You mean even the burglars didn’t want to steal this chotsky (bleep) before they ran out the back door? Go figure.
Dude. Not in front of your mother. That’s just (bleepin’) nasty.
The only thing more unsettling than that punk fingering his stress ball is this 8 foot ceramic horse watching me.
No. Seriously. He was (bleepin’) diddling it right in front of his mutha.
How’z about I take this butta knife, slit your fat throat and watch all the pills fall out like a (bleepin’) Pez dispenser, you clown-faced bitch?
Holy (bleep.) Please tell me she’s just swinging that thing around because she brought the Nutella.
Nobody even touched the fresh Brodetto. Can’t believe I stood on my bad toes all morning for this.
Well it’s about (bleepin’) time.
What the (bleep) took so long?
That’s right. The sound of deadbolt locks being replaced and network censor panic buttons being activated can only mean one thing.
Mob Wives is back.
Staten Island’s Roughneck Royalty have all returned for a new season, bringing with them even more over the top drama and questionable fashion choices, as well as a few newly injected faces thrown into the mix to keep it interesting.
The last time we had all hung out at the Drunken Monkey with the Wives, Renee was still spinning from the fallout caused by Junior turning Snitch on the Mob. His intricately wired wrist watch and dress shirt combination had resulted in her own father being dragged off to the Big House on the same night that her ex-husband vanished into the world of Witness Protection. And no one has seen Junior since.
In the real world Junior is probably half way across the country with different colored hair and a newly laminated license by now, but on General Hospital they tend to just stick a rubber prosthetic on your face and leave you in the same neighborhood. So you never know. And not knowing for certain is what makes Renee a shaky hot mess.
Shakier than on a normal day, that is. You’ll see.
Our first glimpse back into their WiveLives came when we joined Drita and Carla and their two little pocket dogs on a boardwalk stroll.
Those two little puppies do like to pee. Almost as much as those two grown women like to gossip. I don’t know which pair would explode first if they weren’t allowed to satisfy their needs on an hourly basis.
After discussing the status of Monkey Mama Big Ang‘s son AJ and his current 18 – 24 month stint at rehab, they moved right to the topic du jour: Renee.
Let’s just say that there is no love lost between Carla and Renee. None. Especially since Carla had been hearing “on the street” that Renee had a problem with her…and Homie don’t play dat.
Ok. Hold up. Where are these streets that everyone keeps talking about?
Seriously. We’re now into the third season of this show, and not one person has been able to scientifically explain the Staten Island gossip phenomenon.
Every Wife says the exact same thing during every argument right before they swing that first punch. They heard it from 10 people in 10 neighborhoods (…Spoiler Alert: Renee throws that one in Carla’s face a little later…) but they can’t say who said it or where they heard it.
I even asked Siri where to find good gossip in Staten Island, and the Bitch just said to bring an umbrella tomorrow. I give up.
Carla explained to Drita that Renee was nothing but a (bleepin’) pill popping junk box as her tiny dog rubbed his butt on the grass and everyone headed home for lunch, temporarily drained of all gossip and water bowl bloat.
Renee’s ears must have been ringing as she met with a locksmith over at her own home. While she was gone on an overnight trip to Atlantic City, someone had broken into Graziano Grove and trashed up both Renee and son AJ‘s bedrooms, so she needed every lock in the house changed before she lost her mind.
Not having access to the Mob Manual myself, it was a good thing that Renee explained how Payback works on the streets. Junior had really stuck it to a number of Staten Island’s…ahem…fine, upstanding businessmen, so she was sure that the break-in was retribution for being connected to a Rat Faced Snitch. Having your home broken into is traumatic enough, but when the brother of the wife of the son of the uncle who Junior just sent to jail knows where you live…that has gotta suck.
One. I’m not sure I would show the world on national television what type of new lock the guy from A&S Locksmiths brought over and how easy it is to install. One quick Google and a paper clip and someone is back in your bedroom again.
Two. I’m really not sure I would then walk the guy from A&S Locksmiths to the back patio door and have him announce to the world on national television that there really is no way to secure that entrance except with one of those hotel sticks that always break in half when you forget your house key at work and bust back into your own kitchen.
Three. If you can literally just walk in the back patio door, why bother armoring up the front door like Iron Man’s pants?
Just saying.
The entire time the A&S guy was drilling and sweating it out, AJ was slumped on the couch like a free loader, getting intimate with one of those Dr. Phil stress balls while Renee blew her first nutty of the season.
It was Round #439 between Mother and Son as they (bleeped) back and forth about Junior’s decision to choose the RatPack over his family, leaving them on opposite sides of the argument. Again.
AJ never budged from the couch the entire time, which was just as well because then he might have had to cook or clean or help out around the house. Or pay rent.
Shlep much? Prada specs don’t pay for themselves, Junior. Junior Junior, I mean.
Yeah. There was not much love at the Graziano house that night.
But there was love to spare over at Big Ang’s house. Love Majewski.
There was a new girl in town. And (…allegedly…) some new boobs. But I’ll let the gossip blogs figure that one out…we’re legit news over here.
Love went to high school with Karen and Ramona, was engaged six times and involved with the Wise Guy from The Untouchables. (The real one, not the movie one. Der.)
She also knows Big Ang. But then again…who doesn’t?
Love dropped by to check on my girl Angela and see how she was doing after some toe surgery. Our Hostess with the Mostess (…and the Biggest…) was recuperating from some gnarly ingrown toe/bone breaking thing that resulted in her feet looking like those Mexican Wrestling thumb puppets they sell on the Boardwalk. Poor Ang’s little piggies were all individually wrapped up in gauze and decorated with magic marker smiley faces.
It was Classic Angela.
As was her new home, which was now fully furnished and decorated in so much pink and white and black that it made my eyes sting. I always wondered who manufactured this stuff, and who buys it.
Now at least half of the mystery is solved.
Since we know that all the Wives like to eat, Renee and Drita hit up Hotel Z for some snacks, wearing identically enormous Jersey Shore hoop earrings. Thankfully, you could still tell them apart because Renee was the one wearing the crazy psychedelic 1960′s Laugh-In dress that made my Big Ang kitchen eyes water up again.
The two Wives gossiped and noshed while discussing the break-in, complaining how the man who had lived a life of crime and then gone RatFace on them all had just caused a crime to be committed on them in retaliation. And that wasn’t cool. But the life of crime that led up to it and paid for the furs and the house that had just been broken into…was…well that is…umm…
Sometimes it’s better to not even attempt any in-depth analysis of this show and just move on to hardcore Carla bashing.
Renee called Carla a Sewer Whore, which I’m going to assume is worse than an above ground whore, and denied any neighborhood rumors that she had chopped up her own body in a futile attempt to look like Carla.
Just the idea that Renee would go through a life-threatening medical procedure to look like some horse faced subterranean whore who sleeps with married men was laughable.
So Renee laughed. And got crazy eyes.
She then unleashed the season’s first “You Wanna Go To War With Me?” and life was good again in Staten Island.
Across town, the producers must have had some Go Kart tickets left over from last season because Ramona, her kids and her freshly whitestripped teeth were all back at the track doing a few laps on Family Fun Day.
Ramona’s Mystery Boyfriend Joe (…remember, you can’t do an authentic Mob show without at least two Joe’s on the payroll…) was still in jail from that unexplained traffic violation which had somehow ended in a 20 cruiser road block, and the whole soap opera was taking a toll on both her family and her mortgage check.
Because she was running low on cash and couldn’t count on ex-husband Daddy Done Diddly to cough up any child support, it was time to downsize everyone into an apartment building.
With a name like that, you’d think that Triple D would have been able to help out with cash from a gig at some Soho Jazz Club, but I guess not. Maybe I’m just misinterpreting the nickname. So it was one more lap around the track and then back home to check out Craig’s List. Time is money.
Speaking of saving time and money. If Drita could just hook up everyone on speaker phone, it would certainly save her the time of cruising all around town spreading gossip.
No sooner had she finished up one meal then she was sitting down with Carla repeating the conversation she had just had with crazy eyed Renee. It was pretty much word for word, so if you didn’t leave the room during her lunch with Renee you already know how the scene with Carla went down.
Carla referred to Renee as a junkie and then they both ordered appetizers. The End.
There was just enough time for one more pub crawl before brunch, so Renee, Big Ang and Karen met up to rehash the same gossip…one mo’ time…in case you missed it the first 27 times.
Side note. Entrepreneurial Karen had apparently used some of her Mob Daughter residuals on one of those QVC Beachy Wave hair curler things, because Girlfriend was rocking a sassy new ‘do as they all sat down to dish.
Unfortunately, they didn’t get very far before newbie Love joined them at the table.
Lesson #1 in Restaurant Hosting: You might not want to seat the woman who allegedly had gotten intimate with another woman’s husband at the same table with the scorned woman. Especially when that woman is a time bomb like Renee Graziano.
Wha–? Renee had heard that Love had knocked some boots with Junior back in the day. On the streets they call it Gettin’ Intimate. Love denied it. Junior was no prize, thank you very much. Oy, the dramz.
They settled it pretty quickly because everyone had to go to home and rest up for Big Ang’s brunch, which was basically an opportunity to have multiple mimosas and force Renee and Carla into hugging it out.
Good luck with that.
By the time Carla showed up at the brunch, the majority of Renee’s personalities were already busy eating. Manners don’t matter when you’re waiting for a horse faced sewer whore, I guess.
Carla sat down. Renee looked at her. And then it all just went (bleep.)
Renee called her the Go To Girl. (The one you go to at the end of the night right before the flourescent lights come back on. Before the lights is key.)
Carla called Renee a junkie. Everyone had a heated discussion on Webster’s definition of junkie vs. addict. Carla was still a whore.
Renee swore that Carla had been sniffing after her cousin’s man. Carla called Renee a junkie. Renee declared that Carla liked to (bleep) married men.
Next thing you knew, Carla was swinging around a butter (…butta…it’s the Island…) knife like Luke Skywalker and Drita’s eyeballs popped out. Big Ang even tried to distract everyone with her boobs by taking off her poncho in the heat of the battle.
When Big Ang’s boobs can’t even stop traffic, then you know it’s getting ugly up in here.
Carla called Renee a junkie. Renee (bleeped) a bunch of smack talk.
Big Ang didn’t like Twitter. Who knew? She’s on it enough.
And then they just stopped and had soup. Really. Just like that.
Like it was over and had never happened, even though Renee and Carla both claimed it wasn’t over. Not even close.
And one is still a whore and one is still a junkie. They said so. Plus I heard it from 10 people in 10 neighborhoods. So it’s gospel.
You can’t even make this (bleep) up.
They’re back.