ex-husband Daddy Done Diddly to cough up any child support, it was time to downsize everyone into an apartment building.

With a name like that, you’d think that Triple D would have been able to help out with cash from a gig at some Soho Jazz Club, but I guess not.  Maybe I’m just misinterpreting the nickname.  So it was one more lap around the track and then back home to check out Craig’s List.  Time is money.

Speaking of saving time and money.  If Drita could just hook up everyone on speaker phone, it would certainly save her the time of cruising all around town spreading gossip.

No sooner had she finished up one meal then she was sitting down with Carla repeating the conversation she had just had with crazy eyed Renee.  It was pretty much word for word, so if you didn’t leave the room during her lunch with Renee you already know how the scene with Carla went down.

Carla referred to Renee as a junkie and then they both ordered appetizers.  The End.

There was just enough time for one more pub crawl before brunch, so Renee, Big Ang and Karen met up to rehash the same gossip…one mo’ time…in case you missed it the first 27 times.

Side note.  Entrepreneurial Karen had apparently used some of her Mob Daughter residuals on one of those QVC Beachy Wave hair curler things, because Girlfriend was rocking a sassy new ‘do as they all sat down to dish.

Unfortunately, they didn’t get very far before newbie Love joined them at the table.

Lesson #1 in Restaurant Hosting:  You might not want to seat the woman who allegedly had gotten intimate with another woman’s husband at the same table with the scorned woman.  Especially when that woman is a time bomb like Renee Graziano.

Wha–?  Renee had heard that Love had knocked some boots with Junior back in the day.  On the streets they call it Gettin’ Intimate.  Love denied it.  Junior was no prize, thank you very much.  Oy, the dramz.

They settled it pretty quickly because everyone had to go to home and rest up for Big Ang’s brunch, which was basically an opportunity to have multiple mimosas and force Renee and Carla into hugging it out.

Good luck with that.

By the time Carla showed up at the brunch, the majority of Renee’s personalities were already busy eating.  Manners don’t matter when you’re waiting for a horse faced sewer whore, I guess.

Carla sat down.  Renee looked at her.  And then it all just went (bleep.)

Renee called her the Go To Girl.  (The one you go to at the end of the night right before the flourescent lights come back on.  Before the lights is key.)

Carla called Renee a junkie.  Everyone had a heated discussion on Webster’s definition of junkie vs. addict.  Carla was still a whore.

Renee swore that Carla had been sniffing after her cousin’s man.  Carla called Renee a junkie.  Renee declared that Carla liked to (bleep) married men.

Next thing you knew, Carla was swinging around a butter (…buttah…it’s the Island…) knife like Luke Skywalker and Drita’s eyeballs popped out.  Big Ang even tried to distract everyone with her boobs by taking off her poncho in the heat of the battle.

When Big Ang’s boobs can’t even stop traffic, then you know it’s getting ugly up in here.

Carla called Renee a junkie.  Renee (bleeped) a bunch of smack talk.

Big Ang didn’t like Twitter.  Who knew?  She’s on it enough.

And then they just stopped and had soup.  Really.  Just like that.

Like it was over and had never happened, even though Renee and Carla both claimed it wasn’t over.  Not even close.

And one is still a whore and one is still a junkie.  They said so.  Plus I heard it from 10 people in 10 neighborhoods.  So it’s gospel.

You can’t even make this (bleep) up.

They’re back.

 

 

See? All this talk about giving each other fat lips has hurt her feelings. Happy now?

 

 

 

 

 

You want maybe I should throw some Gangsta Rap beats down on yo’ head?

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah? Well anybody else here have a book AND two huge shelves like these to put it on?

 

 

 

 

 

Mob Wives: Chicago? Seriously? Those bitches wish.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m about to go all Star Jones on somebody’s a** if they don’t sit down.

 

 

 

 

Dear Wendy Williams:

You can have your old gig back.  These bitches are (bleeped) up.

I’m outta here.

Sincerely, Joy Behar.

……………………………

It was Round Two of the Mob Wives Reunion Rumble, and poor Joy was in so far over her Sally Jesse Raphael wannabe head that I expected Barbara Walters to swoop in at any minute and carry her off the set before she ruined all of The View’s Tough Chick street cred. 

It’s one thing to bully Hollywood celebrities and any politicians that go up against the Behar Beliefs, but when it comes to holding down Drita D’Avanzo and Ramona Rizzo, Joy should have just packed up her stuff and left early to beat traffic.

This week picked right up where we left the Wives last week, with everyone in one chaotic pig pile trying to keep Drita and Ramona from latching on to the meaty part of each other’s necks.

Instead of discussing what went down at Renee’s Celebration of Life rooftop party, the two Wives had decided to attempt a bloody reenactment and everyone from cameramen to makeup girls to the poor schmo from Poland Springs who just happened to be delivering water bottles for the kraft table were all called in to keep them separated in the middle of the studio.

As Joy sat comfortably back in her chair (…they don’t stand up for nuthin on The View except free food and Patti LaBelle performances, thank you…) everyone else ran around like Ricky And Fred when Lucy’s water broke.

Renee continued bellowing her NoNoNoNo war cry while Karen tried to block Ramona’s tackle.  Everyone was (bleepin’) and screaming and screaming and (bleepin’) as Drita tried unsuccessfully to exit the set with all her extensions and animal print press-on nails still attached.

Maybe it was just me, but I swear that one cameraman was actually Joey Fatone, which could be very possible considering no one has really seen much of him since that freaky light saber tango on Dancing With The Stars.  Joey and Jennifer Graziano cut off the stampede like Red Rover Olympians, which finally allowed Drita to scoot behind the cameras and cool off before returning to the couch.

When Drita was securely strapped down, Joey went back behind the camera to sulk about the whole Justin Timberlake superstardom thing.  Ramona went back to her opposite corner and did that tongue across her teeth thing that she always does when she is pissed off, and Joy tried to regain control of her show.

With much the same tone, and with basically the same results that one would expect when you tell a newborn puppy not to pee on the carpet, Joy told Drita and Ramona to sit down and not get up.

Good luck with that.

I think you can imagine how successfully that one went over, as Ramona accused Drita of ‘taking off like a G6′ when they saw each other in Las Vegas.

For those of you less versed in hip hop terminology, Ramona pretty much called out Drita for being chicken s***, which I’m pretty sure you don’t want to do when she is within spitting distance of your face.

That ignited a whole (bleepin’) Single White Female throw down over who copied who and who’s a crumb snatcher and who’s just a bitch trying to jump another bitch on the roof.  There was also a highly elevated discussion regarding the compromise of the Inner Circle, and who should just go back to East Arabia or wherever the (bleep) you came from, bitch.

There was generally just a lot of bitching about who came into the Staten Island Mob World first.  Picture the Chicken vs. The Egg argument, but with stilettos and bling and the word bitch used too much.

Next on the index card was a segue to Karen and Drita’s dysfunctional relationship.

Since I don’t fully believe that Joy Behar has ever watched an episode of this show, I’m sure that the cards must have come in pretty handy.

As Karen sucked in her newly thinned down cheekbones, we got to relive their tumultuous on again/off again friendship.  They’ve shared many experiences.  Many highs, many lows and quite possibly…many men.

But luckily, and I speak for anyone out there with eyes or any other working senses, they never shared that Macy’s Moment.

Yeah.  That one.

The one where Karen told us what Drita could do to her in front of Macy’s.

I still can’t watch the Macy’s Parade without wondering if one of the clowns holding the Snoopy string is going to step in something sticky and cause the balloon to careen off course, possibly injuring hundreds of innocent kids who came in on a New Jersey YMCA bus trip.  Even though she didn’t go through with it, Karen has forever scarred me on Thanksgiving.

I can’t even spoon the stuffing out of the bird without getting car sick.

Moving on.

Next it was our boost of testosterone as Joe Ferragamo and Dave Seabrook joined the party.

Joy welcomed the fellows with a hilariously uncomfortable ‘Welcome Felons’ and some polite laughter, most likely after confirming that the metal detectors were still plugged in back stage, then proceeded to ask the boys what crimes got them sent to jail in the first place.

Joe flexed his dimples and proudly listed off a resume page full of money crimes, while Dave just responded with ‘Lots.’

After Karen squirmed a little, Dave calmed everyone down by reassuring them that it was only attempted murder…not real murder.  Relax, people.

Phew.  At least it was only attempted.

Cue the romance montage.

It was a Hallmark moment as we watched my TV girlfriend Big Ang talk smack about her sanitation worker husband.  He may cheat and stay out all night, but the guy looks like Russell Crowe and has a pension.

Ok.  Hold up for just a second.

I don’t even think the guy who picks up the trash in the Hamptons could look like Russell Crowe, so I think the pension may be clouding her vision.

If a guy looked like Russell Crowe, chances are he would be doing something besides picking up recyclables every other Tuesday…or he would actually be Russell Crowe.

But I still love me some Big Ang, even when she is delusional.

The flashbacks also showed us Carla and Joe’s strange relationship, which came complete with marital infidelity, a new third wheel younger girlfriend and Carla’s hands off me, dude policy.

Someday we’ll hopefully get to find out how Joe learned to be such a horny tease behind prison walls, but probably not anytime soon.  So for now it’s simply left to our imaginations, hotel room pay-per-views and any random off color stories I may choose to fabricate.

Dave and Karen tripped over each other a little when asked what was going to happen with little Karina. Karen’s daughter is apparently in limbo, since Dave will be returning to Arizona while Karen remains on the East Coast.

Though they couldn’t agree on something as insignificant as child care, they were both clearly on the same page when it came to knockin’ boots behind closed doors.

Karen again praised Dave’s bedroom swagger, which sent all the other Wives off on a school girl tangent trying to come up with as many synonyms for doing the nasty as they could before the next commercial break.

It’s probably a safe bet that both Joy and Joey Fatone wanted to just get up and leave right about the time that Ramona came up with the ‘laying down the pipe’ visual and Renee spit her gum out onto that gigantic Ikea rug.

Joy fumbled her way around some more romance talk as we learned that the fake Russell Crowe can really get it down in the bedroom, which I found kind of strange since that is the opposite of what he should be doing, correct?  But it made Big Ang do her Herman Munster again and I love every quart of saline in her body, so it’s all good.

In what will probably be the most Googled question of the entire two weeks of drama, Joy asked Ramona straight up about her incarcerated boyfriend Joe.

(I’ve lost track of how many Joe’s and AJ’s are on this show.  Don’t waste your time emailing me.  Between the Mob and the Giudices, I can’t keep up anymore.)

We finally got his name, which was a start.  But Ramona was still vague on why Joe was pulled over on the highway by 7 police cars and never heard from again.  Everyone looked around the room at each other like you do on an elevator when you smell something funny, and then the discussion was over.

Renee broke the tension by announcing that she loves the criminals.  They have financial stability.  When they lose their job, they can still provide for their family.

Honestly, at that point, I wasn’t sure if Renee’s meds had just kicked in or just worn off.

Luckily before Renee could ramble on any longer, my TV Lover Big Ang took over and gave us some details on her arrest for possession and selling of cocaine way back in the day.  It was a sordid tale of betrayal by her then BFF who had been wired up, à la Junior’s Dick Tracy watch, and sold her down the river to the Feds.

Big Ang even had to be clamped into one of those Lindsay Lohan ankle bracelets during her house arrest, and she vowed to never be a Rat after that experience.

Then we went around the room so everyone could brag about their arrest record, and the process somehow made Carla look like the odd one out for never having been fingerprinted.  It was another one of those classic Mob Wives Moments when you’re not sure they know that being arrested is a bad thing, at least according to most job application forms.

But then Big Ang laughed again, and suddenly everything seemed ok.

For some comic relief, Joy turned on the official Mob Wives Swear Counter and ran through a season’s worth of Renee’s potty mouth as numbers flew by like we were at the Indy 500.  I thought for certain this would be a 3 hour show until they sped up the counter and we tallied up 407 times this season that someone had to (bleep) out Renee’s (bleepin’ bleeps.)

Can you imagine the intern who drew that short straw and had to sit threw an entire season’s worth of reels with one of those hand clickers they use to count grocery store customers?

Talk about carpal tunnel in one week.

I feel sorry for whoever that was, because their cramped hands will probably never recover enough to snap and clap along with the gangsta rappin’ stylings of Drita and her Bad Boy music video, which we revisited next.

Drita spit the beats and robbed the bank like a pro, and even gave the Mob Wives a mention in her rap.  Karen claimed that the line about ‘crickets chirping’ was a dig at all the gossipy Wives, but Drita shot back that it was only a generalization against all the gossipy haters out there in Staten Island.

Sensing another rumble, Joy quickly shifted gears to Karen’s Mob Daughter book, which had so far hogged 7 weeks on the NYT Best Sellers list.  It probably could have hogged another week if Drita had bought a copy, but she was quick to mention that she hadn’t read it and clearly had no intention of reading the rag.

Then the crickets were back again.  But this time they were silent as Karen glared at Drita and everyone took one step closer just in case they had to run defense on the floor again.

But everyone remained seated, and the show finished off with one last attempt to stir up the Drita vs. Ramona feud.

The phrase was ‘agree to keep it cordial.’

Which in Mob Wives lingo means ‘I’ll kick your a** next season.’

When Renee dropped to her knees in a Staten Island Halleloo, it looked more like she was ducking out of the line of fire than actual thanking Baby Jesus.

Trust me.  It ain’t over till the Fat Lady sings.

Or when she goes over the rooftop railing and lands on the hood of a passing taxi.

See you next season.

I’ll be throwing down with the bitches in Chicago if you need me.