Starting next season, tune in for the “Real Housewives of Sing-Sing.”

The hottest news on the Internet today involves a massive federal fraud indictment against Teresa and Joe (Giuseppe) Giudice from “Real Housewives of New Jersey,” my favorite white-trash reality show. The spray-tanned bimbo (with the neanderthal hairline) and her Mafia-wannabe husband have been charged with 39 counts of bank fraud, mortgage fraud, income tax fraud, wire fraud, hiding assets from a bankruptcy court and tax evasion. It’s not likely that either of them will escape prison because the feds used the same kind of charges to finally nail Al Capone. Is this a fantastic story line, or what? Starting next season, tune in for the “Real Housewives of Sing-Sing.” Oh boy!

In case you care about this, Teresa and Joe are currently free on $500,000 bond (each), have had their passports revoked and are not allowed to leave New Joisey or New Yawk. It’s also possible that Joe will be deported to Italy since he’s not even an American citizen. Holy crapanini. Looks like the federal government finally found a way to get these two phony piles of poo off the air!

I honestly thought I was finally feeling better tonight. My fever spiked this morning at 6 a.m. and Sam wrapped me up in a couple of extra blankets to stop the chills, but by lunch time my temperature was normal and stayed there for the rest of the day. UNTIL NOW. It’s back up to 99.8°, which is substantial for moi because my normal temp is 97°. Regardless, after dinner I will force myself to fold a basket of socks and underwear because Sam’s dresser drawers are practically empty and I don’t think he should run around naked for anybody except me.

The optical department at Costco called a few minutes ago ... my new glasses are ready! This is so damn exciting I can hardly stand it. Sam says he’ll take me to pick them up Thursday morning because tomorrow’s already booked (I’ve got a 9 a.m. doctor appointment). I’ll look like a million bucks in these. No autographs, please.

It’s already 7:30 p.m. so I think I’d better haul my butt into the kitchen and seriously ponder a nice plate of grub, a tall beverage and a splash of insulin on the rocks. Thank you, as always, for reading this.