DanThat'sCool!

 

 

Raise your hands if you were expecting Wendy Williams and have no clue why Dr. Drew is here today.

 

 

 

 

 

 How You Doin’…? That’s what that lady says, right? Holler.

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously? I’ve got a freezer full of Italian sausages to nibble on and I’m sitting here? Mama’s got the munchies.

 

 

 

 

Because proper oral hygiene is very important and everyone should floss once a day. And you’re a Bitch.

 

 

 

 

Go on Google, you whore. Or Amazon…and then you can buy my book at the same time. Boom!

 

 

 

 

That’s a nice story, but I’m really gonna need you to keep all your Krazy on that side of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Dammit. I think I left my Chapstick and Newports in the cab.

 

 

 

 

Sorry, NeNe Leakes.

(Bleep) is the new Bloop.

You and the rest of your Gone With The Wind Fabulous ATL girls just got skooled by Staten Island.  Watch, and learn.

Remember that episode of Meerkat Manor where all the lady ‘kats were fighting and and gnawing and spraying on the same piece of dead carcass and you couldn’t tell which one was making all the noise?  And there was fur and sharp teeth flying everywhere while that one scrawny boy ‘kat who got left behind at the burrow just kept running in circles trying to find the escape tunnel?

I give you Mob Wives: The Reunion.

With Dr. Drew Pinsky, for some reason.

After a season full of rehab, hurricanes, wedding gowns and beat downs, everyone was back together again for one last hurrah.  Except for Love Majewski, that is.

The Divine Miss M, along with her crazy face, crazy talk and crazy boobs, were all noticeably MIA from the pseudo-Andy Cohen couches, and the Doctor addressed the issue as soon as the theme song stopped playing.

Surrounded by a whole lot of  shiny lips and sparkly eye lids, Dr. Drew explained that everyone had decided it was “Best if we part ways,” which is basically just textbook HR Code for “We fired her NutWad a** for being such a loose cannon and making our VH1 insurance deductibles go through the roof.  Bitch was cray to the umpteenth power of cray.  No thank you.”

She no longer works for the company.  We wish her well.

And then we had the first video montage of the evening:  The Best of Love.

With all your favorite Love Hits, including Bath Salt Zombie and I’ll Stab You To Death.

Order before midnight tonight and you’ll also receive a free pair of nipple pasties and a shiv as your bonus gifts with purchase.  But hurry…quantities are limited.

Two minutes into the Reunion and Dr. Drew was already more nervous than he was when all those D List celebrities were OD’ing on his watch.

Renee didn’t like Love, so it was no loss.  Big Ang, who was working some seriously reflective Captain America ballistic fish scales, is still my secret girlfriend and can do no wrong.  She was not surprised that Love had been fired, but beyond that comment didn’t really seem to be paying much attention.  For most of the show Big Ang appeared to be trying to remember if she left the iron turned on back at home.

Karen, who traded off her signature ombré hair extensions with Ramona after the show went on hiatus, reminisced about punching out Love in a parking lot when she was only 17 years old.  Cuz that’s how they role in Staten Island.

Luckily, Drita was there to explain the difference between a Semi-Mental Case vs. just Keeping It Real.  Because there’s a difference when you pop off on someone in a parking lot.

If you’re mental, you might get a reduced sentence.  If you’re just Keeping It Real, then…well…you’re just Keeping It Real on a bitch’s face.  It’s Staten Island.

Gah, I love me some Mob Wives.

And then I’m not really sure what happened.  I only looked down for three seconds, and when I looked back up Ramona and Carla were going at it like junk yard dawgs.

But that’s part of the Mob Wives Magic.  One minute they can all be hanging out getting manis and pedis, and the next thing you know the censor button is going off like Morse Code on a sinking submarine.

Carla must have wagged her finger at Ramona, because all of the sudden the two of them were going off like bottle rockets from opposite couches as Dr. Drew looked around for all that security they had promised him in the pre-production meeting.

Ramona wanted Carla to sign a paper that she wouldn’t sue or call the cops if Ramona laid some smack down on her gossipy head.  Carla started flapping her hands and fingers around like she was bringing in aircraft, which sent Ramona off on a “Cop Caller” chant until Dr. Drew finally had to stand up and block Ramona’s view with his doc crotch.

Seriously.  Did he really think that would work?  Has he ever even watched this show?  Ramona just bobbed and weaved around his body like a heavyweight boxer getting ready for a KO until her face got uncomfortably near the good Doctor’s pinsky.

Yeah.  Rizzo was a little too close to the medical bag for a Bride-to-be.  Just saying.

As the two of them screeched at each other behind his back, DD tried to introduce the next montage:  Drita’s Birthday Party.

The one with the big Love vs. Carla beat down and all those bald guys running around trying to pull them both apart while people threw drinks in their faces and went off like banshees.  That birthday party.

Then it was back to Ramona and Carla, who were still having the same fight they were having when we last saw them.

Ramona called Carla a Racist, because she allegedly refers to every single person of color as “You People,” which I believe the Rev. Al Sharpton frowns upon.   A modern day KKK was pretty much how she described the situation.  Yeeouch.

Karen quickly mentioned that Carla was rude and snippy.  Carla then did some more hand signals and went in for the kill by bringing up Family.  Yes…with a capital “F.”

Oooh, Girl.  You do NOT bring up Family.

You don’t do it on The Real Housewives of New Jersey with that Manzo lady, and you certainly don’t do it when you’re Daddy’s in the Mob.  Karen even tried to make the point clear one more time before she finally blurted out that Carla wanted the Gravano Family to save her own father back in the day.

Carla claimed to not know much about what Karen meant, because she doesn’t talk “Mob” like the rest of “These Girls.”  Karen pointed out that she could easily go on Google and find out what the F*** she was talking about, and then Google changed the locks on its corporate headquarter offices.

At some point there was a lot of shizzle being tossed around regarding Ramona’s ex stealing money from her own father, but I forget exactly when Carla lobbed that fast ball at Ramona’s head.  There was so much shade being thrown at every turn that it doesn’t really matter, so you can pretty much just stick that zinger in wherever you please and it will fit like a CSI glove.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.  A buttah knife.

That’s right.  They went there.  They brought up the buttah knife scene again, where Carla had flipped a switch on Renee and threatened to cut her throat and let all her junkie pills spill out onto the table.

Dr. Drew asked Renee if she had felt threatened by the buttah knife.  Seriously.

Have you ever tried to spread butter straight from the refrigerator on a piece of toast?  If you can’t even do that, how are you going to cut someone open?  Dude.  Please.

Carla admitted that she may have overstepped her bounds by calling Renee a Junkie, but that the man she once dated had not been 100% married, whatever that meant.  Even Karen got a little WTF with that statement.  Nothing like a WTF Mob Wife Face.

Ramona countered by declaring that her ex-husband had been officially separated from his wife when she had started seeing him, which I guess would make her relationship come in somewhere around 99% when compared with Carla’s situation and ultimately make Ramona the winner for that Round.

MobMath is hard.  Luckily, before I had time to do tally the calculations, Ramona went off on Carla again.  And this time she wanted to jump her, sit on her, break off a rib and use it to pick her own teeth after eating Carla’s face like prosciutto luncheon meat.

Don’t try this at home, kids.  It’s strictly for role models.

To lighten the mood a little, Doc then gave us all a little history lesson on the Drita, Karen and Ramona triangle.  Today they all get along.  As of noon today, anyway.

That’s about as far out as I’ll commit to that one.

The next video montage was all about Renee’s Addiction.

We relived some of her time in rehab, got a grocery list of the pills she used to ingest and then welcomed her son  AJ to the couch.  Bro was still a little on the chillaxed, whatever dude side, but AJ has always stuck by his mom regardless of any bad choices she may have made in glitter blue eye shadow or sedatives.

AJ still didn’t really agree with addiction being an illness, though.  Just Stop.  Stop and then go play video games.  It’s that easy.  From the mouths of babes, I guess.

But the guy loves his mom and was headed to Miami, because it was time to move on and get a real job.  And Prada makes some sweet sunglasses.  That, too.

Then it was nothing but ManTalk and DirtyTalk for the rest of the Reunion.

Drita had let Lee back into her home now that he was out of the Halfway House.  She has guilt about what they put their children through over the years.  Lee, on the other hand, still didn’t have any guilt about cheating on her, so I wouldn’t be adding any other names to the mortgage paperwork just yet, honey.

Carla then got a quick moment to snark on Joe and his Carla 2.0 girlfriend Raquel before Dr. Drew introduced Karen’s Dbag ex Dave Seabrook to the couch.

At least this time he wasn’t chewing gum at the very front of his mouth like they do at Sports Bars when they’re checking out chick’s hooters.  But he’s still Dave.  And he’s still dating ice cold Cyborg Rebecca, who Karen has come to except but still not really understand.

Dave kinda sorta admitted that he might have been wrong for either not telling Karen about Rebecca earlier, or for leaving one of Rebecca’s thongs hanging from Karina‘s Hello Kitty bedroom ceiling fan.  It was a rather forced apology, so it wasn’t really clear where he was going with it.  But better than nothing, as they say.

Karen confirmed that she was still with music mogul Storm, and that he was just fine.

Oh yeah.  Just fine.  Big Daddy fine.  Single and Ready to Mingle fine.  With a lip lick.

MmmMmm.  Mama likes.

And then it was on to Ramona’s wedding.  If that ever happens.

Despite all the other women rolling their eyes and trying to explain how tough it is being a Prison Wife, Ramona was still dead set on marrying the incarcerated Joe Sclafani, whether he could be make it to the chapel or not.

It might be at the federal prison.  It might be at the Elks Lodge with paper cups.  It could be this year.  It could be this afternoon, so excuse me if I have to cut taping a little short and scoot over to city hall.

They have no idea when this is all going to go down.

But as for getting down…never.  Because you can’t do the nasty in a federal prison.  It’s a law.  So no conjugal visits.

After the camera crew all breathed a sigh of relief, the horny talk got Drita a little giggly and she tried to explain why she had compared Lee’s return home to having a freezer full of fresh, hard, ready to eat produce in the shape of a man’s nibblies.

According to the Food Pyramid, a person should have 3 to 5 servings a day if you know what I mean, and Drita was ready to go down on those things like a starving rabbit.

It was right about here when Big Ang finally woke up and Karen swallowed her gum.

Seriously.  I don’t think even I’m old enough to be watching this show anymore.

And that’s that.

Hurricane Sandy.  Hurricane Majewski.

Trust me.  Staten Island will rebuild and come back next season, bigger and stronger and louder and blingier than ever.

Bloop.

I mean…(Bleep.)

 

 

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.