if you knew me, you would know that i love the Jersey Shore. if you really knew me, you would know that this makes no sense. i tend to be a nonconformist, not to mention, Jersey Shore seems to be the most trifling piece of television since Flavor of Love. yeah, i’m that chick. never seen an episode and will never waste a second in telling you exactly why television shows like that are the very scourge of modern civilization. these things in my mind preempt the fruition of Idiocracy. but, i digress.
for some reason or other, i lurve the Jersey Shore series. you could call it escapism but maybe it’s because it pokes fun at a completely different demographic. Italian-Americans, it’s your turn. more than that, i find some of the characters likeable (and others not so much). but i wear my love for Jersey Shore proud. some of the people in my lab have even gone so far to suggest watching parties, replete with drinking games every time we hear the words “smush” or “gorilla juicehead.”
the season 3 premiere was last night. true to form, Sammi and Ronnie were annoying as hell, Pauly D and Vinny were still inexplicably hot, and i am still Team Snooki, JWOWW, and The Situation. Deena, we shall see but the kid might’ve earned her stripes after her tête-à-tête with Sammi.
enjoy this hilarious recap from Gawker.
The start of the third season of this little experiment wasn't like viewing our subjects for the first time, where everything was about discovery. No, this was like watching the beginning of the third act of a Greek tragedy. It started off in a time of peace and happiness and all the trouble was from the outside world. In Act 2, the guido's perfect paradise began to crumble, and the first victim—the walking embodiment of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch known as Trash Bags—was the first to fall. But Act 3 is the saddest of all. All our subjects arrive like it's Act 1, but so much is different. So much has changed, and you can see that tragedy is coming. You can see the sparks that—with a mixture of alcohol, hot tub water, and hatred—will ignite into a giant mushroom cloud. You know that by the time the curtain falls, everyone will be a corpse in a bloody pile to stage left, and only one guido will remain, and all he will be able to do is fall to his knees, raise his hands to heaven and shout to their angry household god, the Duck Phone, "Why! WHY!"