They were like this big. Baddabing.
You want I should call Bob Mackie?
Mob Wives in 3D. Make that Double D.
Whoa. Those could do some damage.
What the (bleep)?
Can youzz just lemme get a (bleepin’) word out before you start getting all (bleepin’) up in my face about dis (bleepin’) review, will youzz?
Phew. Much better now. Got that out of my system.
Let me just go on record and clarify, before some sanitation worker finds me behind a dumpster or swimming with the fishes: I love me some Mob Wives.
I almost want to be one.
If I can’t be Ryan Seacrest or Justin Bieber, two of the luckiest SOBs ever in the history of the known universe, than I think I’d like to be one of the VH1 Mob Wives.
Think about it. They say what they want. Do what they want. Hit who they want. And never seem to get in trouble for it.
(Kids…don’t try this at home. Stay in school, and stay off drugs.)
But seriously, who out there doesn’t have someone in the next cubicle that you wouldn’t love to just toss a drink at and slam into the cork board?
Now I am in no way condoning violence, unless it’s on Reality TV, of course…but you have to admit it would be nice to have one day a month that could be called something witty like National Mob Wives Day where it would be ok for you to just completely blow a nutty on anyone that pushes your buttons.
‘Cause that’s how they roll in Staten Island.
Hoping to take some of the attention away from New Jersey’s bad rep, Mob Wives is back and if the first episode is any indication, the girls are ready to break some rules…and some necks at the same time.
For the few of you out there who might still read books, let me bring you up to speed on this recipe.
Mob Wives is a delightful combination of pretty much every other show out there all put together in the Reality TV blender, seasoned with some unfiltered Menthol cigarette butts and a shot of previously opened booze, all mixed together and then thrown in someone’s face…glass and all.
They have the tight dresses and short fuses from Real Housewives, the wet, glittery make up from Toddlers & Tiaras, that crazy Jersey/Staten Island accent from…well…pick any show, and the potty mouths from that show where those dudes drove trucks across the Alaskan ice roads. Put one finger on the censor button, one finger on the trigger of your sawed off…they’re back.
After last season’s slap downs, the Wives are hoping to have a peaceful summer. But this is Reality TV. And Staten Island. So you know that ain’t gonna happen.
Renee Graziano, best known for being a Drama Queen with the voice of a Bingo Night announcer, has always suffered from low self esteem and body issues and has finally decided that now is the time to do something about all of that (sagging) baggage. But instead of simply buying a membership at Gold’s Gym to burn off the 35 pounds that are at the root of her depression, Renee has opted for a full body surgical makeover which, in case you are wondering…yes…is as gross as it sounds.
After getting a full mani and pedi (…did you see her nails…?) and strapping herself into probably the most unflattering bra ever seen on broadcast television, Renee heads to the Staten Island Pumping Center to get 20+ years of bad living sucked out of her midsection.
Her surgeon Dr. Klapper is not only burdened with a name that probably got him beat up all through Junior High, but also now must doodle all over Renee’s junk with a Sharpie pen. Any bets on whether the cap end went into his eye ball in a self-inflicted meltdown after the whole ordeal was over?
In a scene straight out of Nip/Tuck, Renee is sliced and peeled like a Kansas City Steak Tip until 35 pounds of blubber are dumped onto that scale they use at Dean & Deluca when they sell pastrami. Dr. Klapper sucked out all the fat and class, but he left the swear words and nicotine addiction still deep in her belly. Some things are just too deep for any hose to reach.
While Renee is deflating, Carla Facciolo and Drita D’Avanzo are chillin’ by the pool.
Drita, best known for blacking out whenever she punches people and somehow still managing to hoist up boobs big enough to hold Renee’s 35 pounds of pastrami, announces that she is totally done with her man Lee. Turns out he was cheating on her, even while she was sending him jail room soft porn/high fashion combo photos. She doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. The only thing she wants is to hit the other cheating woman with a crow bar. And be a good mother to her own daughter.
She said it, not me.
Carla, best known for fighting with Renee all the time and then going back and fighting with Renee some more, wants to just enjoy her summer. Her man Joe is out of the slammer and cooling off in a halfway house, and she thinks that maybe…just maybe…there might be a little sumthin sumthin still between them. But she’s taking it slow.
She’s also wearing that silver heart necklace too much, but that’s just me.
Back at Dean & Deluca, Renee is not having a very good time. Seems that she may have slightly underestimated the pain and healing that is involved when you are cut 360 degrees like those plastic Easter Eggs at Target. Since she can’t have a Marlboro with all the oxygen tanks around, she can only swear and cry for help.
Now I don’t claim to have a medical degree, but I’m thinking that after you’ve been sliced through the equator, the last thing a patient should do is sit up. And even though the recovery/storage room (…what was that anyway…?) was full of nurses in their casual Friday attire, they all let Renee sit up and rip out her back stitches.
Holy Bride of Frankenstein, Batman.
In a hazy, swirly scene from Grey’s Anatomy everyone ran around trying to keep her alive while she squirted out 6.3 pints of blood. That is one strange surgical center. I swear the 35 pounds of fat were probably still sitting on the scale in the other room.
While Renee was bleeding out, Carla neglected to check up on her at all, aside from one text on her Sidekick. Once Renee came to and began recovery, she apparently did nothing but dwell on that exact fact until she almost busted out another set of stitches from sheer aggravation. She was so busy hating Carla that she didn’t even notice, until she got home, that Dr. KlappOnKlappOff had forgotten to put the 35 pounds back into her but where she wanted it planted. The whole point of this thing was to finally get a nice butt.
She can’t even tell Carla to kiss her a** because she doesn’t have one.
By the time she got home and realizes it, Renee was weeks behind in recovery and years behind in therapy.
She was more depressed than ever, and disappointed in the surgical results. Even a visit from her BFF Karen Gravano didn’t help.
Renee was devastated that she went into surgery Beautiful and came out Ugly.
Again. She said it, I didn’t.
Karen, best known for writing a tell-all Mob Book and throwing down like a pit bull with Drita last season, is the first lucky one to see the cell phone picture of Renee’s gutted out surgery.
First off, who took that picture? Shouldn’t they have been more concerned about sewing up that hole? Secondly, who wants that as their Blackberry wallpaper?
Even though the photo was blurred out by VH1, it still looked like that Tauntaun belly Han Solo shoved Luke Skywalker into to keep him warm on that snowy day.
After Renee’s open wounds start to seal up, she decides that a new therapist might slap her out of this funk. The first visit was pretty uneventful, except for the nervous laugh that the new guy kept letting slip out every time he realized that Renee was a Mob Wife. He was not a big fan of the Tauntaun belly shot. He was also too young to be wearing an old man short sleeve dress shirt, but it’s not like this is the Style Network, so we’ll move on.
Hoping to put all of this behind her, no pun intended, Renee decides to throw herself a Celebrate Life Birthday Party kind of thing. She also decides to not invite Carla, since she only texted her once while she was dying. (I mentioned the Drama Queen part earlier, right?) But all the other girls are invited…even the new ones.
A party. With Mob Wives and booze. What could possibly go wrong?
Karen brings her body guard/BFF Ramona Rizzo.
I swear, I would totally watch this show just for the names. You can’t make this stuff up unless you’re writing a Godfather screenplay.
Ramona, best known for…well…nothing yet, since no one has ever heard of her until tonight, loves to stir the pot and secretly seems to want Karen to throw down with Drita again.
It’s immediately tense in the lounge as Karen and Drita circle each other like Meerkats trying to pee on a bush. Ramona prods them both a little but they are playing nice so far.
After seeing her in action, I may have to rename Renee. Her entrance into the party was worthy of the biggest Real Housewives Diva.
From now on I may have to refer to her as ReNeNe, because Girlfriend walked in there like she owned the place. In her head you know she thought the cell phone flashes were paparazzi lights as she posed and vogued her way across the dance floor like she was sniffing out Atlanta gays. Bloop!
But like any good Reality Show, the best is always saved for last.
When ReNeNe grabbed the mic and tried to get all her Girls up on stage, Drita wasn’t playing dat. There was no way that she was going to be in the same spotlight as Karen, so she (bleeped) her way out onto the balcony where my new all time favorite Mob Wife wannabe came to her rescue.
Ladies and Gentlemen…the gravity defying Angela “Big Ang” Raiola.
My new screen saver. My new Reality TV icon.
Part Cher in her Half Breed heyday.
Part WFF WrestleMania.
Part Dolly Parton and Snookie’s LoveChild.
Big Ang will Mess. You. Up.
I love her already.
She wanted Drita and Karen to meet up on the balcony and hug it out. And I guess you don’t say No to Big Ang, because Karen and her tagalong Ramona scurried right out there, even though it didn’t look like any hugs were on the menu.
While Drita was calculating how many bones would break when she tossed Karen over the ledge, Big Ang licked her big lips and then left us hanging big time until next week.
What the (bleep)?!?!? It’s over?
VH1…you (bleep) big time.