DanThat'sCool!

 

 

Seriously. That is (bleeped) up. So (bleepin’ bleeped) up, Dude. (Bleep.)

 

 

 

 

 

To think I would go against my Dad is (bleeped) up. I can’t even wire the (bleepin’) DVR.

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t be Tardy for the (bleepin’) Party. Wha-? Wrong show? Seriously? (Bleep.)

 

 

 

 

 

(Bleep) off. Period.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is a lot of (bleepin’) work for a spin-off. Seriously.

 

 

 

(Bleep.)

Nothing like somebody turning against their family and getting wired by the Feds to blow the dial right off the Cuss-o-Meter.

This week the Mob Wives were still feeling the after effects from Juniorgate 2012, and it wasn’t pretty.

As a recap for anyone without access to the internet, television, radio, the outside world or a CVS magazine rack, Junior Pagan recently got himself wired up like a home surround sound system and went all Federal Snitch against the Staten Island Mob.

In doing so, Junior managed to record enough static-free background noise to not only incriminate Renee’s own father, Anthony “TG” Graziano, but also blow apart his own family and guarantee that at least three VH1 executives all wet their pants as they giggled and high fived each other at the perfect ratings sweep timing of the arrest.

The fallout from the news had turned Staten Island into a (bleepin’) rumor mill, and whoever “they” are…well, they were all talking about it.

We picked right up where we left off last time, as my Restylane Reality Crush Big Ang flipped through the newspaper at that little boutique her sister either runs or works at or owns.

Big Ang was still stylin’ in her Jackie O Goes To The Jungle look as she pawed through the pages with those shiny black polyurethane Super Heroine gloves.

Do you think maybe she has a secret identity?  How cool would that be?

Perhaps her newly announced spin-off show is going to be an action/adventure kind of thing where she battles crime like Batman?

Maybe you pull one of those stuffed monkey tails behind her Drunken Monkey bar and the back wall actually opens up and she has a gigantic Big Ang Cave down in the basement?

How much would you pay to see her slide down a Big Ang Pole?  You know there is a seriously padded landing platform at the bottom of that ride.

But I digress.

As Big Ang tried to comprehend what the (bleep) just happened with Junior and Renee, we were treated to a little Junior video montage that is destined to be a viral youtube dance hit by the end of the week.

Trust me, if I had a clue how to open GarageBand I would be laying down tracks right now and you guys would have to settle for your own DVR instead of my wit, but I skipped that Genius Bar appointment so you’re in luck.

After the RatSnitch ReMix, we listened in on Karen’s phone conversation with her mom, Debbie.

Karen’s snitch-uation as I like to call it now, is similar to Renee’s…and yet somehow different.

When Karen’s dad, Sammy “The Bull” Gravano, flipped and cooperated with the Feds way back when, he at least had the common Mob courtesy to call a meeting in the Big House and let everyone know what was about to go down.

Let’s be real.

I barely know wedding present etiquette, much less gangstah graciousness, so trust me…I am not the authority on how to properly turn Federal Snitch.  But I guess getting everyone together and dropping that bomb is better than a quick scribble on some 5th grade report paper like Renee found when she finally stopped hitting the snooze alarm that fateful morning.

Speaking of Renee…Drita dropped by to check up on her and let her know that despite all their previous disagreements she is still loyal to her old friend Renee.

This was the first time that the two of them have had a chance to really sit down and diss about Junior, and it was total junior high gossip festivus.

He did what?  When?  Shut up.  No, you shut up.  He did.  When?  Shut up.  Renee, that is messed up.  Shut up.  And then lots of crying.  You shut up.  No, you shut up Infinity.  Am I living a lie?  Was I living a lie?  Shut up.

That’s pretty much how it went down.  I just took out all the cussing and made it more family friendly in case this ends up as a bedtime story for you West Coasters.

Then it time for RatSnitch ReMix Part 2.

Karen was recording the audio version of her new book, and was behind the mic at the studio to lay down some vocals, as they say in the biz.

Thanks to iPods and all that high tech gadgetry, audio books are a big deal nowadays and Karen was releasing the talkie version of Mob Daughter to coincide with the hardcover launch.

The way she explained it was that now when the Wise Guys are running from gunfire they can catch up on Gravano family history without the annoyance of having to hold the actual book.  And on the other end of the spectrum, Rat Snitches can easily stick one wire down their shirt and another one in their ear, thereby  killing two birds with one stone.  It’s well documented that Snitches like to stay current with New York Times bestsellers just like the rest of us do.

Spoiler Alert: Pretending to be listening to audio books is also one of the best ways to score information for the DEA.

Or I might have just made up those last couple paragraphs in my head.  The important thing is that Reading Is FUNdamental.  Stay in school, kids.

This is also probably a good place to mention how much I love me some Mob Wives.  Just to be safe.  Because I do.  I love me some Mob Wives.

As Karen read through various chapters, we were treated to yet another soon-to-be youtube dance classic, this time complete with those funky digital sound board lights.

If some 9 year old geek wad is not already auto tuning Chapter 11, I’m going to lose faith in the youth of today.

Seriously.  I had to move my coffee table and roll up the carpet when they busted out Karen’s mix.

I’m Gravano and I know it.

Then it was time to put the gloves on and hurt somebody.

Drita had her final boxing workout with Personal “We’re going hahhhhd kore” Trainer Anthony, before heading to the gym to spar with an actual human being.  As part of her born again focus on anger management, Drita hoped to unleash all her Mean Girl aggression on some boxing pads instead of Ramona’s face, and wanted to make certain that her inner Incredible Hulk wouldn’t surface during an upcoming match that Anthony had found for her.

Yeah.  Drita was going to do a boxing match.  With rules.

Between the last minute training in her backyard, and then losing control with the poor little Oriental guy who drew the short straw for her practice match, Drita realized that she should probably pull out of the event.

The biggest concerns about participating in the match were her kids, and the sudden realization that she might actually get hit in the face.

That, and the fact that Drita also fights like those high school girls with the blurred out faces you always see kicking a tiny kid for lunch money on the FOX5 News.

So it was best to just walk away with some dignity and all her teeth.  The Jack-o-Lantern look is cute on Dance Moms and Toddlers & Tiaras, but not so much when you’re modeling hoochie bikinis wearing a flipper.

I love me some Drita, too.  But she can have my lunch money.  All of it.  I’ll even mail it to her house.  I’m not messing with that one.  Ever.  Just tell me where to send it.  And don’t hurt me.  I bruise easily, being so delicate and all.  And I would totally cry.

Later, Big Ang got her Cher on and dropped by Renee’s house.  Carla better watch out, because Big Ang could steal the Cher look-a-like crown right off her head.

Granted, Big Ang’s Cher was a little less Bob Mackie and a little more Pride Parade, but still.  With her big Flintstone furry vest, dangly earrings and massive Cher hair, Big Ang could have passed for Sonny’s ex.  Or maybe Sonny when he used to dress up as Cher.

Remember that show?  When Chaz was Chazette?  I Got You Babe.  Good times.

But, again, I digress.

Soon as Big Ang left, Karen dropped by to help Renee pack up all of Junior’s stuff, in a cleansing/moving on with my life kind of ceremony.

It was also a pretty nice advertisement for the UPS Store.  When your Man goes Federal Informant, Brown has all the supplies you need to get his s*** outta the house.

And he had a lot of s***, considering that he just moved back in three months ago.

I’ll give Renee props.  She neatly folded everything and sealed it up like Junior was going off to Afghanistan.

If someone had boned me the way he boned her, that s*** would be flying out the bedroom window like it was Mardi Gras beads.  You go, girl.  Proud of you.

Now set it on fire in the backyard.

After two seasons, you know by now that nothing gets Staten Island people more excited than unsubstantiated gossip.  And Junior’s saga was Gold.

As Drita, Carla and Big Ang treated themselves to a little Day Spa action, Renee and Junior were again the topic.  Carla is losing her patience with Renee and all her drama, and there were conflicting reports from “the streets” as to whether Renee may have been in on the whole Junior being wired to spy thing.

I don’t know where these “streets” are that everyone in Staten Island always goes to for gossip, but I need to find them, asap.  I just imagine a Land where everyone eats calzones and talks snarky smack talk until their heads explode.

I want to live there.

Carla felt that if the stilettos were on the other foot, Renee would have a completely different attitude about a whole bunch of things.

Over the years, Renee has sworn that nothing is lower than a Rat.  But now that the infestation is in her own basement…hmmmphhh.

Carla thought Renee was a bipolar puppet.  Drita thought that red nail polish looked the best on her own nails.  Big Ang thought she was a little overdressed for such a warm salon.  That’s about all we got out of that.

We finished off the episode with Renee and son AJ awkwardly discussing their situation, and a warm and fuzzy HomeGoods Christmas.

For real.

You know when you go to HomeGoods…or TJ Maxx…or Marshall’s…or whatever it’s called in your ‘hood…during the holidays, and all the country snowmen are piled on the tables right by the front door?  All the snowmen that look like scarecrows in plaid vests?  They’re always next to those wreaths that never fully fluff up when you take them out of the box?  Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.  You’re not that fancy.

Welcome to Carla’s house.

Newly released Joe dropped by to help finish up with the holiday traditions, which basically consisted of putting one last giant life-size snowman together and skeezing an invite to spend Christmas Eve on the couch.  Like I’ve said before, he does love those kids and they get all googly when he comes around, so when his son asked if Daddy could stay over…well, you know.

Joe’s dimples can pretty much score him anything that he sets his mind to, almost as if they have super powers.

Hmmm.  Do you think he is Big Ang’s sidekick in her new show?

After futzing with the snowman and attaching the head (…which was big enough to wear if you wanted to hold up a bank…just saying…) it was a HomeGoods holiday moment.

God bless us, everyone.

Except for Rat Snitches.

They (bleepin’) suck (bleeps.)

 

 

 

And I was all like “Girrrrl, pleez. I smell a rat up in this hizzle fo’ shizzle, bitch.”

 

 

 

 

And I was all like “OMG Junior! WTF and stuff. Duh.”

 

 

 

 

 

And I was all like “Ooooooh. You can talkz about banging …but never about snitching!”

 

 

 

 

 

And I was all like “Man Up! Go to prison and take it like a man. Any questions?”

 

 

 

 

 

And I was all like “Oh. Hell. No. They did not just wire up Renee’s Baby Daddy. MmmHmm.”

 

 

 

And you thought wiring a router into your modem was big drama?

Try running microphone cable up a mobster’s pant leg and see what that gets you.

In a nutshell…it get you a new Social Security card courtesy of the Witness Protection Program, a sloppy mental breakdown and so much drama that this week’s episode of Mob Wives should have been a two hour special hosted by Wendy Williams wearing her big wig.

That’s what it gets you.

Hold up.  I need to splash a little water on my face and compose myself before we get into all this chaos.

This week kicked off right where we left everyone last time.

The Wives were all reeling from the news that Junior had turned himself into the police, leaving Renee with nothing but a sink full of dirty dishes, loads of unanswered questions, crumbs everywhere and more Newport smokes than I’ve ever seen at any Cumberland Farms convenience store at one time.  Ever.

With only a little yellow school note explaining what was about to go down, Junior had left the house and surrendered to the authorities for whatever that last crime was that got him busted, and Renee had flipped out.  It was during that initial flip out that she found out her Father had also just been picked up and taken back to jail.

She then flipped out in capital letters.  Flipped.  Out.

Clutching one of those souvenir filled Bibles that you would expect Taylor Swift or your grandmother to have in their bedrooms, Renee fumbled through the contents while talking to her BFF Nikole about isolation and how rude the Feds were to arrest people before the holidays.

A’ight.  Let’s just get this one out of the way early and then we can move on with the good stuff.

I love me my Mob Wives.

And I loooooove me my Big Ang.

But I’m beginning to question whether they realize that crime is…I don’t know…a crime, maybe?  Somewhere along the way they seem to have lost the concept of Good vs. Evil, Cops vs. Robbers and Batman vs. The Joker, because this week everyone was all up in arms that when you rob a bank you don’t get Thanksgiving dinner before they cuff you.

I’m not here to judge.  I’m just here to point out the facts.

There were a couple of those head scratching moments in this episode, which I’m more than happy to point out…then you judge, mainly because I’m really not in the mood to go swimming with the fishes.  I’ve got a busy week ahead and sinking to the bottom of the Long Island Sound isn’t on my Bucket List.

Anyway.

It looked like there was a piece of a yellow ballon or something in the Bible, with a family portrait rubber stamped on it, which was a curiosity.  Since they never discussed it after she slipped it back into the Bible, in my head I made up a story about a Birthday Party that was riddled with gunfire and all the balloons popped and little AJ cried.  Feel free to use that one, or create your own balloon fantasy story.

While Renee was pressing her balloon pieces, my new favorite female singing group Ramona & The White Strips were hanging out at Big Ang’s Drunken Monkey Bar dishing about the whole Junior thang.

Is there anything better in life than Big Ang?  And maybe ice cream?

I mean, c’mon.  Look at her.  I just want to hang out with her in the bar all day.

Not like those two pervy dudes (…please tell me you noticed…) sitting in the background checking our Ramona’s junk, but belly up to the bar eating peanuts and getting my eyebrows steamed every time Big Ang lets one of those Big Ang laughs rip.

Big Ang lamented the loss of Real Men in the current batch of mobsters.  She missed the days when men were men, took it like men, ate it like men, and knew the meaning of loyalty and respect for other men.

Before you get all skeeved out, she was talking about mob loyalty, not anything dirty.

Clean it up, this is a family site.

The news about Junior had, of course, started all the rumor mills cranking and everyone was trying to decipher real from made up, in much the same way some of you may feel when you skim my brilliance.

Word around town was that Junior had sold out to the Feds, worn a wire while talking to his Father-in-law and generally turned RatFink on the mob.  Luckily, the drama of selling out to the Feds didn’t seem to hurt anyone’s appetites, because we still got our weekly Mob Wives Restaurant Tour.

Carla and Drita shoveled down cake and random bakery goods while trying to decide if Drita should bring her children to prison to see Lee.  The big concern was not really the long lasting effects on a kid’s psyche, but whether or not Drita would throw down with Lee over the divorce papers.  They never said if the prison sits them across from each other at a table like they do on General Hospital, or whether Drita would have to pull Lee’s head through one of those holes in the glass divider wall and strangle him with the intercom cord.

I chose the glass wall, to go along with my balloon story.  It’s way cooler.

Drita digested that meal quick enough to head over to the Drunken Monkey for another snack and another discussion about Real Men and how they never age in prison, which I attributed to really good bar soap in the showers.  Probably Olay or something.

No wonder nobody wants to drop it on the shower floor.  If it’s really the Fountain of Youth, I’d hold onto that s*** with both hands, boys.

Speaking of prison secrets, next we went to the Roller Derby with Carla and newly exonerated Joe.

It was like a bad acid trip back to the ’80s as Carla rolled around in her fringed Cher knock-off under the disco ball, while the kids wobbled like Labradoodle puppies.

I’ll give a Bro his props.  Joe and his baby face (…thanks, Olay…) were pretty fly on the wheels, considering he just got sprung from the Slammer.

Last week we learned that his jail apparently educated him in Speed Dating etiquette.

This week I’m thinking that Joe may, or may not, have done a little after hours roller skating in the yard once the dogs went to sleep.

I’m starting to wonder if Joe did hard time in Xanadu.  (Google it, kids.)

Interspersed throughout all this revelry were a few more Renee meltdowns.  One took place at Ramona’s, where she and Karen were attempting to not only prove they could actually eat a meal at home, but get Renee to be thankful for what she had left in her shattered life.  As Karen tried to say Grace, Renee blew Nutty #576 and stormed out of the house.

Finally, one of the Wives figured out that nothing takes the edge off another 7 years in prison like a Drag Show, so despite Big Ang’s prior trip down Memory Lane, they all headed out to where the men were not so much like men.

To say it was like the Mother Ship had just touched ground and Big Ang was going home again would be an understatement.

For the first time in the series, someone had bigger hair and bigger bazoingazz than Big Ang.  It was something that you can tell your grandchildren about years from now.

Trust me…I’m already saving up my allowance for the Director’s Cut DVD.

Right on the heels of RuPaul’s Mob Race, by the time they got home and wiped off the glitter the press was reporting Junior had indeed sold out to the Feds.

Flipping, as they call it.

Not the Jeff Lewis buy a house, organize the closet, fix up the bathroom and sell it for mo’ money kind of Flipping, but the tape a wire to your stomach and start naming names kind.

This news leaked out right after the Drag Show, so that probably explains why I initially thought Drita was talking about GangBang News.  But it was GangLand News, and the reporter Jerry Capeci is an authority on the stuff.

(Side note…yes, full disclosure…I did try to immediately go on the website and it had crashed already.  Don’t you people wait for commercials anymore?)

Later on, Big Ang shared some munchies with her gal pal Linda and unleashed even more Yoda-isms regarding proper gangster behavior.  She needs her own Learning Annex seminar.  I would totally pay cash.

There were also a couple more Renee meltdowns here and there, accompanied by a few more of those head scratching moments.  One was Karen declaring that a MobRat was the scummiest of all low lifes, which I guess if you do the math would put them lower than the people who actually commit the crimes that the MobRat rats out.  I dunno.

As the news spread, the drama and the outfits got wilder.

Karen and Renee shared a meltdown while Ramona sat by and watched.  Since Karen had already lived through the MobRat process with her dad, she had a good group cry and then presumably began coaching Renee on how to get a book deal.

Big Ang, in possibly the best Big Ang Ensemble yet, strolled into her sister’s boutique to take a look at the newspaper headlines.  In some whackadoodle mashup of a PTA dominatrix meets Janet Jackson meets Jackie O, Big Ang was styling in head to toe black pleather (…were those spaceman gloves…?) as sis Janine spread out the morning’s headlines on the cash wrap.

In that one scene I grew to love Big Ang even more.

Everywhere you turned it was scandal.  And Flipping.  And RatFink.  And MobRat.  And ManUp.

The only place where Renee could go to escape was church, where she went to light a few candles and have another meltdown.  I felt bad for anyone else in the pew trying to pray for a sick pet or the next MegaMillions.  Seriously.  She was going off like one of those old wailing women in the black veils who fall on the caskets in the movies and have to be carried back into town on horseback.

Girlfriend wore me out this week.

Crime seems like a lot of work.

 

 

 

I’d like to thank all the Wise Guys who made these two Wide Guys possible.

 

 

 

 

Seriously. Carrying a sawed off .38 snub nose would be less dangerous than running with those.

 

 

 

 

 

Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, Mister. This goes into this.

 

 

 

 

 

Next week on VH1. Toddlers & Tiaras: Where Are They Now?

 

 

 

 

 

 

My eyes! Just poke them out. Poke. Them. Out. Now!

 

 

 

If there was ever a Public Service Announcement for why all weapons, regardless of caliber or cup size, should be handled with the utmost care…it was this week’s episode of Mob Wives.

For a show whose (bleepin’) legacy is built on (bleepin’) chick fights and the ever present possibility that (bleepin’) Staten Island strip mall restaurant gunfire could erupt at any minute, they may have outdone themselves on this one.  Everywhere you turned there was another reason to duck and cover.

There are some things in life that just can’t be explained.

One.  Why I love this show.  Dunno.  I just do.

Two.  How Renee hasn’t had an aneurysm yet.  Dunno.  Must be the medicinal unfiltered smokes.

Three.  Big Ang.  I can’t explain her.  I don’t even think that the Laws of Physics could really explain Big Ang.  She just exists, even though her existence seems to disprove the Laws of Gravity.   But the world is a much better…and bigger…place because of her.

And I love me some Big Ang.

This week the Wives, minus Drita, were still landlocked in the Poconos.

After a bit of a heated rumble during Karaoke Night at Shenanigans Bar & Rough House, everyone woke up the next day feeling a little more relaxed.  And what better way to chill out after going head to head with a backwoods drunkard with one nibbly than shooting guns?

As Renee, Carla, Ramona and Karen headed off to the local rifle rang to take out their aggression on some empty soda pop cans and a disoriented squirrel or two, Drita was back home checking in on our Reality Queen Big Ang, who had just undergone some thyroid surgery.

Poor Big Ang.  Turns out that when you have thyroid surgery they require that you wear the same brace that you wear if you snap your neck hitting a tree during a ski trip.

Between the foam neck brace and bulky sweater, it would have been less cumbersome if someone had  just strapped Big Ang into one of those Don’t Lick Yourself Petco collars that you shove on a puppy after you clip his junk.  I wanted to go online and order an Edible Arrangement I felt so bad.

But our girl was taking it all in stride.  Let’s be real.  In all honesty, it’s not like she has ever looked down and seen anything besides boob since puberty, so she was handling her situation pretty well.  Not being able to move her neck didn’t really cut into her daily routine, and most of her shoes have got to be slip ons.  I mean, really.  Do the math.

What Big Ang was lacking in mobility, she made up for in hilarity as she kept Drita in stitches with hospital stories.  I’m pretty sure that milk came out of Drita’s nose at one point while Big Ang did her stand up shtick.

Did I mention that I love me some Big Ang?

Then it was back to the shooting range where the Wives were getting their Gun Moll on.

As poor Billy the GunBoy nervously went over the rules of firearm warfare, Renee listed off the name of each weapon like she was at a Flea Market buying Beanie Babies.

Seriously.  Girlfriend knows her sniper s***.

Renee probably can’t remember to turn the iron off when she leaves the house, but she rattled off every street name for every pistol on the table.  I give Billy credit for not just running in the opposite direction.  Would you want to hand over a weapon to Renee Graziano and then stand in front of her while she tried to load a clip without flicking her Marlboro?  Show of hands?

I give him credit, but you know the field smelled like wood chips, ashtrays and nervous pee.  I wasn’t sure if he was going to last through the whole practice session.

For all her (bleep) talk and artillery knowledge, Renee couldn’t hit the side of a barn.  As the other Wives sat back looking like something out of L.L.Bean’s Fall 1995 woodland gangstah catalog, Renee shot out every gopher hole in the field until she finally hit a target.

As they piled into the Mercedes and headed off to Staten Island clutching their target sheets, I’m fairly certain I heard one last lone bullet go off back at the range.

Billy.  We hardly knew ya.

I’m betting that Renee’s son AJ wished he had one of those guns when Mom came home, because Renee felt it was time for The Talk.

Yeah.  That Talk.  About girls and stuff.  Gross.

AJ has started seeing Sydney, and things are getting fairly serious with this girl.  She seems like a nice enough kid, and looked pretty tame.  She kind of has that Sorority Sister look with the whole straight blond hair/headband thing going on, until she opens her mouth and then she’s all Staten Island Orange Julius at the Mall Girl.

But Sydney is pretty…and a girl…so Renee wanted to get a jump on the Birds & the Bees before AJ tried anything behind the bleachers.

While AJ squirmed in his seat and texted “Help Me” on his iPhone, Renee discussed the various forms of contraception available to teenagers at Cumberland Farms and how it doesn’t take a trained Bloodhound to smell some Nasty on a girl.

Again.  Gross.

I mean.  She’s his mom for crying out loud.  It was a boy’s worst nightmare.  Fresh off her trip to the Poconos, Renee wanted to make sure that her son’s little pistol stayed in the holster as long as possible.  Probably until it was shooting blanks, if she had her way.

But when it turned out that AJ couldn’t even spell the word “sex” without stumbling (…for realz…check it out…) I don’t think that Renee needed to worry too much just yet.

Besides, there were more important things to worry about.

Like spray tans.

Drita’s cousin Jackie, a real cousin for a change and not the “Girl…you’re like a cousin to me” cousin everyone in the Mob seems to have, was launching her latest swimwear line and had asked Drita to model for the catalog.  So that meant that Drita needed a tan before she slipped into those website bikinis, and lucky for us it was Big Ang to the rescue.

Complete with a garbage bag spray tent and Maaco paint compressors, Big Ang had rearranged her living room into a disturbingly grown-up, jungle printed version of the Ramada hotel rooms where those crazy pageant moms hose down their baby girls before the Glitz portion of the competition.

And speaking of grown up…

Big Ang.  Bikini.

Close your eyes and imagine.

It was everything you could possibly hope for, and more.  Like something that flies over the Superbowl at halftime.  Times two.

Literally, when I came back from the kitchen after getting a snack I honestly thought someone had broken into my house within the last 30 seconds, stolen my plasma television and replaced it with a brand new Sony 3D.  No lie, I had to move my chair back another 18 inches so I wouldn’t get that hysterical blindness they always get on General Hospital.

And she has a tattoo.  Under all that boobishness, waaaaaay down there.

Yeah.  And it’s not a temporary one.  So that means that somebody had to stay down there long enough to create that masterpiece.  I’m kinda jealous if you really want full disclosure.

Did I mention that I love me some Big Ang?

Every week I swear I’m going to make her laugh my new ring tone.  This week I mean it.

No pun intended, but everything else after the tanning tent just paled in comparison.

Drita unleashed her newly tanned torso for the photo shoot, which was an odd mix of Speedo meets Soft Porn and created a catalog portfolio worthy of any prison wall.  When she’s mad, Drita has no verbal filter.  When she poses, she has no body fat.

Bar fights and Boxing are paying off.  You go, girl.

Carla’s ex Joe was finally released from the halfway house, and he came over to hug the kids and eat pasta.  Other than that, you didn’t miss much.

There was also a downer of a scene with Ramona and her daughter Melina.  The only thing that cute little girl wanted for her birthday was to be able to go visit Ramona’s boyfriend in prison, and Mom finally caved and took her to the Big House.  I’d rather have a pony.  But she’s a Mob Kid, so I guess they have different priorities.

I’m starting to think that when the elusive boyfriend was pulled over by the cops a few weeks back it must have been for more than a broken tail light, because Ramona had to explain that he was in a really rough place.  Unless he’s still in line at the DMV then he must have done something really bad, though they always gloss over exactly wassup with this dude.

Melina got really bummed and cried, and the whole thing got a little real.  This is the Mob.  The real Mob.

I wanted to slap Ramona and tell her to grab her White Strips, scoop up that kid and go work at Kohl’s or something to give that little nugget at least a chance at a normal life.

Later on Ramona, who I’m also starting to think might be a little bit of a manipulator, managed to get Renee so tightly wound over Carla’s connection to Drita that I thought we might finally see that aneurysm.

After hashing over the details of yet another one of Drita’s she said/you said/she said emails, Ramona had her shaking so violently that Renee almost set the couch on fire with her cigarette.

It wasn’t even a slow boil.  Renee just popped and suddenly started screaming to the heavens that Carla was a beeotch.  A (bleepin’) beeotch, of course.  This is Mob Wives.  Der.

As Renee melted down, Ramona smirked, threw in a few more Carla digs, poked at Renee and licked her glossy lips like she was hungry for some fresh Drita blood.  I swear if she had a Snidely Whiplash mustache Ramona would have twirled it like she was tying someone to the railroad tracks.  (Again, if you have to ask…you’re too young to be watching this show.  Go find you library card.)

The last thing we saw was a crazy eyed Renee bolting out the door, as Ramona sharpened her claws and whispered “Be well.”

Muuuahahahahahaha.