DanThat'sCool!

 

And then she gets all up in my face? Oh, hell no. You get up in my face and my fists get up in yours like Booyeah!

 

 

 

 

And then I goes to that Goombaloopa and I sez “Dance With Me” like it’s freakin’ Prom Night. Cuz I’m feeling the music, capisce?

 

 

 

And then I fell down and found a unicorn tail. And it smells like ponies, sparkly glitter and vaseline.

 

 

 

 

And then the Goombalina gets all Planet of the Apes on me, like she’s all “Get Your Stinkin’ Paws Off Me…”

 

 

 

 

And then da bitch made me leave a full plate of freakin’ mozzarella sticks back there. And they wuz still warm. She’s dead to me.

 

 

I tell you.

It was enough to make Frank “The German” Schweihs roll around in his grave.

If he’s actually IN his grave, I mean.  And not sitting in some cryogenic chamber with Walt Disney or orbiting the planet in the cargo hold of a government rocket ship that was spray painted to look like a rainbow.

(More on all those conspiracy theories a little later on…)

That’s right.  Mob Wives: Chicago was full on In Your Face this week, bringing with it all the signature (bleepin’) drama we’ve come to love from all those women who have no problem buying shoes and furs and jewelry until the cows come home, but for some reason still can not figure out how to purchase a ticket out of the Mob Lifestyle.

After last week’s premiere, where the Wives and their back stories were rolled out like contestants vying for the heart of The Gangstah Bachelor, this week we finally got to the Goombalicious good stuff.

It all picked up right where we left off last time, with Pia and Christina rolling around on the floor of the penthouse bar like Klassy Chicks while Renee and Nora scurried around making sure the chip bowls didn’t fly off the table.

The whole throw down began last week with a little confusion over who said what to who about Pia and her chosen occupation.  Seems that stripping to raise money for your child’s college fund doesn’t go over so well in some Chicago circles and between Nora (…allegedly…) talking smack to some cousin or another and Christina being…well, herself I guess…somehow their Girls Night Out collapsed into the kind of smack down that gives TV producers the tinglies.

Between Pia’s nightly clamp down on that stripper pole and Christina’s tight squeeze on her ice cream scoop, those two ladies have honed some seriously tight grips.  It literally took two enormous bouncers, who I swear were the same dudes who helped produce Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation album, to finally pull them apart and send them off to opposite corners of the Ring.

As Jimmy and Terry body slammed Pia out the door in an NFL human barricade, Renee and Christina hurriedly grabbed their furs and menthols while Nora dangled and swung around one of Pia’s detached weave clumps as though a radioactive insect bite had just morphed her into Spider-man.

Seriously.  Who knew that synthetic extensions could keep a child occupied for so long?

Nanny 411:  Moms…pick up a track or two for those cranky babies next time you’re down by Mo’Esha’s House O’ Hair.  Trust me, it’ll work better than warm milk.

Let’s just call this one early.  I’ll say it since everyone else seems to afraid to say it.

Nora is cray cray.

Now Leah, this show’s Big Ang (…coming to your TVs on July 18, by the way.  No fee for the spin-off plug, VH1…this one’s on me.  We love Big Ang…) is crazy, too.

But Leah is the F*** You Up kind of crazy.

Nora is the kind of crazy that thinks Hello Kitty is real.  There’s a difference.

After Christina sucked down a smoke and flaunted her unchipped manicure, she and Renee jumped into a waiting limo.  I guess when you’re in that lifestyle there is always a car on the curb with the motor running, which makes it pretty convenient after any potential bar brawls or bank alarms.  That’s actually a pretty sweet deal, considering how long it takes a cab to show up after you call the dispatcher.

Pia and Nora jumped in the other revved up getaway limo and then everyone went home to lick their wounds and un-rat whatever hair still remained attached to their heads.

You totally know that Nora shoved Pia’s track in her purse so she could play with it some more before she went to bed.  Any bets on whether she scotch taped it to her face and pretended she was Fu Manchu when she got home?  Anyone?

The next morning Nora put her new cat toy back in the drawer and headed to Renee’s apartment to rehash the previous night’s fiasco.

As the two Wives chugged the largest cups of EKKSpresso (…as Renee awkwardly pronounced it…) legally allowed by the FDA, they decided to hit up Pia on her Sidekick and invite her over for an ambush.

Luckily Pia was close by, because she showed up at the door before Renee even had time to drop the phone back in the charger.  Or maybe she just rushed over, because she obviously didn’t have time to untangle that mess from the night before.

Regardless of why she didn’t have time for a complete comb out, as soon as Pia walked through the door she was jumped by both Renee and her little salt & pepper puppy.

Renee called the whole evening disgusting and made it clear that she doesn’t make a habit of associating with people like Pia, which was rather straight to the point considering that the two Wives don’t really know each other very well.

But then again, I don’t know any of them and I don’t seem to have an issue with giving my opinion.  (I know someone out there was thinking that, so I thought I would save them the trouble of emailing me later.)

As Renee continued thrashing Pia with her thoughts and ideas, Nora just sat between the two of them rubbing her fingers on a magazine article, wondering why the photos didn’t move like they do on her iPad.

Pia let us know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t going to apologize to Christina, stating that Christina was like a pimple on your a**.  Annoying, but who ever sees it?

Umm.  You’re a stripper, honey.

So pretty much everybody sees it.  Just clarifying for anyone who forgot to DVR.

Down the block, Christina was filling in my favorite Goombaladiva Leah on everything she missed by skipping Girls Night Out.

Gah.  I love Leah.  Already.

Every other syllable out of her mouth is either a (bleep) or some kind of descriptive Goombala pig latin that I don’t even understand, and yet I hang on her every word.  It’s like she’s a whacky haired Italian Klingon from Star Trek or something.  You have no clue what she means, but you know she means it and you just get out of her way.

Remember when you were a kid and you would put a glass over your mouth, let go of it and try to hold it in place just by the suction of your lungs?  Until it made that Kool-aid circle mark on your face?

That’s Leah, but with a wine glass.  Girlfriend does love her vino.

She also likes messing people up, and she got pretty angry at Pia when she got all the deets on the throw down.  I wouldn’t want to mess with Leah.  For realz.

Full disclosure, I didn’t even dare change the channel when the show went to a commercial break because I thought she might f*** me up if she found out I was checking in on the Jerseylicious salon.

Then it was time to go wake the dead.

Nora and Renee were headed to the cemetery to try and get some information on what really happened to Nora’s dad’s body.

As you will recall, right after Frank Schweihs died, the Feds snatched up his body for evidence or alien probing or puppet shows or whatever it is that Nora now seems to believe happened.  Even Renee, Nora’s biggest supporter, is first to admit that Nora believes even an increase in the price of postage stamps is usually part of a larger conspiracy theory.

Nora is fairly certain that her father’s grave may be empty, or at the least, a portal to another dimension.  She wants to resume the body if she has to, which I assume is something like when you exhume the body but you must do it differently I presume.

(My apologies to Dr. Seuss on that brief moment of coffee shop poetry.)

Nora loves to use big words.  It’s a shame that she can’t pronounce or define most of them.  Plus I think she still had some hair weave mustache stuck to her face, but I couldn’t be certain.

For all the times that Nora eats out at fancy restaurants, you would think she’d have a better handle on the whole ‘call first’ thing, because when they got to the cemetery it was locked up.  Another conspiracy, no doubt, because everyone knows that alien space ships don’t need to have the gates unlocked.  They fly down from outer space.  Just saying.

Yet another conspiracy must have been the massive Facebook glitch that caused Nora to unknowingly delete Christina from her account.

OMG.  It was all the talk in study hall today.

Seriously.  The discussion that Christina and Leah had over the incident could totally have been played out in the cafetorium on Gilmore Girls.  The only thing missing was the smell of fish sticks and that kid from the AV Club pushing a TV down the hall.

Leah also finally explained why she’s not a big Nora fan.  Turned out that years ago she had grabbed Nora’s arm at a street fair or barn dance or something and got dissed.

Like Charlton Heston yelling at the Apes dissed.  That kind of dissed.

OMG again.

But she’s Leah, and you don’t diss the GoombadaJLo.

Since Christina couldn’t post on Nora’s Facebook wall anymore, she ended up calling her to get together and make up, which went about as well as could be expected.

Then the Gods of Reality TV blessed us with another soon to be classic moment.

Pia.  In a Kia.  See ya.

In yet another scene from Where’s Waldo: Mob Edition, Nora and Pia headed back to the funeral home to hopefully find someone with information on Frank’s whereabouts.

In a Kia.

As Nora incoherently rambled on and on about her mother and sister causing this whole misconception on the blah to the blah burial…all I could focus on was how dirty Pia’s Kia Klunker was.

And the fact that it was a Kia.  Did I mention that?

I’m not even sure why it fascinated me so much.  But it did.  By the time they pulled over in front of the funeral home and Nora jumped out, I had lost all my focus.

Let’s break it down.  If you  knew that you were going to be driving around town with a network television camera in your car, another camera in the car behind you, and more than likely a third camera in the traffic helicopter above you on the Expressway…wouldn’t you at least hit the drive-thru car wash on the way to Nora’s house?

I really can’t believe that some Chicago delinquent didn’t run over and write “Wash Me” with his middle finger all over the driver’s side while Pia was focused on straightening out all her dollar bills so that Washington’s head faced up on each one like they do at the bank.

Somehow Nora still managed to find the car under all that dust when she came back out of the funeral home, clutching an envelope that proved her sister had given permission for the Feds to just dump their father’s body off at the cemetery like the Sunday paper.

She was NOT happy, and if she had made any sense as she babbled I would have been happy to report it back to you all.  But she was making up some words again, and I couldn’t read lips through that grimy windshield.

Side note: Is it just a Chicago Thang, or is the Flashdance look coming back?  There were a lot of off the shoulder Let’s Get Physical tops going on this week.  Just wanted to flag that for all you fashionistas out there.

Or Maxximistas…if you know what I mean.  Sorry, Chicago.  I just call it like I see it.

I really noticed it at Christina’s place, when Leah was threatening to biff Pia in the gob the next time she saw her if she got up in her face.

I don’t even know if I have a gob, but I don’t think I’d want it biffed if I did.

There was also a bunch of stuff dealing with Renee’s child custody battle with one of her Baby Daddies, but I wasted too much time on the dirty Kia.  If you’re too lazy to Google it right now we’ll all be discussing it in depth next time, don’t you worry.

So until then, don’t be getting all up in someone’s face…because that never seems to work out very well.

Goombalarama lama ding dong.  Capisce?

 

 

And by that, I mean these bitches are Goombalacraycray.

 

 

 

 

I can crack a safe and a jaw before the first round of drinks even get here. Badabingola.

 

 

 

Trust me. The strip club paycheck ain’t the only thing this size that Mommy’s bringing home tonight, honey.

 

 

Sing along, girls. Tequila makes her clothes, and boxing gloves, fall off.

 

 

 

And by that, I mean more Goombooty cushion for the Mobista pushin’.   Go Bears!

 

 

 

My kind of town, Chicago is…

My kind of town, Chicago is…

My kind of razzmatazz

Where all the Wives go total spaz.

……………………………………………..

And suddenly with absolutely no warning, and apparently no apologies whatsoever to the estate of Frank Sinatra or anyone else out there who had set their DVR for the wrong date…someone gave us Mob Wives: Chicago.

A week early.

There was barely time to freshen up our cocktails after the Staten Island contingent wrapped their Reunion Show before this cloned spin-off bitch slapped everyone in the face.

After promoting the premiere of the Chicago edition with only a random start date and one looped clip of the Wives strutting out of that warehouse looking like elderly Pussycat Dolls, complete with back lighting and wind machine of course, it was a bit of a surprise to see it land on our TV sets a little early.

But VH1 ain’t no fool.  They knew we’d all be basking in a Staten Island after glow, and they wanted to swap out the Wives while we were all still a little light headed.  They probably hoped we wouldn’t even notice until it was too late.  Well played, VH1.

Just like the Mob, they suck you back in again.

I’ll make it easier on myself, and everyone involved right from the start.  Since this was our introduction to the new windblown women, we got a lot of backstory.  And a lot of “alleged” this and that.

So everything that follows is alleged.  How’s that?  That should keep the legal people out of my email, and the Mob people out of my house.  Just insert “alleged” whenever you feel uncomfortable and we’ll all live to see the Holidays.

Renee Fecarotta Russo was the first Wife to hit the screen.  As she drove around Chicago in her big Titanic hat and Paris Hilton sunglasses, we learned that she was the niece of “Big John” Fecarotta, an alleged enforcer for the Mob.

(The first “alleged” was a gimme…you’re on your own from now on unless I spook myself or hear people outside my front door.)

Big John was gunned down by a Mob friend who set him up, which explained Renee’s distaste for Snitches and Rats.  The irony of her having the same name and similar rat story as Staten Island’s Renee Graziano didn’t go unnoticed by this eagle eye.

But this Renee is the blond one, which made it easier to differentiate which rat was which since they both were done wrong by men in their lives.  This one had two daughters from two baby daddies, both of whom are currently in jail.

The daddies, not the girls.  It’s called Mob Wives…not Mob Moms.  Der.

Renee lives by the Code.  Don’t associate with rats.  Don’t be friends with rats.  And most importantly, never let them cook your food.

Mob Rats, that is.  Ratatouille Rats are ok, and are actually very good chefs.

Shout out to Pixar.  Buy it in 3D.

Next up was Nora Schweihs.  Besides being labeled the neighborhood Krazy right out of the gate, Nora was also a hot mess mix of Bravo’s Bethenny Frankel and one of the blonde comediennes from Saturday Night Live whose name escapes me at this moment.  Since I’m too lazy to Google it right now, we can make it a game and see who comes up with her name first.

Go.

Nora is just back in Chi Town after living anonymously in Florida for 10 years.  She packed up all her whackadoodleness into a steamer trunk and came back home to deal with some loose ends.

And by loose ends, I mean her Dad’s missing body that is lying around Chicago somewhere.

Frank “The German” Schweihs was allegedly (…I’m sticking that one in because he’s dead and he still scares me somehow…) one of the most notorious hit men for the Mob, and has been linked to the death of Marilyn Monroe.  The dealio is that as soon as Frank died, the Feds swooped in and took the body somewhere and Nora has never been able to give her Dad a proper burial.

Nora needs closure, and has created such a conspiracy theory on her Dad’s mysterious remains that I’m starting to believe he could be on ice in Roswell with all those UFO aliens.

She’s verrückt.

That’s German for crazy.  That’s right.  You just learned something.

The more you know.  Stay in school, kids.

Since NeNe Leakes is rich now, bitch, there is a noticeable shortage of exotic dancers on my reality shows.  Luckily Pia Rizza is more than happy to preserve the art form, all in the name of good parenting and keeping the lights on.

Pia not only slides down the poles for all the boys, but she is also blessed with a mouth like all the boys and could easily put a blush on any trucker’s cheeks.  She was born with no verbal filter and a seemingly endless mental dictionary of dirty sailor catch phrases.

The only thing she won’t talk about is her crooked cop father Vincent Rizza.

Do.  Not.  Ask.

After working for the Mob, Vincent flipped and testified against them and then vanished into the Witness Protection Program, leaving Pia to slide down poles and live with the shame of having a rat for a father.  They haven’t seen each other since, and she could care less.

Rest assured, though.  Wherever Dad is now, I’m pretty certain he can still hear her mouth, so it’s almost like they’re together.

Speaking of together.  Now that everyone is all back in Chicago, Nora wanted to get all the girls together for a night out, since we all know how well that always goes down.

Hold up.

Nicole Sullivan!  That’s who Nora kind of reminds me of, along with Bethany.  And it was MADtv, not Saturday Night Live, so I hope you didn’t put too much effort into running down a list of every woman who has ever appeared on SNL.  Nicole is the new Jenny Craig girl, too…that must be why she was fresh on my mind.

I swear.  If you put Bethany and Nicole in a blender and spiced it with Tweety Bird’s Looney Tunes grandma…Bam!  Nora.  Sorry to interrupt the flow, but it had to be said.

Since all Mob Wives, regardless of locale, need to have some parenting issues and smack talk time, we got our first glimpse into Renee’s world.

Renee’s 20 year old daughter Giana had just gone to visit her incarcerated Dad, who is spending his entire life in prison.  Brutally murdering someone seems to have that kind of result in the judicial system.

Mom obviously wanted Giana to have nothing to do with her father, but since none of us should be expected to invest 100% of our heart felt compassion on two people we just met 25 minutes ago, it was pretty much just filler this time around.  Maybe once we get to know everyone better I’ll care more about the kid.

Side note:  Are Newport cigarettes now the official sponsor for everything Mob related?

Seriously.  Giana walked out onto the balcony clutching the same carton of smokes that were always sticking out of Renee Graziano’s face.  What are the chances?  Just saying.

The blonde Renee then headed out to nosh on some deep dish with crazy Nora, who really wanted to get the ball rolling on Girls’ Night Out.  Not only was it a great chance to shovel down some carbs, but it gave Renee a chance to smack talk about Pia’s chosen career, and wonder out loud why she didn’t just close her legs and go work at Kohl’s.

Across town, the ringing in Pia’s ears wasn’t just Renee talking s*** about her…it was her cell phone.

Pia’s cousin Anthony hit her up on her Sidekick to not only give her some dirt on Nora, but prove that you can’t have a Mob show without at least one Tony or Joey.

Turned out that he had run into Nora out at the Klub, and she was all up in his shizzle about Pia.  Blah Blah Whore Blah Blah.

Oh snap.  No she did not.  That girl can’t hold her liquor.

Pia made a mental note and then went to do whatever pole dancers do when they’re not pole dancing.

Then we paused for some things that make you go hmmm.

Christina Scoleri barreled onto the screen with her raspy Walmart voice and fist pumping attitude, proudly displaying her Hit First, Ask Questions Later bumper sticker for all to see.  Honk if you love knuckle sandwiches.

The daughter of Raymond Janek, who was pretty small beans in the Mob skillet scheme of things, Christina probably even smelled like a TomBoy if my TV had smell-o-vision.

While most kids were cutting their Barbie’s hair, Christina was learning how to audibly crack a safe like they do in the movies and could probably still break into Citibank with just her ears and a knitting needle.

Though she had recently just gotten divorced, her ex-husband was still beached on the couch, which must make for some great date nights.  He has not moved out yet, and Christina’s 9 year old daughter is blindly going through each day thinking that everything is great with Mommy and Daddy.  Considering that it has been almost one full year and the guy hasn’t packed one box, it doesn’t look like he is going anywhere soon.

Besides a Joey or a Tony, every Mob show should also come with a Big Ang.  But since there is only one of those voluptuous delicacies out there in the Free World, the next best thing would have to be Big Attitude.

I give you Leah Desimone, daughter of Wolf Desimone, and apparent Love Child of Jennifer Lopez and Broadway’s Bernadette Peters.

For realz.  You can’t make this stuff up.

Big and loud and proud, Leah came right from Central Casting’s Little Italy branch and has the Goombazongas to prove it.

Every other sentence she paused to give us the Italian definition of what she was talking about.  See the dog?  It’s Goombadabeagle.  That pack of gum?  Goombabazookajoe.

Granted I had to turn down the volume on my set, but I loved her like I’d known her for Goombalike4ever.  With hand motions and finger waving included free of charge.

She’s a mess.  Love.  Her.

The only thing bigger than her personality are the butts of the boys she dates.  Leah wants some big and chunky trouble, so find dat juicy double.  Baby like back.

Unfortunately, Leah had to take a trip in search of unchartered fat a** so she couldn’t attend Nora’s night out, which was just as well with that big head of hair.  She wouldn’t stand a chance in the first Chick Fight Night of the season.

The other four Wives hit the club and seemed to be ok for the first few rounds of shots.

Until Christina raised her liquored up Bingo voice and started in on Nora’s hit man father.

Somehow that veered off course into a comparison of hooker shoes and cousin Tony’s gossipy phone call.  Nora wanted a wire tapped recording complete with transcripts before she would even have a discussion about Anthony, so she and Pia decided to put the gossip aside and make up even though it was pretty much a non-fight from the beginning.

Christina wasn’t buying the quick resolution, and then…

Well.  Then the whole thing went all Mob Wives.

Pia and Christina got all up in each other’s grill, with crazy Nora stuck in the middle like filling in an Italian Oreo.

After wailing and threatening to cut somebody, Christina threw a drink…and you know what happens when you get a Mob Wife wet.

Everything went GoomBOOM!!

Yes.  Chicago is definitely my kind of town.

 

 

 

You heard me. Right in front of Macy’s. During a One Day Sale, bitch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bring it on, bitch. I ain’t scared. I’ve got a Macy’s card…and a coupon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have no clue what these punk girls are talking about. But I love Macy’s.

 

 

 

 

 

 

WTFFF?!? There’s crumbs on my new Macy’s sofa! Crumbs! Crumbs!

 

 

 

 

Holy (bleep!)

Somewhere in Manhattan the CEO of Macy’s just spit out his cocktail.

I love me my Mob Wives.

And I love shopping at Macy’s…my past due credit statement will testify to that truth.

But the next time I swing by to pick up my shaving cream and free cologne samples I only pray that Drita and Karen are not out front on the sidewalk, because I know where that one is headed.

Thanks to Karen’s (bleepin’) overly descriptive threats on Drita in this week’s episode, I may have to head to Sephora for my toiletries.

The Mob Wives were all up in each other’s grills this week as they tried to repair the damage done by the last few roof top throw downs.  Drita and Karen were still circling each other like sharks in dirty water while Ramona tossed in a few more buckets of booze flavored chum.

We started out with Ramona just being released from jail and scooting over to Karen’s to fill her in on the details.  After 4 kids and and an ex-husband, Ramona finally caved and fell in love with someone in “the business,” and is apparently already paying the price.

After being pulled over by 7 cop cars while riding with her boyfriend, Ramona was handcuffed and dragged off to jail.  She had no idea what was going on or why she was being bullied.

Hate to say it, because she can be a looker and has some dangerously white teeth…but I’m pretty certain that if she was arrested wearing the same hippy granola dress that she had on when she showed up at Karen’s, it was the Fashion Police.

Yikes.  Honey.

Unless you were heading to the Mall to return that thing when you got pulled over, I don’t know what to say.  No excuse.

Turns out her boyfriend was arrested for some DEA drug sumthin sumthin which she thought was lame.  No big deal, right?

Yikes.  Honey.  Again.

Seven police cars don’t usually circle a guy and throw him on the hood for buying a joint behind the high school dumpster, so I’m thinking it might be a bigger deal than he is letting on.  Karen is a romantic at heart and doesn’t think that just because the DEA is after her boyfriend that he is all bad.  Love conquers all.  Even in that dress.

Kids…the moral of the story is stay off drugs.

And don’t piss off Joan Rivers.

Moving on to bigger and louder things, Drita and her Siamese Twin Carla head to Ultimate Reality Diva Big Ang’s bar to throw back a few and reminisce about the good old days.

Big Ang is in full blown Big Ang Mode, smoking and drinking and laughing like she swallowed a cotton ball.  Decked out in a white wife beater that was clearly manufactured out of the same fabric used to prevent military planes from splashing into the ocean when they land on floating carriers, Big Ang was her usual life of the party.

I love her.  So much.

As Drita relived her glory days beating up mouthy Jersey girls at Big Ang’s old club Nocturnals, everyone pounded shots and longed for the good ol’ days when bouncers would get stabbed but never tell.

Somewhere in the middle of Drita listing how many jaws she had broken over the years Big Ang gets a call that her son AJ had been in an accident, totaled the car and may or may not have been high again.  Turns out the police must have Big Ang on speed dial because AJ gets arrested pretty much every week, has no job and spends the majority of his time mooching and wearing Jersey Shore sunglasses.

But Big Ang takes it all in stride.  And if she’s cool wid it, then so am I.

It was Moving Day for Junior as he dragged all his belongings back into Renee’s house again for the second or third time.  After their Lifetime Movie semi-reconciliation, Renee is allowing Junior to shack up with her as long as he does not bring in girls or crumbs.

He has a bad habit of leaving both girls and crumbs laying all over town, and Renee would prefer he break that habit asap, so that is House Rule #1.  No hoes or crumbs in bed.  Especially crumby hoes.

Junior and some of his random buddies shlepped Staten Island’s largest sectional up the front steps along with bags and boxes of more randomness.  Since Junior is about to go back to prison…again…the whole thing seemed like a lot of work for nothing, unless he was just looking for something cheaper than a storage unit rental.

Aside from the fact that the sofa was clearly the same sofa that shows up in every episode of Toddlers & Tiaras, the scene was pretty uneventful.  Renee got bossy and wanted to be in charge of the living room layout.  Her full body makeover must be healing up well because not only did she look much sleeker than before, but she was shoving both Junior and couch pieces around with one hand.  You go, girl.

While Renee and Junior played house, Drita and her trusty sidekick Carla met up with Derek Tobacco.

Besides having THE  best ABC After School Special cartoon name EVER, Derek was also the dude lucky enough to be in the middle of the Drita vs. Karen rumble that went down during Renee’s Celebration of Life Party.

Derek had jumped in and tried to protect Drita as punk Karen and punk Ramona wailed on her with all four paws, and can hopefully solve the mystery of whether or not punk Karen hit Drita when she was being held down.

Because only punk a** bitches would do that, don’tcha know.

Drita likes to use her fists…and the word punk…a lot.  And usually at the same time.

Derek pleaded the Fifth on the subject and wouldn’t reveal what he knew.  He did however demonstrate the proper way to restrain a crazed Mob Wife, because as you pull them apart like wild cougars you must still respect them and not touch their naughty bits.  It’s a Mob thing.

It’s also actually a fairly elaborate up and over kind of thing that allows you to protect their skulls from impact, but still allows the assailant access to their weaves.

I’m going to need to practice that one a few times before I try to cut in on any MILFs Gone Wild.

Before the final confrontation of the week, we got a glimpse at a few questionable parenting moments.

Renee’s son AJ, who I guess could share monogrammed cufflinks with Big Ang’s son AJ if he wanted to, has started acting out even more than he normally does since Junior came back into the picture.  He has also started dating a girl who makes him aggressive for reasons yet unknown, and AJ recently kicked in his Mom’s bedroom door instead of turning the knob and saying hello. She doesn’t want him turning to a Life of Crime like his father, but if he robs something it better be a bank and not a candy store.

Her words.  Not mine.

Renee also didn’t like the (bleepin’) way AJ was (bleepin’) swearing at her, which made me scratch my head a little.  I guess the (bleepin’) Apple doesn’t (bleepin’) fall…well…you know how the rest of that one goes.

AJ#2 on the other hand, has no job and apparently doesn’t plan on getting one unless it’s at Sunglass Hut.

He also doesn’t believe that just because his Mom’s new boyfriend recently got out of jail for murdering someone that he’s a bad person.   And besides, the recently released inmate/boyfriend is going to buy Big Ang a puppy like the one on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

Hold up.

This guy knows Giggy?  People in prison know Giggy?  That changes everything.

Anyone that watches Bravo is ok in my book.  Even if they killed someone.

And that’s all I’m going to say on the matter, just in case AJ#2 Googles my site by mistake.

Moving on.

For a little slice of suburbia, Renee invites Karen, Ramona and all their kids to her house for some pasta and potty mouth.

It seems that since Junior has now moved in and given up, at least temporarily, his extra marital affairs he has been filling the down time with crackers and cookies and any other food group that could potentially leave crumbs on the couch.

And the floor.  And the chair.  And the bath tub.

Wasn’t he already warned about this one?  Renee is not handling it well at all.

Seriously.  I don’t think she would be this upset to find (alleged) body parts in the backyard.

I really thought she was going to bust her back stitches again as she screamed and yelled and swore about the crumbs, all while managing to pull out a hot pan of perfectly seasoned pasta for all to enjoy.

And don’t get her started on how Junior leaves the TV on at night.

And then back to the crumbs.

When she turned her wrath on the table of little goombahs waiting for their Spaghetti-Os, they all looked up at her like someone just told them the truth about Santa Claus.

You know at least two of the kids still need to sleep with a light on ever since Pasta Night at Aunt Renee’s.  True fact.

We finished off that big meal by sitting down for another with Karen and Carla, who were attempting to get to the bottom of their issues.

While terrified Steak House waiters lurked behind columns, Karen laid it all out.  It was a Network Censor’s worst nightmare.

Ever since that first roof top throw down with Drita when Carla stood by and let them go at it, Karen has hated her all Summer.  She saw Carla laughing while she was getting punched and yanked around.

Yes.  Carla was laughing,  but not the funny kind of laugh.  It was more like the WTF kind of laugh it turns out.  There’s a difference.  Der.

Karen then rehashed all the stories that Drita was spreading around town bragging that she had slammed Karen so hard during the second roof top throw down that she put her in the hospital.

Not true.  But Karen hates Drita and Carla likes Drita and Carla hates Ramona and Karen likes Ramona.  And Karen really hates Drita.  Did we mention that?

Then it got nasty.

Naaaaaasty.

As the two got up in each other’s face, Karen made it very clear what Drita could do to her at Herald Square.

Right in front of Macy’s.

Macy’s.

Where The Wiggle’s perform during the Thanksgiving Parade.

Right where the Hello Kitty balloon goes by.

Between the (bleeps) and the (bleepin’) the gist of it was pretty (bleepin’) clear.  Very clear.

And very gynecological.

Poor Macy’s.  Like their stock didn’t already take a hit this Holiday Season.

Trust me.  You don’t wanna go to war with Karen.

Not unless you bring protective head gear.

And floss.

As waiters scurried behind the girls like a scene from Pixar’s Ratatouille, Karen and Carla took the fighting from the table to the bar in a seamless transition of swearing and eye rolling.

(Side note…did you see the bartender scrambling on the phone behind the bar? “What’s the number for 911?  Anyone?”  Classic.)

Just when it looked like it was going to go all Western Saloon, they calmed down, had a shot and called a truce.

For Macy’s sake, I hope so.