DanThat'sCool!

 

 

See? All this talk about giving each other fat lips has hurt her feelings. Happy now?

 

 

 

 

 

You want maybe I should throw some Gangsta Rap beats down on yo’ head?

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah? Well anybody else here have a book AND two huge shelves like these to put it on?

 

 

 

 

 

Mob Wives: Chicago? Seriously? Those bitches wish.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m about to go all Star Jones on somebody’s a** if they don’t sit down.

 

 

 

 

Dear Wendy Williams:

You can have your old gig back.  These bitches are (bleeped) up.

I’m outta here.

Sincerely, Joy Behar.

……………………………

It was Round Two of the Mob Wives Reunion Rumble, and poor Joy was in so far over her Sally Jesse Raphael wannabe head that I expected Barbara Walters to swoop in at any minute and carry her off the set before she ruined all of The View’s Tough Chick street cred. 

It’s one thing to bully Hollywood celebrities and any politicians that go up against the Behar Beliefs, but when it comes to holding down Drita D’Avanzo and Ramona Rizzo, Joy should have just packed up her stuff and left early to beat traffic.

This week picked right up where we left the Wives last week, with everyone in one chaotic pig pile trying to keep Drita and Ramona from latching on to the meaty part of each other’s necks.

Instead of discussing what went down at Renee’s Celebration of Life rooftop party, the two Wives had decided to attempt a bloody reenactment and everyone from cameramen to makeup girls to the poor schmo from Poland Springs who just happened to be delivering water bottles for the kraft table were all called in to keep them separated in the middle of the studio.

As Joy sat comfortably back in her chair (…they don’t stand up for nuthin on The View except free food and Patti LaBelle performances, thank you…) everyone else ran around like Ricky And Fred when Lucy’s water broke.

Renee continued bellowing her NoNoNoNo war cry while Karen tried to block Ramona’s tackle.  Everyone was (bleepin’) and screaming and screaming and (bleepin’) as Drita tried unsuccessfully to exit the set with all her extensions and animal print press-on nails still attached.

Maybe it was just me, but I swear that one cameraman was actually Joey Fatone, which could be very possible considering no one has really seen much of him since that freaky light saber tango on Dancing With The Stars.  Joey and Jennifer Graziano cut off the stampede like Red Rover Olympians, which finally allowed Drita to scoot behind the cameras and cool off before returning to the couch.

When Drita was securely strapped down, Joey went back behind the camera to sulk about the whole Justin Timberlake superstardom thing.  Ramona went back to her opposite corner and did that tongue across her teeth thing that she always does when she is pissed off, and Joy tried to regain control of her show.

With much the same tone, and with basically the same results that one would expect when you tell a newborn puppy not to pee on the carpet, Joy told Drita and Ramona to sit down and not get up.

Good luck with that.

I think you can imagine how successfully that one went over, as Ramona accused Drita of ‘taking off like a G6′ when they saw each other in Las Vegas.

For those of you less versed in hip hop terminology, Ramona pretty much called out Drita for being chicken s***, which I’m pretty sure you don’t want to do when she is within spitting distance of your face.

That ignited a whole (bleepin’) Single White Female throw down over who copied who and who’s a crumb snatcher and who’s just a bitch trying to jump another bitch on the roof.  There was also a highly elevated discussion regarding the compromise of the Inner Circle, and who should just go back to East Arabia or wherever the (bleep) you came from, bitch.

There was generally just a lot of bitching about who came into the Staten Island Mob World first.  Picture the Chicken vs. The Egg argument, but with stilettos and bling and the word bitch used too much.

Next on the index card was a segue to Karen and Drita’s dysfunctional relationship.

Since I don’t fully believe that Joy Behar has ever watched an episode of this show, I’m sure that the cards must have come in pretty handy.

As Karen sucked in her newly thinned down cheekbones, we got to relive their tumultuous on again/off again friendship.  They’ve shared many experiences.  Many highs, many lows and quite possibly…many men.

But luckily, and I speak for anyone out there with eyes or any other working senses, they never shared that Macy’s Moment.

Yeah.  That one.

The one where Karen told us what Drita could do to her in front of Macy’s.

I still can’t watch the Macy’s Parade without wondering if one of the clowns holding the Snoopy string is going to step in something sticky and cause the balloon to careen off course, possibly injuring hundreds of innocent kids who came in on a New Jersey YMCA bus trip.  Even though she didn’t go through with it, Karen has forever scarred me on Thanksgiving.

I can’t even spoon the stuffing out of the bird without getting car sick.

Moving on.

Next it was our boost of testosterone as Joe Ferragamo and Dave Seabrook joined the party.

Joy welcomed the fellows with a hilariously uncomfortable ‘Welcome Felons’ and some polite laughter, most likely after confirming that the metal detectors were still plugged in back stage, then proceeded to ask the boys what crimes got them sent to jail in the first place.

Joe flexed his dimples and proudly listed off a resume page full of money crimes, while Dave just responded with ‘Lots.’

After Karen squirmed a little, Dave calmed everyone down by reassuring them that it was only attempted murder…not real murder.  Relax, people.

Phew.  At least it was only attempted.

Cue the romance montage.

It was a Hallmark moment as we watched my TV girlfriend Big Ang talk smack about her sanitation worker husband.  He may cheat and stay out all night, but the guy looks like Russell Crowe and has a pension.

Ok.  Hold up for just a second.

I don’t even think the guy who picks up the trash in the Hamptons could look like Russell Crowe, so I think the pension may be clouding her vision.

If a guy looked like Russell Crowe, chances are he would be doing something besides picking up recyclables every other Tuesday…or he would actually be Russell Crowe.

But I still love me some Big Ang, even when she is delusional.

The flashbacks also showed us Carla and Joe’s strange relationship, which came complete with marital infidelity, a new third wheel younger girlfriend and Carla’s hands off me, dude policy.

Someday we’ll hopefully get to find out how Joe learned to be such a horny tease behind prison walls, but probably not anytime soon.  So for now it’s simply left to our imaginations, hotel room pay-per-views and any random off color stories I may choose to fabricate.

Dave and Karen tripped over each other a little when asked what was going to happen with little Karina. Karen’s daughter is apparently in limbo, since Dave will be returning to Arizona while Karen remains on the East Coast.

Though they couldn’t agree on something as insignificant as child care, they were both clearly on the same page when it came to knockin’ boots behind closed doors.

Karen again praised Dave’s bedroom swagger, which sent all the other Wives off on a school girl tangent trying to come up with as many synonyms for doing the nasty as they could before the next commercial break.

It’s probably a safe bet that both Joy and Joey Fatone wanted to just get up and leave right about the time that Ramona came up with the ‘laying down the pipe’ visual and Renee spit her gum out onto that gigantic Ikea rug.

Joy fumbled her way around some more romance talk as we learned that the fake Russell Crowe can really get it down in the bedroom, which I found kind of strange since that is the opposite of what he should be doing, correct?  But it made Big Ang do her Herman Munster again and I love every quart of saline in her body, so it’s all good.

In what will probably be the most Googled question of the entire two weeks of drama, Joy asked Ramona straight up about her incarcerated boyfriend Joe.

(I’ve lost track of how many Joe’s and AJ’s are on this show.  Don’t waste your time emailing me.  Between the Mob and the Giudices, I can’t keep up anymore.)

We finally got his name, which was a start.  But Ramona was still vague on why Joe was pulled over on the highway by 7 police cars and never heard from again.  Everyone looked around the room at each other like you do on an elevator when you smell something funny, and then the discussion was over.

Renee broke the tension by announcing that she loves the criminals.  They have financial stability.  When they lose their job, they can still provide for their family.

Honestly, at that point, I wasn’t sure if Renee’s meds had just kicked in or just worn off.

Luckily before Renee could ramble on any longer, my TV Lover Big Ang took over and gave us some details on her arrest for possession and selling of cocaine way back in the day.  It was a sordid tale of betrayal by her then BFF who had been wired up, à la Junior’s Dick Tracy watch, and sold her down the river to the Feds.

Big Ang even had to be clamped into one of those Lindsay Lohan ankle bracelets during her house arrest, and she vowed to never be a Rat after that experience.

Then we went around the room so everyone could brag about their arrest record, and the process somehow made Carla look like the odd one out for never having been fingerprinted.  It was another one of those classic Mob Wives Moments when you’re not sure they know that being arrested is a bad thing, at least according to most job application forms.

But then Big Ang laughed again, and suddenly everything seemed ok.

For some comic relief, Joy turned on the official Mob Wives Swear Counter and ran through a season’s worth of Renee’s potty mouth as numbers flew by like we were at the Indy 500.  I thought for certain this would be a 3 hour show until they sped up the counter and we tallied up 407 times this season that someone had to (bleep) out Renee’s (bleepin’ bleeps.)

Can you imagine the intern who drew that short straw and had to sit threw an entire season’s worth of reels with one of those hand clickers they use to count grocery store customers?

Talk about carpal tunnel in one week.

I feel sorry for whoever that was, because their cramped hands will probably never recover enough to snap and clap along with the gangsta rappin’ stylings of Drita and her Bad Boy music video, which we revisited next.

Drita spit the beats and robbed the bank like a pro, and even gave the Mob Wives a mention in her rap.  Karen claimed that the line about ‘crickets chirping’ was a dig at all the gossipy Wives, but Drita shot back that it was only a generalization against all the gossipy haters out there in Staten Island.

Sensing another rumble, Joy quickly shifted gears to Karen’s Mob Daughter book, which had so far hogged 7 weeks on the NYT Best Sellers list.  It probably could have hogged another week if Drita had bought a copy, but she was quick to mention that she hadn’t read it and clearly had no intention of reading the rag.

Then the crickets were back again.  But this time they were silent as Karen glared at Drita and everyone took one step closer just in case they had to run defense on the floor again.

But everyone remained seated, and the show finished off with one last attempt to stir up the Drita vs. Ramona feud.

The phrase was ‘agree to keep it cordial.’

Which in Mob Wives lingo means ‘I’ll kick your a** next season.’

When Renee dropped to her knees in a Staten Island Halleloo, it looked more like she was ducking out of the line of fire than actual thanking Baby Jesus.

Trust me.  It ain’t over till the Fat Lady sings.

Or when she goes over the rooftop railing and lands on the hood of a passing taxi.

See you next season.

I’ll be throwing down with the bitches in Chicago if you need me.

 

 

Gawd as my witness, I told the tattoo guy “Omarosa” not “Omertà”…I loved that crazy bitch.

 

 

 

 

You’re preachin’ to the choir, cuz I’m about to blow a Mr. Peanut-sized nutty in your face, dude.

 

 

 

 

Yo. Lucifer. I cast out your evil spells, toxic poison and all your White Strips. Be gone from here.

 

 

 

 

 

We pray to the Patron Saint of Bazongas & Botox that she always looks over us.

 

 

 

 

I solemnly swear to cut a bitch the next time she gets all up in my grill. Amen.

 

 

 

Quick.

Somebody light a candle and put it in the window.

Or a Molotov cocktail…and toss it through the window.

Whatever.

It was a near religious experience this week as the Mob Wives turned to the Spirit World for guidance in putting an end to all the conflict and chick fights that have haunted them this year.

After more drama and Newport Lights second hand smoke than any other show on basic cable, the season ended with one last attempt to get everyone together to hug it out.

Love me them Mob Wives.

It took me a while, but I finally figured out why there are so many restaurants in Staten Island.  It’s because each one only caters to about 6 people.  When have you ever seen more than half a dozen patrons at any establishment when the Wives go out to dine?

Not to upset the Chamber of Commerce, I guess it is possible that they do have loads of customers but they all just run screaming out the door as soon as the cameras arrives.  I don’t know.  There are probably not many research studies done on the subject.

I know that if I saw Karen and Drita coming into my Burger King looking like they wanted to rumble I would dump my Chicken BLT Garden Salad, fork and all, into Mom’s purse and bolt out like the place was on fire.  Probably leaving Mom still in the booth hoarding ketchup packets.

Of course, I would turn around after I made it safely outside and take cell phone pictures through the window.  Duh.  That s*** is totally going on Instagram.

Regardless of the reasons for never having to sit in the Olive Garden vestibule and wait for a table, Renee and Drita hit up the first of many half empty eateries this week to discuss the “perfect location” for The Meeting.

The Meeting.  The last ditch attempt to get Karen and Drita to put their past behind them and get to the point where they can both be in the same room and not risk losing a front tooth.

By “perfect location” I assumed that Renee meant paper plates, tables bolted to the floor and insurance premiums fully paid up through 2013.

Drita agreed to the meeting, but did not want to talk about the past, which was a little odd considering that all their problems stemmed from the past.

Unless one of them is psychic and can predict the future, that didn’t leave them much to discuss.  We’d just have to wait and see.

In the first of many religious and spiritual references this week, my personal Reality TV Goddess Big Ang and her son AJ were headed to the local tattoo parlor for some ink and quality Mother/Son bonding time.

Big Ang currently sports 12 pieces of tattoo artwork on her person, and was looking to add one more.  As she gave an around the world tour of where all her markings were located, I’ll admit to a rather sudden and unhealthy need to immediately know what her butt tattoo looked like.  I’m not proud of it, but I own it.

Let’s be real.  You tell me that right now the guy who gave her the butt tattoo is not out there somewhere having drinks with the dude who did her implants, high five-ing each other and telling gross-out war stories?

Can you even imagine?  Best.  Jobs.  Ever.

AJ was getting a Mother of Mary stamp on his calf, which inspired Big Ang to get herself a little neck decor.

Now I can barely thread a needle without blacking out, so all the blood and stabbing that comes along with permanent tattooing always gives me the heebies.  But Big Ang makes everything all better.

She tried to lighten the mood by showing the tattoo artist a cell phone photo of her nephew’s blurry tattoo.

I’m not sure if I would stick a cell phone in front of anyone’s face while he was poking my own flesh and blood with an inked up electric needle, but she did.  Dude must be a pro, though, because he kept coloring between the lines even though his view of AJ was completely blocked by a cartoon Big Ang face.

Big Ang gave herself a hurried up ‘doo and then took a face plant while a second artist carved “Omertà” on her neck.  The Code Of Silence.

“Omertà” and a little flower looked a lot nicer than “Rats & Snitches Suck D***”  so I’m glad the tattoo girl talked Big Ang out of her first choice.

As AJ was putting vaseline on the Mother of Mary, Karen and Ramona were hanging out in the kitchen discussing The Meeting.

Karen popped in the same cassette about Friends and Loyalty that she always sings when this discussion comes around, while Ramona scrunched her nose and did that lip thing she always does.

You know the one.  We’ve discussed it before.  That lip move that looks as though she is licking stray gloss off her front teeth while plotting the takeover of a small country.

When Ramona first came on the show I thought that she was just mesmerized by the slick polished sheen of her freshly White Stripped enamel, but now I’m starting to think that there may be some evil undertones to the lick.

Girlfriend hates Drita.  Hatezzzz.  With a Z.  And she wants to bring her down at any cost.

The feeling is mutual.  Don’t you worry, honey.  And how small was that microwave oven?  What can you even put in there?

Since bowling worked so well last time, Renee decided to take the other AJ to an indoor raceway for some bonding of their own.  Ever since Junior’s high tech cufflinks provided the Feds with enough info to bring down Renee’s own father and half the Staten Island Mob, AJ had begun developing a bit of an attitude around the house.

Having your own dad sell out his entire family will do that, I guess.

In an attempt to force a smile onto AJ’s face, Renee figured that a little practice driving a NASCAR getaway vehicle would do the trick, so they both slapped on helmets and hit the track.

After a few laps of road rage, Renee let AJ know that someone was coming to cleanse the house.

Cleanse.  Not Clean.

Clean is Vanola the Maid.  Cleanse is Momma Donna and her spiritual smoke and Poltergeist stones and Cosby Show color blocked fashions.  AJ’s initial reaction was the same face he makes during every discussion.  It wasn’t really clear what he thought considering his response to everything that Renee tells him is that it’s stupid or f***ed up.

But Renee wanted all the Evil out of the house, so Momma Donna was coming whether AJ approved or not.

Not to be outdone, Ramona dropped by her psychic to get some guidance on the mess that her life had become.

The mysterious never-seen boyfriend who was busted for something that required a 7 police car roadblock, had just been denied bail and was now sitting in jail somewhere with all of Ramona’s earrings.  She wanted to get a psychic take on all of this and put her mind at ease.

As Madame EyeSeeDeadPeople flipped cards and rambled, it was clear that she was either pretty good at psychic readings or had a subscription to TV Guide, because she knew all the same things that I know from watching the show.  The tarot cards clearly showed that Ramona was worried about somebody.  So did the bags under her eyes and the tears she was crying, but I guess the psychic missed those red flags.

The only card Ramona didn’t pull was the Card of Scam.

Speaking of something smelling fishy, Carla and Renee went out for sushi, mainly to give Carla a scene in this episode and to show yet another empty establishment.  Since there was not one other soul in the entire room, I don’t have any idea what the 8 sushi chefs were doing behind the counter but they were certainly keeping themselves busy.

The highlight of this short lunch was when Renee brought up the spiritual cleansing again and Carla squirted Sake out her nose.

Carla is starting to think that Renee is cray cray.

In a last ditch effort to chill out before The Meeting, Drita headed to her Anger Management coach, Robert Reiner.

I know, right?  Me, too.

I was so excited to see Meathead from All In The Family.  I had no idea he made the switch to Shrink.  Would he have pictures of Archie and Edith on the walls?

Wah.  Wrong Rob Reiner.

But it’s ok, because this Rob had a full blown lie detector set up with more wiring than a slum lord’s basement cable box, complete with the same flat screen plasma they have on General Hospital for blood pressure monitoring.

He plugged in Drita and then egged her on with some role play until the plasma caused a brown-out in Jersey.  That chick is soooo not getting her money’s worth with this anger management thing.

The Meeting was pretty low key, after all that build up.  And the restaurant was empty.

Just saying.

Renee’s perfect location turned out to be a wine cellar basement with more breakable glass, sharp objects and potentially projectile artillery than a military compound.

Drita wore a ginormously clunky bracelet just in case she needed to smash in Karen’s skull.  Karen didn’t wear any weaponry per se, but was clearly eyeing Drita’s huge hoop earrings which would make excellent handles with which to drive her head into the table.

After rehashing everything that we already knew, intercut with a youtube mash-up featuring every fight scene and throw down over the past two seasons, they both agreed to disagree and called a truce.

That’s it?

The waiters didn’t even bring the menus yet.  What do you want to bet they were probably too busy nervously hovering at the top of the stairs flipping a coin?

I’m not going down there.  Well, I’m not going down there.  You’re a pussy.  No, you are.

To celebrate everyone finally getting along, Big Ang arranged a massive Godfather get together at Delmonico’s Restaurant in NYC.  But first, Renee had to cleanse her house.

Momma Donna, in all her whacked out slightly askew spiritual beanie and crazy outfit glory showed up to smoke out all the Evil in Renee’s home.

Starting with the Devil’s own face which had somehow manifested itself within the grains of the granite counter top.  That’s right.  An evil kitchen island.

I was waiting for it to start spinning around like Linda Blair’s head.  How cool would that have been?

Between the cigarette haze and the voodoo ashes, I have no idea how the smoke detectors were never activated.  After coming dangerously  close to igniting the couch, Momma chalked up the doorways and windows with Blue Ball stain….do NOT even go there…to keep the scary monsters from crossing the threshold.

Let’s just say that Vanola is going to have to swing by and do the other kind of cleaning after this lady finishes her business.  Spooks begone!

Finally it was time to have some fun.

Picture a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party done Mob Style.

Like an unmarked clown car, it was a seemingly never ending stream of Mob Wives and Mob boobs and Mob kids for miles all pouring into the restaurant.

Some of these kids are serious cutie patooties.  Carla’s son is destined to be a heartbreaker when he grows into his head size.  All the girls were dressed up in their Sunday best, and looked like little Mob pageant kids.

I’m thinking Mobsters & Tiaras.  VH1…are you listening?  Call a meeting.

Big Ang toasted The Family.  Drita and Karen faked their renewed friendship.

Renee celebrated Girl Power, and I’m pretty sure Ramona slipped a steak knife into her purse and then did the lip thing again.

I don’t think the party’s over quite yet, if you know what I mean.

Tonight, we eat…for tomorrow someone may choke on it.

Omertà, bitches.

 

 

Oh, yeah. The JoeDawg would totally tap that. Gggrrrufff!

 

 

 

 

 

Keep it up, bitch, and one more puppy is about to get neutered…m’kay?

 

 

 

 

Sure…I missed him. At least this much of him, anyway. Mommy likes her wiener dogs.

 

 

 

 

 

Oooh, girlfriend…dat’s just nasty. Put that hound on a leash and walk it.

 

 

 

 

 

Twice, actually.

 

 

 

 

It was Mob Wives Week on Animal Planet.

For real.

Or at least that’s what I thought when I first tuned in and saw all the tiny dogs running around like it was Superbowl Sunday.

A Gangstah Puppy Bowl, but with a referee who swore a lot and packed a gun instead of a whistle.

If you’re a dude, this week was like a rolled up newspaper to the nose.  In probably the least man-friendly episode yet, us menfolk were compared to horny dogs, sloppy dogs and dogs that run away and leave behind a house full of heartbroken children.

No wonder all the Wives have given up on men and made the switch to little pocket dogs.

We started out with our first puppy, Lucky Santangelo, plopped in Drita’s lap as she took another reverse charge call from Lee’s prison cell.

Lucky, a tiny little ball of brown fur that looks the same from both ends, was apparently named after the “dangerously beautiful” mob daughter of Gino Santangelo in all those Jackie Collins novels and Nicolette Sheridan mini-series.

(“DanThat’sCool…Where we do the Googling so you don’t have to!”)

Last week Lee had announced that the first half of the second part of his third sentence, or whatever, was going to be done in Brooklyn which made for much less traveling on Take Your Kids To Prison Day.  Drita was excited that the children stood a better chance of seeing their Daddy, and it all seemed to be working out pretty well.

Lee was even being sweet, which made Drita purr a little even though she was 99.9999% committed to the impending divorce.  As she relived her breakthrough rap tracks and bank robber music video, Lee gave a thumbs up for making more money and Lucky gave a butt up for more scratching.

Meanwhile, Karen and Ramona headed out for a cup of Joe and discussion on whether Karen should try and make up with Drita.

Ramona is probably not the person you want to talk to about Drita, and a smelly fish deli is definitely not where you want to meet up with Ramona.  For a city with a Starbucks on every corner, I have no clue why they needed to chill out by the trout tank, but I don’t even drink coffee so I’m not one to judge.

Karen felt that she was in a good place with her tell-all book not marked down yet and the spa bringing in some extra rent money, so she was willing to try and make Renee happy by sitting down with Drita.  The only caveat being that she would have to kill Drita on the spot if she even laid one hand on her person, which immediately made Ramona’s eyes glass over.

Ramona was leaning towards saving everyone some time and just killing Drita now, but Karen pretty much nixed that idea and then grabbed a filet for dinner.

Then it was off to see more animals. Big Ang’s crazy jungle print couture.

Love. Me. That. Big. Ang.

Ang and her shiny plumped lips met up with Carla to do a little man bashing.  Seems that Joe had not been coming around the house as much as Carla felt he should now that he is out of the halfway house.  His first week out he was all about it, and was more than happy to crash on the couch and get any holiday “presents” that Santa Carla felt like delivering his way.  Badabing!  But lately he has been MIA and Carla is not really happy.

Big Ang’s psychic powers immediately told her that Joe had already scored a new girlfriend using whatever tips and techniques he had picked up in prison over the last 6 years, but she didn’t go into much detail beyond your general man bashing.

Who knew that men could be such great husbands if they didn’t cheat and stay out all night and get drunk and take all your money and go to jail every other year?

It was an odd conversation.

But I love me some Big Ang.

Her son AJ better be loving her too, after she laid down a crisp $1,000 in cash as payment on a birthday chain and a little sumthin sumthin for herself to help celebrate those new hair extensions.

Big Ang and AJ hit up the local Buy & Sell gold joint so her baby boy could pick out a necklace that would make even Flava Flav jealous.  AJ snagged a gigantic silver cross on a chain thick enough to get a car out of a snowbank in December.

Bling, Bling, Bahh-ling Dahling.

Ang picked herself up a few diamonds to accentuate her new I Dream of Jeannie ponytail and then had to scoot home to start cooking up AJ’s birthday pig.  The jewelry store owner seemed just a little too excited by the menu as Ang and AJ listed off every edible, and questionably edible, pork portion that they were serving.

Honestly, I think the guy was more excited by the sautéed pig nibblies than the $1,000 sitting on the counter.  But I don’t eat pig nibblies or drink coffee, so again…not one to judge.

I will, on the other hand, judge the other AJ’s girlfriend.

After receiving a call from AJ#2′s school, Renee realized that the whole Junior wire tapping scandal encompassed a wider fallout zone than she originally anticipated.  AJ’s grades were suffering, and he was getting a bit standoffish.

Personally, I would have chosen ’how about you do some homework’ as the answer to this problem, but Renee chose bowling instead…which is actually more fun now that I compare the two options.

So Renne, AJ and his girlfriend Sydney all hit the lanes to toss some gutter balls and discuss what was going on inside AJ’s head.

Yeah, AJ has gone through way more than most kids his age.  But that doesn’t give him carte blanche to mouth of to his Mom.  Especially this close to Mother’s Day, dude.

Check it out.  AJ only has one response, regardless of what question you ask.

It can be about girls, school, his father, the Walmart quarterly earnings report…you name it.  His eyes get really wide, he gets exasperated and gets all Duh I Know Der Gah I Heard You Wha Duh Auuuugh and looks away.

The fumes from the bowling shoe spray must have been getting to Sydney, because I can think of no other reason why anyone…anyone…would cross Renee.  But she did, and calmly blurted out that it’s annoying when someone keeps saying the same thing to AJ.  He heard you the first time, bitch.

Renee took that one exactly as you would expect her to take it.

After repeatedly asking AJ to look at her when she talks, I would have smacked those Prada glasses right off his face and then see how his focus improved.  Without his specs he probably wouldn’t even realize his mother was trying to strangle his girlfriend by the ball washing machine.

Speaking of googly eyes…Karen’s boyfriend Dave showed up, looking all fly and short stuff NBA with his baggy sweats and new white kicks.

As part of her Manhattan Takeover, Karen wanted her daughter Karina back in New York, and was hoping that Dave would come along as an added bonus.  She explained that she had originally left Karina back in Arizona to seclude her from all the media surrounding the book but now she needs her daughter by her side.

Umm.  Wasn’t the kid on this national television show last week?  Isn’t that the opposite of secluded?

Dave had no intentions of going back to prison.  Ten years was enough, thank you.

He’s a changed man….Dave 2.0 all new and improved.

Old Dave or New Dave, he sure looked yummy to Karen as she scanned him up and down like an airport security laser gun.  It was all coming back to her now.

Mommy liked.

Across town, Drita dropped in on her BFF Nicole at the Dance Factory to dish about Ramona.  Pretty uneventful, but it gave us all a chance to see fuzzy Lucky again and question whether Drita was starting to become one of those crazies on the Anderson Cooper show who believe their dolls are real children.  Let’s just say there were a couple of uncomfortably questionable puppy kisses and move on.

The next evening, Karen and Ramona hit the pool tables to discuss Dave’s crazy swaggah and Karen’s fear of committment.  They giggled like teenage girls in the bathroom talking about boys, and pretty much told us all way more than we needed to know about Staten Island mating techniques.

I’ll never be able to stick a pool cue in chalk without having a flashback to that scene.

Thanks for ruining a potentially lucrative Vegas career, Karen.

To burn off some of that adrenaline, it was time to hit the gym.  Carla, who thoughtfully color coordinated her workout gear to the gym decor, hit the weight room with Joe.

I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow between last week and this week I swear Joe got a thicker New Yawk accent and now talked out of the side of his mouth like Popeye.  I swear I’m not making it up.

As he busted out triceps dips and worked his x-ray vision on Carla’s gluteus maximus, Joe bragged about his new girl friend and how he needs a chick to change his diapers when he’s old.

Now I’ve been a big supporter of Team Joe since he got sprung, and even gave him bonus points for the Mario Lopez dimples, but this week Mr. Ferragamo started to unleash his inner douche and now I may have to turn in my fan club membership card.

Whaddamaddaforyou?  Snap out of it.

Finally it was time for the Puppy Bowl!

Drita, Big Ang and Carla brought their babies to the park.  Lucky, Louie and Elvis all played and peed their brains out while the girls talked the usual smack.

Well, actually Louie and Elvis did all the playing and peeing.  Lucky stayed wrapped in her pink baby blanket on Drita’s lap.  When the house burns down I think we know who Drita is going to save first, now don’t we?

Trust me, there was almost as much butt sniffing at the dog park as there was on date night later on with Karen and Dave.  After lamenting how her entire family was arrested in 2000 in a major bust, Karen started to play coy with Dave when asked how much she missed him while he was in jail.  Then he turned it up a notch and went in for the kill, and before you knew it Karen turned into Snooki and Dave turned into any random juicer on the boardwalk.

Smush.

The two of them were probably making too much noise to even hear the radio when Renee did her guest spot on Lockdown Love.

Cherry Martinez, proud owner of the best bakery desert/pole stripper name ever, hosts a talk show about incarcerated lovers that I guess I don’t get on iHeart Radio.

Cherry, who is kinda sorta the Staten Island shrinky dink version of a Wendy Williams and Lil’ Kim lovechild,  had invited Renee to talk s*** about Junior…and Renee came with both guns locked and loaded.  Bam.  Between the eyes.

By the time Renee finished her rampage, Cherry probably couldn’t wait to play a Fifty Cent CD and have a cigarette.

Renee definitely got her mojo back.  You go, girl.

Then there was just time enough for one last man bashing scene.

Drita got a letter from Lee stating that he wasn’t being moved to Brooklyn after all.  He’s staying in a Pennsylvania prison, which is even further away and a guarantee that Aleeya will never see her Daddy now.

That just proved it.

Men are dogs.  Get a puppy.