DanThat'sCool!

 

 

Sorry, Doc. I don’t really remember the accident, but when I came to my air bags were a little sore.

 

 

 

 

OMG. They’re like totally adorbz! Like little prison cell bars made out of candy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeeesh.

 

 

 

 

 

True. Your head almost went through the windshield. But your equilibrium is off because those things are freakin’ out to here, honey.

 

 

 

Looks like you’re in luck, ma’am. These white orchids are in season, and this vase is bullet-proof.

 

 

 

 

Let the Bitch try and come after me. Have you seen her run? Those things are freakin’ out to heah.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s obvious, girls. The chambermaid did it. In the library. With a wine glass.

 

 

 

Ladies and Gentlemen…hide your buttah knives.

Carla Facciolo is back in the building.

That’s right.  After being noticeably MIA during last week’s episode, Love Majewski‘s arch nemesis has returned.  And just in time.

Word on the street was that Carla had been too busy talking s*** about Love to show up for any restaurant tapings lately.  But, of course, that is just alleged hearsay based on a random sampling of Love’s friends from each of the five Boroughs.

Carla says No.  Love says Yes.  Over.  And.  Over.

And you know what everyone else says.  Gossip is all fun and games until someone loses a big, dangly earring.

Love’s short Stab-A-Lover temper is the thing of legends.  Known to bring more than one grown man to tears, it is something that would normally only manifest itself in someone who was dropped on their head as a baby.

Or in Love’s case, hit by an 18 wheeler in their adult life.

As we tuned into MobBiz This Week, we found out that at some point in the past Love had suffered a traumatic head injury as a result of a freak automobile accident and that the injury may now be partially to blame for her noticeably short fuse.

Turns out that when her car was hit, she somehow flew out the window to safety, only to be hit a second time by a passing transport vehicle and its trailer full of whatever.

Wait.  What?  If this was a Warner Bros. cartoon, couldn’t you just picture Love being flattened like a piece of paper and becoming the inspiration for the invention of the Naked Mud Flap Girl?  You know…the one that you always see on the back of Costco trucks when they blow past you in a snowstorm and cover your windshield with two inches of brown slush on the one day you forget to refill the washer fluid.

But this is real life.  Sorta.  So instead of being pressed topless into vinyl like Silly Putty on the Sunday comics (…Google it, kids…) Love now suffers from some form of Post Traumatic Face On The Windshield or something.  I forget exactly what they called it.

And according to Dr. Igor Stiler, the physician she checked in with at the start of the episode, it could be a key piece of the puzzle as to why she is so irritable and short tempered.

Irritable and short tempered to the point where sometimes she doesn’t even know how she ends up back home in her own bed after a night of clubbing, wearing only one stiletto and clutching a fist full of bad Staten Island weave.

As Love relived a few violent blackout episodes where she came to just in time to find herself holding some poor drunk chick’s head in a toilet bowl, Dr. Igor scribbled what I believe were the words Help Me on his notepad and nervously adjusted his Kris Kringle eyeglasses.  And you wonder why he kept his door open the entire time.

Less traumatizing were the Arizona goodbye hugs as Karen and Ramona got ready to head back East.

Karen and Karina and Baby Daddy Dave had found some middle ground on the whole long distance parenting thang, though Karen still hoped to bring Karina back to SI at some point.  But for now, things were running a little smoother, though she had yet to figure out if Dave’s new girlfriend Rebecca was a cyborg or not.

Rebecca seemed nice enough, even though Karen had never actually seen the woman blink during a conversation.  But it was time to leave Sweet Home Arizona, so the Mystery of the BeccaBot would have to wait for another day.

There was a lot of Love Said/Carla Said action going on this week.  The first round was when Drita dropped by Carla’s place to rehash the gossip again and it was revealed that Carla had never actually met this Love person.

Carla knew ‘of her’ from the one month that Carla’s old boyfriend had been bangin’ her before he started bangin’ Carla.  But that was it.

Sloppy Seconds was their only connection.

Yeah.  The whole discussion was pretty much Klassy Like Dat.

Carla felt that Love was jealous of her, just like every other woman on Staten Island.

I know I was totally jealz of all those HomeGoods snowmen Santas that Carla had cluttering up every corner of the house.  Holy Seasonal Hoarder Fire Trap, Batman.

And then there was Jiton.  Girl, pleez.

Half Sicilian.  Half Black.  One Third Basketball Wives.  Two Thirds classic hip hop Vjay from back in the day.  And 100% sassy with no frizz or fly aways.

Renee‘s friend basically just fell right off one of the archive photos in the VH1 lobby and started running her own shoe store.  And now Renee wanted in on the action.

In the past they had tossed around ideas about creating a Graziano shoe line, but at the time Renee was in her Hot Mess Phase and footwear had to go on the back burner while she focused on sedatives and meltdowns.  But now that we’re talking the new and improved Renee 2.0, it was time to finally get MobCandy shoes up and running.

Jiton knew people who knew people, and was going to help Renee get started in the shoe biz.  Cuz there’s no business like shoe business, right?

Yeah…old joke.  But you still read it in Ethel Merman‘s voice, didn’t you?  Suckahs.

And speaking of putting on a shoe…or a show…

Ramona and her two little Ramonettes headed over to the Coral House Banquet Facility to start planning a potentially shotgun wedding.

Regardless of how everyone else on the East Coast felt about them moving forward with their nuptials, Ramona was determined to marry her incarcerated fiancé “Joe Boy” Sclafani.  Even if he can’t get that 7 day release from prison.

It’s not like the groom really has to show up, right?

Ramona and Joe Boy are clearly juggling a lot of What Ifs with this one, and nobody really knows how it will all play out by the summer.  If Joe Boy even gets approved for a release, it will only be with a 48 hour notice, which doesn’t really give anybody much time to thaw out the appetizers or make party favors, much less shine up your ankle monitor and press a tux.

Add to that a court ordered pair of armed guards and all those petty house arrest regulations, and it clearly doesn’t make for your typically faaaabulous David Tutera wedding extravaganza.

But Butch The Wedding Impresario (…no lie…his name…) ain’t no David Tutera.

He specializes in this kind of stuff.  Weddings and Security.  Don’t ask.  Just pick out your flowers and your place settings and nobody gets hurt.

It was like that.  And they did.  Even down to what color tablecloth was going under the lace overlay.  Blue.  Joe’s favorite color.  Just in case he actually shows up.

All that excitement called for some pizza, so Karen headed to her cousin Rena‘s joint for some pepperoni and cheese.  And our weekly Mob Wives Head Scratch Moment.

Two of them actually, if you want to count the fact that Tony’s Pizza still takes Discover.  Is that card still around or was that just an old sticker on the counter?  I can honestly say that I don’t know one person with a Discover card in their wallet.

Karen and Rena are pretty tight.  Which is oddly impressive considering that it was Rena’s Dad and Peter Gotti who travelled to Arizona all those years ago to try and kill Karen’s Dad Sammy “The Bull” Gravano.

You heard me.  Kill him.  Like with guns and exploding stuff.

And you thought your family was F***d up during the Holidays.

The whole killing your own family thing was a little out of my comfort zone, but Karen and Rena didn’t seem to have any problems getting past it.  They actually seemed a little more concerned about which topping was their favorite after all these years.

Anytime you feel like scratching your head is fine by me.  Whenever they cross that line into being irritated because someone got caught doing something ridiculously illegal and/or criminal and yet somehow the Feds are the Bad Guys, I just wait for the moment to pass.  Or for the judicial system to make crime legal and set all the Wise Guys free at once like when everyone escapes from Arkham Asylum in the Batman video game.

I just can’t.

I did like the cartoony tee shirts all the pizza guys were wearing, if that counts for anything after all that awkwardness.

Then all the Wives really started winging it.  As in Angel Wings.  Or AngelWingate, as CNN will soon refer to it on their screen crawls.

Carla was first.  She dropped by ex-Joe‘s Dad’s Day Spa for a quick buff.  The place was called Angel Skin.  Remember that for later.

Joe’s Dad used to be a highly respected Gyno kind of guy who actually saw Drita‘s junk when he delivered her two babies, so when he retired from all those lady parts he decided it would be nice to tighten everyone up above the neck for a change.

So Dad opened up his own Day Spa.

That’s about all that really mattered in that scene.  Hope you paid attention and noticed the upside down Angel Wings on the store window, because there’ll be a test at the end.

Next up, it was Drita and Love’s turn to wing it.

They barely had time to sit down at a nail salon before Love started in on some more Carla bashing, letting Drita know that Carla had somehow stolen the wings from Love’s wrist tattoo and given them to Joe’s Dad for his spa windows.  Bitch.

See how it’s all coming together?  The Circle of Life.

Turns out that Love had personally designed her tattoo, so it was clear that Carla had stolen the wings, right?  Because they looked exactly the same, and they were clearly right up there on the spa window and business cards.  Even though Carla was already on record as saying that she had never met Love, much less snooped around her wrists trying to steal an apparently copyrighted doodle.

Plus I’m pretty sure that Victoria’s Secret and the Bible were using angel wings long before Love even thought about hitting up a tattoo parlor.  But whatev.

But Love swore that Carla stole her wings.  And Love’s still got a serious case of windshield head, so I’m not messing with her right now.

And then randomly, Renee and AJ went rock wall climbing.  That’s really all I have to say on the matter, except for mentioning that Renee kind of looked like a backwards 1960′s Batman when she was trying to walk down the wall on a rope.

Three Batman references in one blog post.  A new record.  Now I’m done.

Renee had to hurry and get down off that thing so she could go meet Jiton again and check out the progress on MobCandy.

Who knew that Elton John and Liberace were Jiton’s shoe designers?

Just.  Whoa.  Sparkles and stilts and feathers and crystals and chandelier dingles and something on the toes that looked like you stuck the front of your shoe in a container of 14K gold Ben & Jerry ice cream jimmies.

The screw-on/screw-off spike heel was a nice touch, too.  Just in case you lose your ice pick and need to make someone pay back a racing bet.

Gah.  I love me some Mob Wives.

The only way to finish off the evening was with some wine.  Wines by Wives, actually.  A holiday wine tasting event with a logo that looked exactly like a TV Guide ad for the old That Girl show.

And what are the chances that Carla would join the one wine club that hosts all their events at the mansion pictured on the box cover of the Clue board game?

Seriously.  Did you see that place?  I was waiting for some hysterical maid to run in at any moment, screaming that someone had just found Colonel Mustard’s dead body in the conservatory.  And a wrench was missing from the tool shed.

Wine, anyone?

As Big Ang and Drita got tastefully liquored up, the whole AngelWingate controversy broke and Carla flipped a major nutty.  And swore.  A lot.

Carla wasn’t scared of Love.  Bring it on.  You come for me?  I’ll come for you.

And a Mob Wives holiday classic was born.

Every time Carla swears, a Day Spa gets its wings.

 

 

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.