Good morning, team. Hey, but before we get started today, maybe we should address the elephant in the womb? It’s funny because it’s an adorable pun about Snooki being probably pregnant but also because the baby is probably going to have tusks and a leathery hide. Kidding! That’s a horrible thing to say. I know a lot of people are saying similarly horrible things, like that Nicole having a baby heralds the apocalypse, but I think it forces us to examine what we dislike about her so intensely, you know, as a society. I think a lot of the qualities — immaturity, drunkenness, formaldehyde hair treatments — are ameliorated by parenthood. Or maybe, like Motley Crue, once the JS cast start having babies, they’ll stop partying so damn much and become generally less visible for a decade or so, barring the occasional CW appearance or unintentionally hilarious sex tape. Anyhow, congratulations, Snooki.
This week is all about the divide between the coupled off and the single. The lonelyhearts of the house head to Jenks, with Deena bemoaning her lack of a boyfriend. Pauly’s about to bring home a nice Italian New Yorker when — OH NO, it’s old Trash Bags Angelina. What is she doing here? Right when we all thought we could relax because our doctor said she was probably just an ingrown hair.
“I’m so good with women,” says Sitch. “There should be a butter named after me, ‘cause I’m so smooth.” God, it’s like the time my friend’s dad took us out to a sushi restaurant and ordered us “a little kelp for my friends.” Ugh, it’s just a bad dad pun, but it’s worse because he thinks he’s good with women.
Basically, everybody brings something home. Can someone explain to me why Mike insists on dressing the women in his clothes before he summarily denudes them for sex? Why bother dressing some emaciated little drunken person in your horrible nylon track pants? I always think he’s going to add a hat and say something like, “For the next eighteen minutes you respond only to ‘Kevin Federline.’” I mean, it just doesn’t seem necessary.
But oh no, turns out Mike’s girl is shy and Pauly’s is getting her “friend.” It’s called menstruation, Pauly, it’s the cyclical shedding of a woman’s uterine lining, and it’s totally normal. They both leave and Mike makes a big show of not remembering his girl’s name. Then he orders a huge breakfast and doesn’t have any cash, so he tips the delivery guy with protein powder. I hope he gets pregnant with one of those benign tumors that has teeth and hair but also maybe a personality.
In more romantic news, it’s Jenni and Roger’s one-year anniversary. She’s celebrating by getting a vagina mold. Boy, what a lot of gross jokes I could make here but won’t because I’m a grown-up, and because everybody’s just being too mean for my tastes this week. Idiot cargo enthusiast Mike is still pushing his villain agenda, and Vin and Pauly inexplicably remove the mattress from the smush room in order to sabotage Jenni’s plans to scatter rose petals on it for her moldy vaginaversary.
“Whoever did this is going to get it back tenfold,” says Jenni, which is only right, according to The Craft. I guess she’s going to move ten of their mattresses outside? That’s probably going to sting.
And now it’s time to go out. They all laugh at Vinny’s shirt, which is some serious pot and kettle situation, because yes, he does look like a lesbian cowboy, but Jenni is wearing a neon dickie that barely covers her nightmare doll head breasts, and Roger is wearing an Ed Hardy tank top.
It’s off to Karma where … Jionni’s … parents are? Go home, old people! Nope! Unit’s also here. I don’t know what’s going on because I’m transfixed by his Chinese characters neck tattoo. What do you think it says, you guys? “I look like an anorexic, tempura-fried Mario Lopez”?
We end the episode in kind of a pastiche of “The Worst of Jersey Shore.” Vinny and Pauly try to pawn some grenades off on each other, Deena begs an indifferent Joey for his love, and Unit gets nailed for public intox and loaded into a paddy wagon and shipped away, hopefully to an ice floe. Mike takes Jionni out to the deck to maybe tell him about Nicole, and we all shed another layer of our humanity like so much terrifying uterine lining.
Buy More Wheat Thins, everybody.
