Posts Tagged ‘Mob Wives Giselle’

Mob Wives: Whoa. Tasting The Wine, Prepping The Wedding And Climbing The Walls. The Wives Are Winging It.

Tuesday, March 26th, 2013



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!













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.

Mob Wives: Don’t Pop A Cap, It’s Only Threats And Thongs. Make A Snitch Pile And Spread Some Crazy Love.

Monday, January 21st, 2013



Do you seriously not see me curling her hair? Go sit down and wait your turn, you crazy bitch.





She comes at me and I’ll motorboat her with these things so hard she won’t hear the phone ring.





Ok. One pound. So do you want me to use our industrial cheese slicer, or that shiv in your purse?





C’mon. Did you see those bazongas? Carla doesn’t stand a chance. Those sandbags could stop storm flooding.





Holy (bleep)…I’m sitting between Patti LaBelle and Cher. The girls ain’t never gonna believe this.




Quick.  Before I forget everything.

There was a lot of stuff going on this week with everyone’s favorite Mob Wives.

Some of it was grammatically challenged.

Most of it was either (bleeped) out or took place at a car wash.  Residents of Staten Island seem to really appreciate the virtues of a clean automobile.

And needless to say…all of it was crazy.  Really crazy.

Picking up right where we left her in last week’s cliffhanger, our harried heroine Renee was still barreling down I-278 clutching her cell phone, a pack of Newports, that mystery letter from Junior and, occasionally, an actual steering wheel.

After exhausting her phone’s entire contact list, Renee had finally tracked down Ramona, who was getting her hair did across town.  With no consideration whatsoever for how long it takes to get an appointment for a Jerseylicious blow out at Visage Salon, Renee inconsiderately jumped ahead of everyone else in the appointment book and stormed her way right up to the Hair Guy’s station.

It was hard to tell if Ramona even finished getting her money’s worth in the chair this time, because Renee pulled her outside to read the letter so quickly that it kind of shook everything up.  Plus it was windy, and Ramona’s hair ended up looking like it always does before she throws down with another chick on the rooftop.

And now that you mention it, I don’t even think she tipped the guy.

Dine and Dash.  Curl and Cut Out, suckahs.

The letter began with an ominous “This is serious to your future” and ended with an odd “Junior The Strongest,” which I have to assume is going to be his online Playstation 4 alias if they ever release the stupid thing.

Ramona immediately started chomping her Whitestrip teeth about how threatening letters like this should never even make it over prison walls if the Warden actually follows protocol.  Renee remarked that Junior was always the guy other guys went to if they needed something “handled,” because Junior always knew a guy who knew a guy.

Ramona freaked out that he might have gotten out of prison.

Renee freaked out that maybe Junior had never been in prison and that he was already released from government protection following that whole Rat Snitch thing.

It should also be noted that neither of them bothered to just flip the envelope over and look at the postmark, so I think it’s safe to assume that the CIA doesn’t have either of them on speed dial.

Renee squeezed in one bonus freak out when she realized that she couldn’t even notify the authorities and make the letter public, which she explained while mic’d for the third season of a reality television show.

I guess they don’t get VH1 in the Witness Protection Big Brother House.

A new record.  Four minutes into the latest episode and we’d already witnessed our weekly Mob Wives head scratch moment.

As if that wasn’t cray cray enough for you, it was on to Love Majewski‘s place for cocktails with her Mom Lorraine and Karen.

Seriously.  The only thing better than Crazy, is Proud & Crazy.

And if you’re Proud & Crazy and you talk crazy and you live in a crazy apartment?


I love me some Love.

Everything about her is crazy.  Her gene pool is crazy.  Her hair is crazy.  Her eyes and lips are crazy.  Even her boobs are crazy.

This was the first time we really got any backstory on this psycho bitch (…her words, not mine, so call off the hit, please…) and it was Gold.

When Love was only 14, her BFF had gotten knocked up one day after school.  And Mommy don’t play dat, so Lorraine yanked her daughter out of Staten Island so fast and hard that it caused her breasts to develop earlier than anyone else in homeroom.

But taking the girl out of SI doesn’t necessarily take the SI out of the girl, as Love reminisced about breaking at least 14 noses before losing count of the carnage.

(If you’re playing Lotto tonight, 14 seems to be somebody’s lucky digits.  Just throwing that out there before you scratch any tickets.)

Love had shot one fiancé, stabbed somebody else, poisoned somebody else and did something else to somebody else that I can’t recall.

She also had peace signs painted on her wine glasses, dead animal skins on her chairs and a globe in her apartment, which she apparently never referenced before stating that Arizona is a state in the midwest.  It’s safe to assume that the Weather Channel doesn’t have this one on speed dial, either.

But even more importantly, behind Mom on the end table was a framed photo that looked like some TV news anchor’s head shot and I totally obsessed over it until the next commercial.  Who poses like that?

Did I already mention that I love me some Love?

Dirty mouths are one thing, but dirty cars are another, so Big Ang and Carla headed to the Scrub & Shine to smoke some skinny cigarettes and get the wheels detailed.

They talked about the Botox Bash (…get your boop boop boop done…) and Carla’s issues with Joe‘s new girlfriend Raquel.  Carla also managed to sneak in some Renee bashing while Angela tried to remain neutral and play like Staten Island Switzerland.

Ang just wanted the drahmaahh to end.

While the girls were getting their rims rubbed, Karen was at a financial planner’s office to figure out what to do with all that Mob Daughter book money.

Since I don’t know the first thing about saving money, I kind of zoned out for a few moments like I do when Suze Orman is on QVC.

(Seriously.  It’s a $200 accordion folder.  What the hell?)

While the planner slowly reached under her desk for that button that all the bank tellers push when they’re at gunpoint, Karen revealed that Baby Daddy Dave was currently living rent-free in midwest Arizona and that the walls of her childhood home are probably still insulated with uncirculated hundred dollar bills.

Turns out that Daddy Sammy The Bull wasn’t big on putting money into banks.  Taking money out of banks on the other hand, was way more fun…especially when it wasn’t yours.  Don’t try this at home, kids.

With no end in sight for all the drahmaahh, Renee’s addiction to pills and/or booze just wasn’t going away on its own.  So before she went completely off the deep end of the Boardwalk, she decided to drop in on a group therapy session.  And it was a little slice of reality rehab heaven.  

I don’t know who they are, or where they found them, but the women in the group need their own show.  Immediately.

They were all head bobbin’ and MmmHmmm, Girlin’ and the whole thing just gave me life.  The group leader was even so excited to get to work that she hadn’t bothered to blend in her Maybelline blush.  No lie.  Little clown face circles.  With the kind of eyebrows that you could thread through a sewing needle.

Even more exciting than that was the fact that Renee found herself sandwiched between two women who I swear were original members of Labelle.  As she dealt with some heavy s*** concerning Junior overmedicating her for months in an attempt to keep all his undercover snitch work a secret, all I really cared about was whether or not they were going to finally stand up and sing Lady Marmalade.

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?

Next up was dinner with Drita and Love, who dished on some Carla gossip and Love’s new Bunhead fashion statement.

The way they both went on and on about Love pulling her hair up like she was about to perform a pivotal scene from the Nutcracker made it clear that neither of them had actually been to the Nutcracker or caught the televised version.

It’s just a bun, people.  Nothing to see here.

We did find out that Love and Carla had both dated the same man at the same time a few years back, and that he had turned out to be some crazy stalker type who wouldn’t leave Love alone after she dumped him.

We also learned that Love was even crazier than we thought when we were all having cocktails earlier in the episode.  She will mess Carla up, bitch.

Then it was time for some fresh air as Karen attempted a little one-on-one volleyball with her daughter Karina.

Fresh from the airport after flying in from the gem of the midwest, Karina attempted to show her Mom how to whack some balls with a closed fist instead of a baseball bat.

The whole thing took a bad turn when Karina casually mentioned that not only did Baby Daddy Dave have a new girlfriend, but that she had spent some alone time with her and that it was possible that the new girlfriend could be the owner of the warm thong Karina had found in her bedroom.

One.  Keep your underwear on.

Two.  Don’t take them off in a little girl’s room, please.  Hello Kitty.

Three.  Keep your underwear on.  That’s just nasty.

Karen handled that one as well as you would have expected.  She almost busted a cap, which is StatenIslandSpeak for cap-YOU-larry.  Like an artery.

(Remember, I told you there were a few grammatical challenges this week.)

Also almost busting a cap was Renee, who was back home cutting Junior’s face out of every Polaroid photo she could find in her closet.  Looking like those eighth grade girls look like when they catch their man standing at some seventh grade whore’s locker, Renee was going at those photographs like Edward Scissorhands.  By the time Ramona arrived, the Snitch Pile of clippings were large enough to turn into a rather impressive trash can bonfire, with Junior’s Dick Tracy Secret Agent Wire Tap watch thrown in for good measure.

Instead of continuing on and burning the entire house down, Renee decided to just move out and purge herself of anything even remotely reminiscent of Junior.  A few phone calls and one giant dumpster later, she and AJ were Moving On Up to a deluxe house in the ‘burbs.

Put the Neighborhood Watch on…umm…watch.  Renee had arrived in her new digs.

Next up, for the fashionistas out there, Drita gave Aleeyah a few pointers on what young tween girls should wear to a minimum security prison.   No gangstah hoodies or bare shoulders.  A little creepy, but necessary info if you’re planning to go and visit your Dad Lee anytime soon.

Then it was back to the car wash again.  This time Ramona and Karen needed some rim rubbing, so they hit up family friend Anthony.  Better known for banging bullet casing dents out of fenders and having the soon to be classic nickname “Mootzie,” Anthony hooked the girls up just fine as they discussed ThongGate.  What to do.  What to do.

We finished off the episode with Renee’s surprise announcement that she would be heading to Florida and checking herself into rehab.  AJ thought it was BS, even though it was the Sunshine State, and I wondered why she couldn’t find anything closer.

But he supported his Mom no matter what, even though he looked pretty dopey wearing a camouflage hunting cap.

And then it was over.

But don’t pop a cap.  Or lose your thong.

There’s more next time.

Mob Wives: The Gangstah Sing Along Episode. Drita Spits Beats And Takes It To The Street. Karen Takes It To The Bank And Big Ang…She’ll Take It All In The Face, Please. Taking The Rap!

Monday, April 30th, 2012



My Botox brings all the Feds to the yard. And they’re like…it’s tighter than yours.






Stick dat in her lip, bitch. That makes all the Wise Guys itch.













I don’t like that rap s***. Don’t like it all. Just crack the bitch’s jaw in half and we’ll go to the Mall.





Poke dem needles   in my eyes. Plump dem up to match my thighs.





Where all my Mob Wives at?  Can I get a whoop whoop?

It was Word To Your (bleepin’) Gangstah Mother Week as our favorite Mobettes rapped, snapped and laser zapped themselves into a frenzy, all thanks to Karen and Drita’s up and coming careers.

Finally putting aside at least a little slice of the drama surrounding Junior and that wire-wearing fiasco, Renee and the girls were working at moving on with their lives.

And what better way to move on than by getting a facial or robbing a bank in a nun mask?

Am I right?

Maybe not necessarily in that order, but both are pretty certain to make you feel better about yourself.  At least on Staten Island, anyway.

But first we had to deal with some of the petty legal ramifications that come from being the victim of a Federal Agency sting operation, as Renee finished up with her Dad Anthony Graziano’s first court appearance since getting busted for talking into Junior’s lapel corsage.

As Renee strolled back to the car she reached out to everyone’s favorite raspy go-to Voice of Reason, Big Ang, for some cell phone counseling.

Gah.  I love me some Big Ang.  I would call her for lottery ticket numbers.  Any excuse to hear that Herman Munster laugh in my ear.  VH1—where is my Big Ang ringtone?

And my Fan Club duel purpose decoder ring & lock pick?  Did my application get lost in the mail?  What’s the hold up?  (No pun intended, but pretty funny in retrospect.)

It was a brief phone call, but it will surely open up another can of worms on the whole Right vs. Wrong thing that the online forums are loving lately.

As they both complained about the Feds basically doing the jobs they are hired to do, Renee also played the sympathy card for Daddy.  During the initial booking and fingerprinting they apparently took the change from his pockets and the Miracle Ear from his head, because he couldn’t hear anything the judge was saying.  Dad also walked with a cane and a guard.

When Renee started in on how Dad should be respected because he didn’t do anything wrong, I immediately washed my hands of this one and am going to leave it to the Talk Radio stations.

Helloooooo, Staten Island.  Long time Mobster, first time Caller.

I’ll leave it to the online community to stick it to Renee, because next we all had to go and stick it to Big Ang.


Accompanied by her sister Janine, God’s Gift to Reality was looking to score some Botox at a discounted Costco quantity price.

Meeting with Dr. Lederman, who was a delightfully mashed up version of The Muppets’ Swedish Chef and that vixen Natasha Fatale who always wanted to “Kill Moose and Squirrel” on The Bullwinkle Show, Big Ang proudly rambled off all her previous cosmetic surgeries.  Kind of like a completed Bucket List.  But a really long one.

(Side note: You can totally use Natasha’s last name at your next Trivia Night Out.  You’ll totally win the free appetizers.  Consider it my gift to you for faithfully following my site.)

As Dr. Lederman sang the “Plump It Plump It” song, she stuck Big Ang in the face as many times as allowed by malpractice legal journals and then dramatically unveiled the results, which were unfortunately nowhere near as severe as Big Ang had hoped for and the Doc had to go back in for seconds.

Seriously.  I love me some Big Ang, but if they plump her up anymore it’s going to take at least 32 of those Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade clowns to hold her down so the wind doesn’t blow her out over Long Island Sound.

As Big Ang drifted back home on a crosswind, Drita was receiving another pre-paid call from Lee.

Turned out he had just finished up his state sentence in whatever prison it is people do state sentences in down there, and was being relocated so he could start working on his federal sentence.

Initially more focused on her new bite sized puppy than Lee’s call, Drita snapped back when he announced that he was going to be incarcerated in Brooklyn.  She got a little freaked out by the fact that he was going to now be just down the block instead of 8 hours away. So much so that she knocked the gigantic pink bow right off the puppy’s noggin, which thankfully allowed Lucky to finally lift her little nugget head into an upright position.

Now even though Google Earth shows that Brooklyn is fairly close in proximity to Staten Island, I would think that the prison could just as well be on the Moon and Drita would still have about the same chances for ever running into Lee at Target.

Prison is prison, honey.  They still lock the doors.

Since Drita is currently in full Don’t Need No Man mode, she scored the chance to use her rap skills (?) for a new music video to help put food on the table.

There is no question that Drita can split a human skull open with her elbow, but the jury was still out when it came to her mad gangstah rap skillz, so she met up with her crew at Bad Boy Records to get the full fashizzle on the job.  VPs Nick and Jason, one or the other of whom she had met a bazizzle years ago at a Diddy party, filled her in on the deets.

The video was for a French Montana song, and involved Drita being the driver of a getaway car used in a bank heist.  If you were like 99% of the country, you probably initially wondered what bank robbery had to do with the state of Montana, and how a secret French province had somehow slipped by you all these years.  Are they really that close to Canada?

Der.  He’s a rapper.  Does your cable company not offer those stations?  Most aren’t in full HD yet, but either check into it or lose all your street cred.

Even Beyoncé knows you gotta upgrade, bitch.

While Drita was getting the LD (…gah…low down…) on the beat spitting, Big Ang was doing some more remodeling on her head.  Now that she was all plumped up, that new face needed some new hair…and fast.

Big Ang had put in a 911 to someone I swear had to be a second cousin to one of those Jerseylicious girls, who immediately rushed to the house with one bag full of extensions and another bag of gossipy attitude.

As she clamped and glued and stitched Big Ang’s new doo into place, the two of them dished on finding love outside the Mob and how Big Ang’s loser sanitation worker husband was still living with his mother after being kicked out of Casa Raiola for too much partying and late night carousing.  The aerosol and the root glue must not have been flammable, because Big Ang was puffing and flicking matches like it was her job as the two of them dragged her husband’s name through the mud.

But we all know how those sanitation workers like it dirty.  Pun totally intended.

Trust me, the only thing missing from the scene were 3 other nosey women sitting under helmet dryers reading InTouch and going “Oooooh, girl…you so right.”

Then it was on to Karen’s latest venture.

Now that her book was launched and shooting up the charts like a bullet from an unregistered sawed-off, Karen was looking to expand her empire and make New York her home.

Somehow between all the publishing drama and rooftop chick fights, Karen had still found time to hook up with the wrinkle-free Dr. Fiorello for a business venture.  He was opening a new Nip/Tuck kind of office space in Manhattan, and had asked Karen to bring some of her Arizona Spa magic to the second floor.  The place was a full blown construction site, but the Doctor was still planning on opening up in a few weeks.

Realizing that she needed some help, Karen asked Ramona and Renee to join her in this new project.  Ramona was put in charge of the laser equipment, which either meant finding some or building some I guess, while Renee was sent to iParty for the gift bags.

I have a feeling that Karen wasn’t 100% certain that Renee wouldn’t melt down in the middle of the project if someone mentioned Junior, so I think she gave her the easy one as a test.  They’re gift bags.  How hard could it be?

Not as hard as rapping, that’s fo’ sho’.

Drita hit up Anthony Acid’s studio to lay down her rap tracks and quickly found out that bustin’ thug tunez on a 16 count was a lot tougher than it looked on Behind The Music.

The whole thing started out a big hot mess, much like if you asked your Mom to recite some uncensored Li’l Kim while the two of you were making cupcakes for the bake sale.

But eventually Drita channeled her inner street punk and through the magic of way too many gratuitous boob shots, auto tune and a soundboard mixer, she laid down the trackz, haters.

That street punk channeling resulted in a mad rush of adrenaline, and for a second I thought she was going to throw a city trash can thru the window of Best Buy and go home with a plasma.  But Anthony talked her down and she went home happy with just the head rush.

Oh, yeah.  Carla.  They almost forgot Carla this week.  She went to nosh with Renee, where she refused to go to the grand opening of Karen’s spa, waffled on whether she would make up with Ramona and then ate while Renee talked.  I think they’re running out of things for her to do.

Carla really needs to slap somebody soon or they won’t ask her back for Season Three.

Over at the Drunken Monkey, Ramona was getting bullied by Big Ang into making up with Drita and Carla.  Renee and Big Ang just want everyone to get along.

And they want better boobs.  Everyone get along.  And bigger, better boobs.

Then Carla, Renee and Drita got together for even more snacks.  This time around Drita was bullied into making up with Karen.  I swear, this show should come with a spreadsheet in TV Guide so you can track who hates who and who makes up with who and maybe recipes for some of those salads they eat.  Some of them look pretty tasty.

Then it was Party Time.

The Nip/Tuck Shop had their VIP grand opening, but Ramona didn’t get the lasers there in time.  Way to go.

And then Renee strolled in with no gift bags.  Again…way to go.  All the times you go to Rite-Aid to fill your Xanax prescriptions and you couldn’t go down the Hallmark aisle?

Karen was not happy.  But like any Real Housewives show, the opening/launch of whatever it is always ends up going off without a hitch, so the place was a success and everyone was happy.  Renee even found an all-night party store and stuffed bags like Lucy on the chocolate factory assembly line before the guests had to leave empty handed.

The music video also went of without a hitch.  A van full of bank robbers wearing nun masks always makes for a good time, especially when they squeal away in a hail of gunfire to a (bleeped) out rap soundtrack sung by a Mob Wife with a new puppy.

You can’t make this stuff up.

By the time Karen and her cousin Rena, who looked remarkably like Chaci’s mother on Happy Days, sat down for yet another meal, I was losing track.

Big Ang wants Ramona to make up with Carla.  Renee wants Karen to make up with Drita.  Somebody wants Drita to make up with Ramona.  Rena wants Karen to crack Drita’s jaw.  Ramona still wants her jewelry back.

And now I just want a puppy.

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