Usually my process for writing about “Jersey Shore” (alternate title: “Proof That We Can Even Trick Smart People Into Watching Anything!”) includes watching it once the night it airs, then again the next morning. The idea is that the first time through I enjoy the show and get the gist of what might be worth writing about. When I watch it the second time, I take notes and put together my piece. This time, though? I’ve been putting off watching it the second time. When I finally put it on, I got about 10 minutes in and I could barely stand it any more. I’m not totally sure why, but I think it might have something to do with the show being FUCKING BORING! Sweet lord, I don’t where we went wrong, but between this episode and last, I would rather watch Justin Bieber jack up three pointers during the NBA Celebrity All-Star Game than sit through the Shore. And that…that’s just sad.
I feel like I’ve been dating a super hot girl and after six months of getting drunk together, having mind-blowing sex and conceiving new safety words, the novelty is wearing off. We’re starting to spend less time in bed and more time watching “Outsourced” together without speaking. The conversations aren’t stimulating, and I’m starting to think “Eh, she’s not even really that hot.” In short: “Jersey Shore,” we need to talk. We’re not in “it’s not me, it’s you” (yes, that’s what I mean) territory just yet…but it’s close. I’ve been nothing but loyal to you, Shore. I stuck by you through the Angelina fiasco. When you brought D Rex into our shared life, I was skeptical, but I supported you and kept an open mind. When you subjected me to Ron & Sam death matches week after agonizing week, I hung in there. And now? Now it’s time for you to step up and start paying attention to my needs, Shore. I can’t be the only one in this relationship. Get your act together, or I swear I will cancel my trip to Italy with you. Understood? OK. Good. I love you. Let’s have make up sex.
All is not lost, however; there was one shining, glorious bright spot on this week’s episode. And no, I’m not referring to any of Pauly’s magical witticisms (“Time to go to work, Deena! Getcha weenah cleanah!”), although those were on point as usual. No, the spectacular phenomenon I’m talking about cannot be justified in words, but instead needs to be demonstrated in visual form:
What’s that? You don’t see it? REALLY? OK, let’s try cropping a bit:
There we go! No, not Ron’s dad, you jackass. His mustache! Look at that magnificent masterpiece of majestic facial hair mastery! I don’t know what Ron’s dad does for a living, but he sure as shit should be in law enforcement. If he pulled me over while I was driving, he could write me a ticket and I would be 100% convinced that he’s a cop, based solely on that mustache. I bet that thing has a mind of its own. I wouldn’t be surprised if while he’s sleeping, that mustache goes out and fights crime, or at least bangs models or something. Dude looks like the second coming of Keith Hernandez. I love that ‘stache so much I wrote a haiku about it:
What a cop mustache
traversing Ron’s dad’s visage!
Gaze upon and weep.
I’m considering making a print of that picture so I can carry that mustache around in my wallet all day in hopes that its powers would rub off on me. Uh…no homo. Or maybe homo. I’m so confused by the mustache that I don’t know what I’m feeling!
So, Shore, if you want to salvage this relationship, here are some tips: 1. More Vinnie. 2. More mustache. 3. Convince Situation to admit he’s gay. 4. While we’re at it, more JWoww in lingerie can’t hurt either. I’m giving you the chance to make it up to me. This opportunity doesn’t come along every day. Don’t blow it.