Episode 1 of the third season of “Jersey Shore” (alternate title: “Things That Will No Longer Happen Once the Chinese Take Over the World”) is in the books and, wooo hooo, I could not be more excited. I’ll admit I was a little concerned that this season wouldn’t live up to the beautiful disaster that was the Miami season, but around the time Sammi referred to Jwoww as “slutbag” (or was it “whorebag”? I’m too tired to check the DVR), I was in it. The 15-year-old girl part of me immediately woke up, stopped texting, and started shoveling cookie dough into her mouth. (Note: I did not actually stop texting. That’s crazy talk.) As the teaser clips rolled to finish the episode (Snooki gets arrested??), right after Jwoww whiffed on her haymaker to Sammi’s grill, I was clutching a pillow and my face was wearing the same wide-eyed stare of a child on Christmas morning.
But forget all that. We’re not here to discuss my shortcomings as a man. (Well, unless we are. In which case, I feel like someone should have warned me first, but at least there will be no shortage of material.) Instead, I want to talk about the newcomer to the shore, Snicks’ friend
Cum Dumpster Deena. First, a visual primer:
The picture on the left is Deena; on the right, an allosaur. Don’t be ashamed if you’re confused. It’s a common mistake. The way I keep them straight is to look only at the eyes. With the allosaur you can see a hint of life and recognition the surroundings, maybe even a soul. Deena? Nothing. It’s like having a staring contest with a Beanie Baby.
Soulless cattle eyes aside, D Rex is gonna be a game changer for this show. Five hours deep into her stay at Seaside, she managed to hit a sick trifecta: getting retarded drunk, trying to bang Situation, and calling Sammitch (yes, I’m referring to Sammi as “Sammitch” now. Not super creative, but fuck you.) the “c” word. That’s not just good TV, that’s fucking unheard of. Have you ever met an actual person who could spew that much disaster in such a short amount of time in front of people she met that day and now lives with? Sweet Jebus, if I weren’t so repulsed I might be compelled to become her stalker. The combination of disgust, fascination and self-loathing I feel in trying to understand this creature is something I’ve never felt before. It feels like what I think the executive at KFC felt like when he greenlighted the Double Down. The fact that this bitch exists should immediately invalidate the “Intelligent Design” theory. No intelligent designer is putting D Rex on this earth.
I can’t even write about her any more. I’m afraid that if I spend another second thinking about her, blood will shoot out of my ears. Good god, I hope she doesn’t leave the house early. This is one relationship I’m going to need closure on.