BLIND ITEM: The ousted #RHONJ cast is fighting. Wife 1 blames Wife 2 for her firing. They no longer speak. Another cast member blames a husband but really should look at her own husband who sealed her fate. Wife 3 still thinks she will pop in as a friend, not realizing that Wife 2 made sure that if she was going down, everyone else was as well. Wife 4 was never even a consideration and Wife 5 made too much of a fool of herself to ever be taken seriously again. Oh and Wife 6? She could take down all three of the casted women with what she knows, but her time on TV is over.

INTERVIEW WITH ADM. RICKOVER (DISASTER!) - A lot of people don't know the story of Hyman Rickover, a submarine officer who rose in rank to captain and figured out how to shoehorn a nuclear reactor into a submarine. The dude designed the entire electrical system himself. He was in charge of the nuclear navy. Any officer who wanted to sail on subs or nuclear surface ships had to interview with him personally. Every. Single. One. That was his commitment to nuclear safety. Interview stories were apocryphal. One officer got tossed out of Rickover's office because Rickover had had a conflict with the midshipman's dad. Once, Rickover, angry, threw a sheaf of classified papers into the air. Multiple pages flew out the window, causing staffers to scramble to recover them. One page landed on the Admiral's head. He continued the interview with the paper on his head. The wood chair for the interviewee had the front legs chopped by 2 inches, designed to make the interviewee uncomfortable. Rickover had "intel files" on each interviewee. One midshipman applying for The Program was judged to be retiring and shy. So Rickover says to him, "You have sixty seconds to piss me off." On the admiral's desk was a beautiful model of the first nuclear sub, the Nautilus, made by a movie prop pro. So the supposedly shy midshipman picks it up and SMASHES IT on the desk and it shatters into shards, one of which cut open the admiral's wrist. While bleeding onto his shirt, Rickover screams, "GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE!" But guess what? He got into The Program. Rickover hired him, broken model notwithstanding. There was a narrow file cabinet room in the hallway outside Rickover's office. He'd had a plastic chair put into it. If an interviewee pissed off the admiral, like as not, Rickover would kick the man out of his office and make him cool his heels in the file cabinet room, which was affectionately called, "The Cooler." So you might be wondering what my interview was like. Well, I'll tell you what it was like. I was ushered into the office of the "Kindly Old Gentleman," the "KOG," who was most certainly NOT kindly. In fact, Rickover used to scream at congressmen (like Ka$h does now). He'd attend every initial criticality of every ship. He'd go aboard every sub on its maiden voyage. He terrified crews from coast to coast. So I walk in there. I was shocked that the admiral looked so small and so frail. Of course, I think he was 79 or 80 at the time. But he was such a pencil neck that you could put two fingers between his neck and the collar of his shirt. He was swimming inside his uniform. The second thing I notice is that his voice is so low I could barely hear it, and it seemed like he was chewing tobacco, because I described his voice in my diary as "mushy." Not the commanding, harsh tone I expected. Rickover had 3x5 cards about each interviewee listing his academic ranking at the Naval Academy. I was (academically) first in my class all four years. I foolishly thought I was safe, because Rickover loved to abuse midshipmen over their class ranking. Rickover asks me a question. I couldn't hear him, he mumbled it. Me: Excuse me, sir? Rickover: Why, did you fart? Me: (tongue tied) Rickover: You gonna stay first in your class? Me: (not knowing what to say). Yes, sir. Rickover: DiMercurio, DiMercurio...sounds like Mercutio from Shakespeare. Do you read Shakespeare? Me: No, sir. Shakespeare is a piker and a shitty writer. Rickover: (staring at me bug-eyed, as if I'd just stepped out of a flying saucer) Get out (mumbled). Me: I didn't hear you, sir. Rickover: GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY OFFICE! Outside in the anteroom, a Navy Captain sits down with me and presents me with a huge envelope. Captain: Okay, you are required to submit one Shakespeare book report per month to the admiral. Instructions in this envelope will tell you how to do that. Letters must be typed and addressed as instructed. You got that? Me: Sir, I ain't writin' any book reports on Shakespeare. Captain: WHAT? What did you say? Me: Shakespeare is a piker and a shitty writer. I told the admiral that. Captain: Which is WHY you're required to write the admiral a monthly letter with a Shakespeare book report. Me: I ain't doin' it. Captain: (momentarily speechless) Mr. DiMercurio, you were given an ORDER by a FOUR-STAR ADMIRAL! You'll comply! Me: Nope. Ain't doin' it. Shakespeare blows. Captain: (speechless again) Me: Send me back into the admiral's office. I'll tell him to his face that I won't fucking read Shakespeare. Captain: I'm not doing that. You just consider your position here, Mr. DiMercurio. Hours later, after arriving back at Bancroft Hall, I'm chillin in my room, regaling my homies with the tale of the interview, when a plebe on duty comes in. Plebe: Sir? Mr. DiMercurio? The company officer wants to see you in his office. Me: (muttering under my breath) Fuck.