DanThat'sCool!

 

 

What the (bleep)? If I’d known this was a costume party I would have dressed up. Dammit.

 

 

 

 

Mission Control: Initiate bat s*** crazy launch sequence in 3…2…1…

 

 

 

 

 

 

We have lift off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whatever. Mama needs a cigarette. This way, boys…

 

 

 

 

 

OhMyGodOhMyGod! Did you see? It’s Big Ang. I Love Her!

 

 

 

 

 

I’m buggin’! Didn’t anybody read the (bleepin’) invite? It said costumes!

 

 

 

 

 

I know, right? Trust me…I’d rather be smashing this vodka bottle on your face.

 

 

 

Seriously.

Why do these women keep having parties?

Haven’t they learned anything in three seasons?  Parties = Fat Lips.

And not the Big Ang ”Boop Boop” good kind.

The Season Finale of Mob Wives was everything that we’ve come to know and love about Staten Island over the years.  Big hair, big earrings, big attitudes and big throw downs with even bigger bouncers swooping in from seemingly nowhere to break it all up before anyone loses an eyeball or an extension.

The Mob Wives we know and love was finally back.  And just under the wire, thank you.

All season long, the gossipy Love vs. Carla train had been threatening to careen out of control, taking down any innocent bystanders unlucky enough to be standing on the platform when it jumped the tracks.  It just needed a catalyst.

And nothing gets a Mob Wives party going like…well…like a party, I guess.

Whenever these women all gather together, it’s asking for trouble.  Big trouble.  And Drita‘s 1980′s-themed birthday party was no exception.

They may be living in a Material World, but trust me…Love is a Battlefield.

(And that, kids, is called a smooth as buttah segue.  The More You Know.)

We started out with Ramona and Karen on a search for some vintage ’80s Wear, which didn’t look much different than anything from the Spring 2013 Staten Island Collection.

But whatever.  We don’t judge here.

It was their first time together since the infamous Pre-Nup Party that Karen had arranged, which had either been an innocent chance for the women to collect valuable financial information or an opportunity for Karen to sneak in a couple of pokes at Ramona’s upcoming nuptials.  Nobody was really sure what that whole evening had been all about, if you asked around.

But thanks to loose cannon Love Majewski, nobody had much time to worry about any potential ulterior motives because they were all too distracted by her going completely Cray Cray on one of Ramona’s friends who had just happened to look her way from the other side of the bar that evening.

I mean Crayola Cray Cray.  Full Box of 64 Cray Cray.  With a built-in shiv sharpener.

I’ll Stab You To Death Cray Cray.

And now Love had been invited to Drita’s party.  The same party that Carla had been invited to.  Both of them were invited.  You might want to get out your brass knuckle iPhone, open the calculator app and do the math on that one.

Needless to say, both women were a little on edge thinking about how the whole thing could go down, but Karen felt that she could tell Love to simply chill out at the party and it would happen, in much the same way I can will a herd of Pamplona cattle to come to a dead halt during the Running of the Bulls.  Because I can do that, you know.

Good luck with that, Karen.

Speaking of Carla.  She and soon-to-be Ex Joe met up for some pizza and legal talk.

Divorce.  The least of her problems, as she quickly stated.  Turns out that even the end of her marriage was less stressful than the ongoing Majewski gossip mill, and now that Love was publicly accusing Joe and his Dad of stealing the Angel Wings logo right off of her wrist tattoo while she slept, the whole thing was just about to boil over.  You wanna come at me?  Come at me.

Next we hit the highway with the Birthday Girl herself, cruising around town, talking hands-free on her cell and experiencing a mash-up of black & white Film Noir flashbacks as she prepared for the arrival of husband Lee, who was due to be released from the Halfway House in a matter of weeks.

Hearing him on the other end of the phone always messed with Drita’s head a bit, and this time was no different.  Lee knew it was time to make a change, and Drita was willing to risk it all one more time for the sake of her family.

Granted, she risked it all ‘one more time’ the LAST time he came out of jail and then ended up back in the slammer after approximately 2 1/2 hours of freedom.  But maybe second time’s a charm, because he sounded pretty sincere.  And Drita really wanted to get some ManCandy back in her house before she lost her mind and chewed through all the throw pillows.  So they both agreed to give this whole thing one mo’ try.

As Drita was getting all giggly and distracted on the road, Ramona and her white teeth were across town trying on gowns for a wedding that may or may not actually take place.  And even if it does, there’s no guarantee that there’ll actually be a groom in any of the album photos.

The whole thing is a little iffy.  Boyfriend “Joe Boy” Sclafani was still working on getting permission for his quickie release (…get your mind out of the gutter, please…) which would then trigger a domino effect wedding extravaganza that would need to be pulled off within 48 hours or so.  Which, as has been noted previously, is barely enough time for the caterer to thaw out any of the good stuff.

But Ramona was determined to find a dress and get married, even if Joey had to Skype the whole thing in from the prison’s workout yard.  Not an ideal situation, but if worse came to worst at least you know the groom’s party would be seriously jacked-up.  Like on HBO.  Just don’t get me started on the Bachelor Party, if you know what I mean.

Ramona took her BBFF (…Boy Best Friend Forever…duh…) Sammy to Bridal Reflections and forced him to sit through more costume changes than a Celine concert until she finally found the perfect gown.

Despite not having the solid support of friends (…I’m talking to you, Gravano…) or family (…I’m talking to you, la Rizzo famiglia…) Ramona loved Joey and couldn’t wait to marry her man.  Sammy just smiled a lot.

Then it was time to get ready to Par-tay.

I guess everyone had their own interpretation of what the ’80s were like, because I’m not really sure where they were all going with their costume choices.  Big Ang hit the salon for some big hair, and then wrapped herself in white leather and a fur coat that I swore she wore last week.  But she’s Big Ang.  She can do no wrong.

While Karen and Ramona were getting their hair and makeup applied, no one had yet heard from Love.  Was she still coming to the party?

Karen had received a text earlier in the day, and in it Love casually mentioned that she may have broken her hand when she slammed it through a wall and hit a steel beam after imagining that she had seen Carla’s face appear in the sheet rock.  The way Elvis or Jesus faces always show up in bags of Cheetos.

Except it was Carla’s face.  And it was in sheetrock.

For all you mathematicians out there…Cray to the umpteenth power of Cray.

Karen hit Love up on her Sidekick, who instantly picked up and already appeared to be sharpening another box of Crayolas with her good hand.  She had broken six bones, but didn’t give a F*** and was more than ready to unleash on Carla if she so much as pointed a finger in her face.  Love then proceeded to ramble on in some language that I’d never heard before and then hung up on Karen.

Ramona blurted out that she was afraid Love and Carla would start fighting like sea urchins, which made such little sense that I had to get up and walk around for a minute just to decompress.

Sometimes, I tell you.  These women.

Finally…the party!

Carla and Big Ang showed up first.  As in…nobody else was there yet.  Apparently all the traffic lights worked in their favor that night.

Ramona and Karen arrived next, all Material Girl-ed up and ready to get their MTV Veejay on.  Hey…at least they looked like they were in costume.

I’m still not sure who Carla and Big Ang were channeling.  Carla kind of looked like she was wearing Cher‘s Turn Back Time bodysuit, but you couldn’t see her butt cheeks and she wasn’t straddling a warship cannon.  But I think it was Cher.

Drita was late to her own party, but she had a ton of bracelets to put on…so cut her some slack.  Right behind her were Renee and BFF Nikole.  Renee’s ginormous hair and Nikole’s exposed boobs actually arrived first, followed shortly thereafter by the rest of their costumes.  Just.  Whoa.

Renee didn’t really want to be there with Carla, but she was taking one for the team as they stood on opposite sides of the room and watched each other like it was a turf war.

Or stray cats in heat marking bushes.

And then the Crazy Plane landed.  Put your trays in the upright position and pray that the oxygen masks fall from the overhead compartments.

Love was in the hizzle.  In a cast.  And already losing her shizzle.

Before the first appetizer, she announced that she wanted to rip Carla’s face off like a Bath Salt Zombie.  And then eat it.  Maybe some birthday cake would have taken the edge off, honey.

Drita and Big Ang then suddenly decided that they needed a smoke and left the building.

Really?  Now?  Let’s review.  A couple of things you should never do:  Leave a candle unattended.  Leave a baby in the car.  Leave relaxer on your hair too long.  And leave the building when Love Majewski and Carla Facciolo are in the same room.

Karen tried to play Switzerland and complimented Love on her behavior.  Wrong.  Love wasn’t behaving.  She was waiting.  Because she demands respect.  Expects Respect.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  Find out what it means to me.

For whatever reason, Karen then decided that she should sit Carla and Love down at the same table to discuss their issues.  Nice work, Gravano.

Boom.

Love loses her shiz, cracks Carla across the face with her cast and then the whole party went total Mob Mosh Pit in under 7 seconds.

Screaming.  Yelling.  Hair pulling.  Ramona chanting ‘No Fighting No Fighting’ like that would make a bit of difference in the grand scheme of things.

Full disclosure:  I’ve watched that scene about 100 times so far, and I have no idea where all those security guys came from so fast.  Trap doors?  Ceiling panels?

Backwards down the wall like Batman and Robin used to do?  BAMF-ing out of thin air like Nightcrawler did in the X-Men movie?

No clue.

But there were a million of them.  And mostly all bald for some reason.  All pushing and shoving and knocking over all the skinny VH1 sound guys who were just trying to keep their wobbly microphone sticks in the air.

Karen lost her nutty when some big doof wouldn’t let her near Carla.  She didn’t want Carla to think it was a set up and needed to find her.  (Wasn’t this the same script from the time everyone pounded on Drita?)

Carla’s hand was bleeding like a mutha.  Drita and Big Ang came back in from having a Newport and thought they were at the wrong party.  Then Drita lost her nutty.

There was a lot of nutty losing going on that night.

Finally, one of the bald guys managed to pry Love off of Carla’s face and separated the two of them.  Drita took Carla to a meeting in the ladies room while Karen went outside and jumped in Love’s getaway car to lay down some smack.

Love.  Is.  Insane.

End of story.

Back inside, it was Renee of all people, who came to Carla’s aid before she bled out on the carpet.  Before her time at Transitions, Nurse Renee knew that vodka could numb anything, so she doused Carla’s hand with liquor and patched her up in a snap.  It was almost like they kinda sorta bonded and made up in an emergency triage tent.

Deep down, Renee is a good person, and she proved it to Carla.  They let the building happier than when they arrived.

Drita stuck around to have her cake and pretty much set the building on fire with the biggest sparkler candle evah.

Love and her bag full o’ crazy squealed off down the highway, never to be seen again.

(Spoiler Alert:  Love just got fired from next season, and un-invited to the recent Reunion Show taping.  So see ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.)

Karen left, more determined than ever to get her father out of prison.  Ramona set her sights on a Summer wedding, with or without a groom.

And Big Ang?  She likes the Wise Guys, but not the drama.

Staten Island just survived Hurricane Sandy and the Mob Wives.

That is (bleeped) up.

See you at the Reunion, bitches.

 

 

Don’t even tell me that old man taped over my Flock of Seagulls album.

 

 

 

 

And then I was all like Pew! Pew! Pew! Zowie! Pow! with my Renee Superhero Wrist Rockets on that sorry bitch.

 

 

 

 

Seriously? So you’re telling me I built you this whole Broadway Bedroom theater and you won’t sing 42nd St.?

 

 

 

Honestly lady, the last time I saw a balloon like this it was taking James Franco to Oz.

 

 

 

 

You know I’m totally jealz of that kid’s bedroom. I could do my whole Las Vegas magic act up there.

 

 

 

 

I swear. All a guy has to do is put on a Pee Wee Herman tie and I turn to warm spreadable buttah.

 

 

 

 

 

Greetings, Earthling. We are BeccaBot. Mission: Assimilate.

 

 

 

 

Attention Staten Island Mall Shoppers.

We have a lost little girl who has not been seen for over a week.

If anyone finds Carla Facciolo, please bring her to the nearest cashier.  And while you’re at it, feel free to let her know that Love Majewski is talking some serious shizzle behind her back.

Seriously.  Carla’s missing.  I didn’t see her anywhere.  Did you?

If it wasn’t for the opening credits and Luscious Love’s non-stop Carla bashing, I’m not sure that anyone would have remembered Joe‘s Ex used to be one of the Mob Wives.

But there’s a storm or two brewing, one of which should blow her back into town fairly soon.

Maybe not the Arizona dust storm that started spinning around this week.  That one was confined to Karen‘s old neighborhood and almost took down a few trees and a Fembot.

But Storm Love is growing larger every time we check the map, gaining strength as it pulls in anyone who will listen.  So things are definitely about to go down in town.

We started the latest episode back in Arizona, where it was clear that we were going to max out our frequent flier miles jumping back and forth between the desert and the island this week.

What I first assumed was a Target distribution center warehouse actually turned out to just be a ginormous U-Haul storage unit with shiny red doors where Karen and her brother Gerard had stored about 374 boxes of State’s Evidence against their Dad, Sammy “The Bull” Gravano.

As you’ll remember, Gerard had come up with a possible loop hole in the court case against Sammy which could have him back out on the street in less time than it’s gonna take me to change my front door locks and get a new license.

(Umm.  They know this website is all just in fun…right?  Tell me they do.)

But first, Karen and Ramona needed to sort through mountains of legal paperwork and old beta VHS tapes (…whoa…acid flashback…) in hopes of finding some information that might help Gerard prove his point that Dad had received more time in The Hole than originally agreed upon.

Whereas most normal storage units would be full of old school clothes and action figures, this one was packed floor to ceiling with the kind of stuff that I thought should have probably stayed in a police evidence locker.  Boxes and boxes of blurry television news reports and scratchy taped conversations between Sammy and anyone who would listen were piled up behind the doors.

Did anyone else find this a little odd?  Or is it just me?  I mean, if the Feds were taping their phone conversations, why would they turn around and hand the cassettes back to the family in a Zappos box?  Isn’t that something that should be on a shelf with those crown-shaped Latin King dashboard air fresheners and ziplocked bricks of cocaine?

I swear.  If Karen’s book goes on second markdown at Barnes & Nobles, I’m going to have to finally give in and pick it up just so I can figure out what’s really going on here.

Armed with a trunk full of boxes, Karen and Ramona headed back home to pop in a cassette and do some research.

Yes.  Pop in a cassette.  If you have to ask, then you’re too young to be watching this show anyway.  Go txt ur BFF.  I’m sure Bieber just had another meltdown somewhere.

You’re only allowed to finish reading this if you remember holding your tape recorder up to the radio when your favorite song came on so you could make a mixtape for your girlfriend, which was a lot of wasted work considering that should would dump you over the summer between 7th and 8th grade and leave you with no date for the junior high prom that year even though you already had your Chess King suit picked out.

Bitch.  TMI?

Back in Staten Island, Renee was continuing her post-rehab recovery.  Turns out that a few of her counselors felt that she may still have some anger issues that needed to be addressed when she got home.

You think?

To help release some of that aggression, Renee had decided to enroll in a Krav Maga class, which is a fancy name for Israeli self-defense.  And she thought it would be a great mother/son bonding opportunity, if she could figure out how to get AJ off his bed.

Good luck with that, Mom.  Somebody needs to take that kid in to have his blood sugar levels checked.  Dude is always tired.  And mopey.  Tired and mopey.

But really, who could blame him for never wanting to leave that room?  Did you see that set up?  WTF?  It was like a Kids From Fame wet dream.  Please tell me that was not his bedroom, or he’s going to need way more than just one Krav Maga class to protect himself in gym class.

It was like his own personal jazz-handed Broadway stage.  Newsprint curtains.  Red velvet drapes and a big black box that said “Times Square” for some reason.  I can totally see AJ in his boxers and Prada specs re-enacting last week’s episode of Glee after Mom has gone to bed.

Don’t Stop Believing, kid.

Seriously.  Whoever decorated that room must have found Renee’s meds in the trash while she was in Florida.  Needless to say, AJ wasn’t going anywhere.

But cut him some slack…he probably had a sold-out matinee performance.

So Renee and Drita hit the Krav Maga mats on their own to learn the correct way to jam the flat part of your wrist into someone’s throat.  And the pointy part of your elbow into someone’s throat.  And the boney part of your knee up into someone’s junk.

It’s truly a shame AJ missed the opportunity to share in that mother/son moment.

Then we were off to the Billiards Bar for a quick Carla bashing, even though she was still technically MIA.

Though Love had yet to actually meet Carla face to face, the infamous Five Borough gossip mill already had her hatin’ on Mama Facciolo.  And Drita was already getting sick of hearing about it every time they all got together.

Renee, on the other hand, will always be Renee so she couldn’t get enough of the gossip.  As for me, I just couldn’t get enough of Renee’s craft glitter eye shadow and sweatshirt combo, so I wasn’t really paying as much attention to what was actually being said.

Martha Stewart was right, though.  Glitter does make everything Better.

Next, we left the pool hall and headed back to Arizona, where Karen was finally going to meet up with Dave‘s new girlfriend Rebecca.

Since the only thing that Karen really knew about Rebecca so far was that she had a tendency to misplace her thongs after sex, it was anyone’s guess as to how this meeting was going to go down.  Dave had only given Karen a few details, so most of her info had come from daughter Karina, who had been intentionally teeny bopper vague.

This should be good.  Karen meet Rebecca.  Rebecca meet Karen.

Oh, hell no.  Bitch stole my ombré.

Yup.  Rebecca was rocking the same new tonal fade that Karen was trying to trademark.  Dave never mentioned that.

He also never mentioned that Rebecca may, or may not, be a robot.

Expressionless.  No optical dilation.  Not impressed or threatened by Karen’s scary Mob background.  We are not programmed to feel emotion.

From what I could tell, it looked like Karen spent the entire meeting trying to figure out which side of Rebecca’s head housed the latch that swings open when her computer chip software needs an upgrade.

Like they used to do to Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation.  How cool was that?

Since she couldn’t get a rise out of her, Karen figured the next best thing would be to invite Rebecca back to the house for a get-together with all Karen’s Arizona friends.  No robot could overtake that many people at once, right?  So now there would not only be safety in numbers, but also more people available to try and figure out why Rebecca never blinks.

And speaking of artificial intelligence…and boobs.

Back home in SI, Love and Big Ang took all their saline goodness to the lingerie shop because the mysterious Fate was arriving from Las Vegas soon, and Love wanted some new unmentionables to impress her ex-boyfriend, in case…you know…just in case.

Bow chicka bow wow.  Time for your bra fitting, girls.  Pop those tops.

Using the same industrial strength tape measure that civil engineers use when they construct bridge trestles, some brave sales girl figured out that Love was a 34G/H.

And that Big Ang was carting around a pair of 38Js.

Yeah.  J.  As in Jesu—–!  Lawd have mercy!  It made my back hurt just to watch.

After a little more Carla bashing and pastie swinging it was finally date night, and Love was a nervous wreck.  Until Fate arrived at the restaurant.

Then it was just Reality Gold.  Hot Mess Reality Gold.

It appears that Mr. Fate likes to dress up, because there was a lot going on over on the other side of that table.

Studded Michael Jackson hat.  Pee Wee Herman tie.  Miles Standish big white pilgrim collar.  Steve Urkel suspenders.  America’s Got Talent goatee and eyebrows….pick any magician from last season, it doesn’t really matter.

Dude was a human Build-a-Bear.

Love could barely contain herself.  Or her womanly bosoms.  Did you see those things trying to cannonball into her salad bowl?  Simmer down, girls.

Throughout the evening we learned that Fate was into music and having babies with other women, that Love ran away from him and was upset that he never chased her, and that together they both wrecked a Vegas hotel room while knocking boots like wild animals.

Wrecked it.  Even the front door and the television set that isn’t supposed to be able to come off the top of the dresser.

All I could picture was that scene from the new Planet of the Apes when the mean zoo guy tasers the monkeys and shoots a water hose in their faces and they all go completely Rachel Zoe Ba-na-nas in the cage.

But it was at The Bellagio instead of the zoo.  And one of the apes was a 34G/H.

Check, please.

We finished off the episode with a scene from MTV’s Real World: Arizona.  Or at least that’s what I thought at first.  Karen’s got some cray cray friends.

They were booty popping on the coffee table and getting their 15 minutes of Mob Wives fame like the whole thing was getting posted on Facebook.  Everyone except the BeccaBot, that is, who stood motionless off to the side as if she was drawing power from the fluorescent lighting above the sink.

Finally Ramona couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled Rebecca aside to try and break through her force field.  She tried all the tricks that Karen had tried, but nothing seemed to shake Rebecca’s stare.  Nothing spooked this chick.

Not threats of gang violence and retaliation.  Not ghetto slams.  Not RuPaul shade.

Nothing.  It was a draw.

Dave finally took the BeccaBot home so she could recharge overnight, but the party went on without them for awhile longer.  Karen and Ramona weren’t about to join the Rebecca Fan Club, but they did salute her balls of steel with a toast at the end of the evening.  So I guess that counts for something.

And the search for the missing Carla continues.

The girls are all getting tired of listening to Love go on and on…and on…so they think it’s best that Love and Carla meet face to face and get to the bottom of all the gossip.

I dunno.  Feels like that storm is getting closer.

Better board up your windows and hide the buttah knives.

Just in case.

 

 

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.