Don’t even tell me that old man taped over my Flock of Seagulls album.
And then I was all like Pew! Pew! Pew! Zowie! Pow! with my Renee Superhero Wrist Rockets on that sorry bitch.
Seriously? So you’re telling me I built you this whole Broadway Bedroom theater and you won’t sing 42nd St.?
Honestly lady, the last time I saw a balloon like this it was taking James Franco to Oz.
You know I’m totally jealz of that kid’s bedroom. I could do my whole Las Vegas magic act up there.
I swear. All a guy has to do is put on a Pee Wee Herman tie and I turn to warm spreadable buttah.
Greetings, Earthling. We are BeccaBot. Mission: Assimilate.
Attention Staten Island Mall Shoppers.
We have a lost little girl who has not been seen for over a week.
If anyone finds Carla Facciolo, please bring her to the nearest cashier. And while you’re at it, feel free to let her know that Love Majewski is talking some serious shizzle behind her back.
Seriously. Carla’s missing. I didn’t see her anywhere. Did you?
If it wasn’t for the opening credits and Luscious Love’s non-stop Carla bashing, I’m not sure that anyone would have remembered Joe‘s Ex used to be one of the Mob Wives.
But there’s a storm or two brewing, one of which should blow her back into town fairly soon.
Maybe not the Arizona dust storm that started spinning around this week. That one was confined to Karen‘s old neighborhood and almost took down a few trees and a Fembot.
But Storm Love is growing larger every time we check the map, gaining strength as it pulls in anyone who will listen. So things are definitely about to go down in town.
We started the latest episode back in Arizona, where it was clear that we were going to max out our frequent flier miles jumping back and forth between the desert and the island this week.
What I first assumed was a Target distribution center warehouse actually turned out to just be a ginormous U-Haul storage unit with shiny red doors where Karen and her brother Gerard had stored about 374 boxes of State’s Evidence against their Dad, Sammy “The Bull” Gravano.
As you’ll remember, Gerard had come up with a possible loop hole in the court case against Sammy which could have him back out on the street in less time than it’s gonna take me to change my front door locks and get a new license.
(Umm. They know this website is all just in fun…right? Tell me they do.)
But first, Karen and Ramona needed to sort through mountains of legal paperwork and old beta VHS tapes (…whoa…acid flashback…) in hopes of finding some information that might help Gerard prove his point that Dad had received more time in The Hole than originally agreed upon.
Whereas most normal storage units would be full of old school clothes and action figures, this one was packed floor to ceiling with the kind of stuff that I thought should have probably stayed in a police evidence locker. Boxes and boxes of blurry television news reports and scratchy taped conversations between Sammy and anyone who would listen were piled up behind the doors.
Did anyone else find this a little odd? Or is it just me? I mean, if the Feds were taping their phone conversations, why would they turn around and hand the cassettes back to the family in a Zappos box? Isn’t that something that should be on a shelf with those crown-shaped Latin King dashboard air fresheners and ziplocked bricks of cocaine?
I swear. If Karen’s book goes on second markdown at Barnes & Nobles, I’m going to have to finally give in and pick it up just so I can figure out what’s really going on here.
Armed with a trunk full of boxes, Karen and Ramona headed back home to pop in a cassette and do some research.
Yes. Pop in a cassette. If you have to ask, then you’re too young to be watching this show anyway. Go txt ur BFF. I’m sure Bieber just had another meltdown somewhere.
You’re only allowed to finish reading this if you remember holding your tape recorder up to the radio when your favorite song came on so you could make a mixtape for your girlfriend, which was a lot of wasted work considering that should would dump you over the summer between 7th and 8th grade and leave you with no date for the junior high prom that year even though you already had your Chess King suit picked out.
Bitch. TMI?
Back in Staten Island, Renee was continuing her post-rehab recovery. Turns out that a few of her counselors felt that she may still have some anger issues that needed to be addressed when she got home.
You think?
To help release some of that aggression, Renee had decided to enroll in a Krav Maga class, which is a fancy name for Israeli self-defense. And she thought it would be a great mother/son bonding opportunity, if she could figure out how to get AJ off his bed.
Good luck with that, Mom. Somebody needs to take that kid in to have his blood sugar levels checked. Dude is always tired. And mopey. Tired and mopey.
But really, who could blame him for never wanting to leave that room? Did you see that set up? WTF? It was like a Kids From Fame wet dream. Please tell me that was not his bedroom, or he’s going to need way more than just one Krav Maga class to protect himself in gym class.
It was like his own personal jazz-handed Broadway stage. Newsprint curtains. Red velvet drapes and a big black box that said “Times Square” for some reason. I can totally see AJ in his boxers and Prada specs re-enacting last week’s episode of Glee after Mom has gone to bed.
Don’t Stop Believing, kid.
Seriously. Whoever decorated that room must have found Renee’s meds in the trash while she was in Florida. Needless to say, AJ wasn’t going anywhere.
But cut him some slack…he probably had a sold-out matinee performance.
So Renee and Drita hit the Krav Maga mats on their own to learn the correct way to jam the flat part of your wrist into someone’s throat. And the pointy part of your elbow into someone’s throat. And the boney part of your knee up into someone’s junk.
It’s truly a shame AJ missed the opportunity to share in that mother/son moment.
Then we were off to the Billiards Bar for a quick Carla bashing, even though she was still technically MIA.
Though Love had yet to actually meet Carla face to face, the infamous Five Borough gossip mill already had her hatin’ on Mama Facciolo. And Drita was already getting sick of hearing about it every time they all got together.
Renee, on the other hand, will always be Renee so she couldn’t get enough of the gossip. As for me, I just couldn’t get enough of Renee’s craft glitter eye shadow and sweatshirt combo, so I wasn’t really paying as much attention to what was actually being said.
Martha Stewart was right, though. Glitter does make everything Better.
Next, we left the pool hall and headed back to Arizona, where Karen was finally going to meet up with Dave‘s new girlfriend Rebecca.
Since the only thing that Karen really knew about Rebecca so far was that she had a tendency to misplace her thongs after sex, it was anyone’s guess as to how this meeting was going to go down. Dave had only given Karen a few details, so most of her info had come from daughter Karina, who had been intentionally teeny bopper vague.
This should be good. Karen meet Rebecca. Rebecca meet Karen.
Oh, hell no. Bitch stole my ombré.
Yup. Rebecca was rocking the same new tonal fade that Karen was trying to trademark. Dave never mentioned that.
He also never mentioned that Rebecca may, or may not, be a robot.
Expressionless. No optical dilation. Not impressed or threatened by Karen’s scary Mob background. We are not programmed to feel emotion.
From what I could tell, it looked like Karen spent the entire meeting trying to figure out which side of Rebecca’s head housed the latch that swings open when her computer chip software needs an upgrade.
Like they used to do to Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation. How cool was that?
Since she couldn’t get a rise out of her, Karen figured the next best thing would be to invite Rebecca back to the house for a get-together with all Karen’s Arizona friends. No robot could overtake that many people at once, right? So now there would not only be safety in numbers, but also more people available to try and figure out why Rebecca never blinks.
And speaking of artificial intelligence…and boobs.
Back home in SI, Love and Big Ang took all their saline goodness to the lingerie shop because the mysterious Fate was arriving from Las Vegas soon, and Love wanted some new unmentionables to impress her ex-boyfriend, in case…you know…just in case.
Bow chicka bow wow. Time for your bra fitting, girls. Pop those tops.
Using the same industrial strength tape measure that civil engineers use when they construct bridge trestles, some brave sales girl figured out that Love was a 34G/H.
And that Big Ang was carting around a pair of 38Js.
Yeah. J. As in Jesu—–! Lawd have mercy! It made my back hurt just to watch.
After a little more Carla bashing and pastie swinging it was finally date night, and Love was a nervous wreck. Until Fate arrived at the restaurant.
Then it was just Reality Gold. Hot Mess Reality Gold.
It appears that Mr. Fate likes to dress up, because there was a lot going on over on the other side of that table.
Studded Michael Jackson hat. Pee Wee Herman tie. Miles Standish big white pilgrim collar. Steve Urkel suspenders. America’s Got Talent goatee and eyebrows….pick any magician from last season, it doesn’t really matter.
Dude was a human Build-a-Bear.
Love could barely contain herself. Or her womanly bosoms. Did you see those things trying to cannonball into her salad bowl? Simmer down, girls.
Throughout the evening we learned that Fate was into music and having babies with other women, that Love ran away from him and was upset that he never chased her, and that together they both wrecked a Vegas hotel room while knocking boots like wild animals.
Wrecked it. Even the front door and the television set that isn’t supposed to be able to come off the top of the dresser.
All I could picture was that scene from the new Planet of the Apes when the mean zoo guy tasers the monkeys and shoots a water hose in their faces and they all go completely Rachel Zoe Ba-na-nas in the cage.
But it was at The Bellagio instead of the zoo. And one of the apes was a 34G/H.
Check, please.
We finished off the episode with a scene from MTV’s Real World: Arizona. Or at least that’s what I thought at first. Karen’s got some cray cray friends.
They were booty popping on the coffee table and getting their 15 minutes of Mob Wives fame like the whole thing was getting posted on Facebook. Everyone except the BeccaBot, that is, who stood motionless off to the side as if she was drawing power from the fluorescent lighting above the sink.
Finally Ramona couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled Rebecca aside to try and break through her force field. She tried all the tricks that Karen had tried, but nothing seemed to shake Rebecca’s stare. Nothing spooked this chick.
Not threats of gang violence and retaliation. Not ghetto slams. Not RuPaul shade.
Nothing. It was a draw.
Dave finally took the BeccaBot home so she could recharge overnight, but the party went on without them for awhile longer. Karen and Ramona weren’t about to join the Rebecca Fan Club, but they did salute her balls of steel with a toast at the end of the evening. So I guess that counts for something.
And the search for the missing Carla continues.
The girls are all getting tired of listening to Love go on and on…and on…so they think it’s best that Love and Carla meet face to face and get to the bottom of all the gossip.
I dunno. Feels like that storm is getting closer.
Better board up your windows and hide the buttah knives.
Just in case.
