The title of this episode was “Love at the Jersey Shore,” which is nice but feels like a waste when the action revolved around a cake and physical altercations. “A Little Punch to Go With That Cake,” “Have Your Cake and Beat a Stranger,” any number of Marie Antoinette puns. But, okay, fine, “Love at the Jersey Shore” it is.
When we last left JWOWW, she was attempting to apologize to Roger, who was in turn attempting to dazzle the world with his vocabulary. And boy, does Roger know several words. Dumb, damned, ruined, emphatically: I am pretty sure he worked in limn and coruscate. I think he’s got a pretty sweet Word of the Day calendar and/or is angling for a job with The New York Review of Books.
They make up, but I don’t feel good about it. Least of all because their detente is sealed with mutual professions of ass-bleeding. Romantic? Look, I know a lot of you are fans of this guy, but I thought Jenni was being apologetic and reasonable here, and he’s just shouting a lot of SAT synonyms for trust while losing multiple mobile phones. Bottom line: I’m glad you made up, but I think you can to better than Professor Mayor, PHD, Bandanna Science.
Meanwhile, Deena and Nicole, alias Team Truancy, are worried because they literally pirouetted out of work to get hammered last week. For some reason, they’re concerned that Danny will fire them, because man, I bet they need the scratch, so they bake him a cake. You guys, it’s going to be such a good one.
“We make the batter or whatever, we put it in the pan, after all is said and done, this is going to be an amazing cake,” says Snooki. Wait, that’s what I’ve been doing wrong. Batter in pan, okay, got it.
But wait — they forgot to put it in the oven. OH. Good. For a minute, I was worried. Depending on your definition of success, they successfully bake and frost the cake in their own craven images. Because, as we all know, presenting somebody a fucked-up-looking nightmare cake that looks like it was decorated by inmates is highly effective meatball diplomacy.
Everybody goes to sleep, including the MTV producers and camera people. Someone, of course, takes a slice of the cake like a thief in the night. A thief of cake. But nobody documented it, because as we all know, we can train the camera on two sets of people having intercourse in the same room, but devious late-night cake eating is sacred. So whoever defiantly ate a chunk of the Meatball Mea Culpa will remain a maddening, Edwin Drood–scale mystery.
At the shop, Danny doesn’t care that his cake was not, as they say in Victorian England, “intact.” He smashes some in Deena’s face, and they laugh like gravy-colored newlyweds.
Meanwhile, like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of Snooki’s urethra. Her UTI continues to rage on and on, and wow, I’m kind of concerned at this point. What has it been? Six, seven years? Jen takes her to the doctor, and once again, the subject of butt blood is raised by the intake form. “No, I don’t have rectal bleeding,” sniffs Snooki. Well, that makes one of you. They hook her up with some antibiotics and tell her to take it easy on the boozing. They show up really late for work, and Danny makes them lift some boxes or whatever.
But back to the cake, the real star of today’s episode and pastry Macguffin. NOW I’m confused, because Mike says in the confessional, “Did I eat the cake? Holy @#$% did I eat the cake” in such a way that I cannot tell if he is kidding or angry and oh my GOD, maybe that’s his game. But he tells the gang that it wasn’t him, he’s “on a diet.” I haven’t been this confused since that Shaggy song.
Alas, it was PAULY. But ugh, everybody loves Pauly, so it won’t be the greatest case of bakery-theft-inspired drama since Les Miserables. I’m actually relieved it wasn’t Mike because, honestly, I don’t want to hear about this cake for the next six seasons. Thank God it was Pauly. I mean, I think that whenever you bake anything, you symbolically set some some aside for Pauly and leave the door open, you know, like for Elijah. Well, now Mike’s pissed and saying he’s going to be evil now, blah blah blah okay.
It’s Paula’s birthday, so the meatballs start doing shots. Snooki drinks so much that she starts referring to her UTI as a person. (“That’s called ‘personification.’” —Roger, probably.) Paula licks The Situation and it’s very gross and they all go home for some tastefully quilt-covered filmed intercourse.
Pauly and Vin go on a lunch date and it’s all very cute. They’re the only two people in the world who can have a running joke about how hilarious it is when two men have sex and not make it something horrible. I don’t know, it’s just somehow sweet and I should hate it but I don’t.
That night, about half the crew heads to Jenk’s while the other goes to nappy town. Ronnie is trashed and it’s awesome. Back at home, Mike and Snooki are bored and he says something about how they should put whipped cream on each other, like in Varsity Blues. He’s decided to flirt with her until she “bends or breaks,” but the whole time he’s doing this he’s wearing a lime-green sweatsuit, so I’m not too worried.
Deena brings Joey home, and Pauly fills her bed with dirty dishes, which, is nice? Pauly, you imp. Really pushing the envelope of your charm. Snooki makes sure that poor Joey has a condom while Deena freshens up and removes the soiled blender from her bed. The have creepy sex while Snooki watches.
Roger comes by to take Jenni out, and for the occasion, she’s dressed like a hooker from a space brothel, which is fitting, because Karma is basically the Star Wars cantina that night. For his part, he’s still talking about not kissing her ass, which, ugh, shut up, Roger. Jenni knows her outfit is going to get Negative Attention and it does. It looks like Roger’s going to get into a fight with some anonymous groper, and Betty Friedan’s ghost, I am not comfortable with where this is heading.
I only know one thing for sure: I’m really upset that Varsity Blues is not on Netflix Instant and no, I do not want to watch “similar title” Necessary Roughness. Have a good holiday weekend, stay out of fights, and only steal cake if you’re lovable enough to pull it off.