If anything positive can be said about gender parity on Jersey Shore (and I promise never to even attempt to be even vaguely academic here again, so apologies in advance) it’s that the women are just as horrifying as the men, if not more so. Let’s just pull a White Man’s Burden here and try to put the guys in the Meatballs’ platform sneakers, screaming at their girlfriends to badger them for sex, hitting on lady cops, or trying to force drinks on them to lower their sexual resolve. Like, obviously, Mike is horrible and gross, but man, are the girls giving him a disgusting run for his gross money.
We pickup where we left off last week. J-Woww, hoping to stir up a fight in her space skank costume, got her wish for bad attention, and Roger ends up having to deck the stuffing out of a curious onlooker.
Ronnie wants to know who messes with Mayor Mesomorph’s girl, and I have to wonder if there isn’t something wrong with the guy stepping to Jenni. Seriously though, how do you not know what’s going on, with the camera and everything? I’m worried that this guy is some kind of gentle visitor from an alien planet who just wants to know what’s keeping that rubber whore dress up, and if she knows how he can get back to planet Eroticon Six. And here we are, throwing punches at him. It doesn’t seem diplomatic.
They all leave and that’s when things get nasty. Snooki, poetess of our time, mentions how excited she is to touch Jionni’s dick and “get it in,” and he instantly starts barfing and passing out. For his part, Roger gets distracted by some of Mike’s chicken salad sandwiches, and the house is a hotbed of female sexual frustration.
So, naturally, the next move is to hit the docks. What? No, really, Deena wants everybody to go down to the docks and go crabbing and fishing. It should be noted that she’s wearing some kind of bedazzled magenta caftan. You know, like Hemingway did.
“I never thought I’d be excited about catching crabs,” giggled Mike. Oh, noooooo, he just became self aware. Although, as he lacks any applicable vocational skills whatsoever, Mike gives up halfway, collapses, and begins to tan.
That’s around when the intrepid meatballs take to sea in a blowup boat to see if they can’t catch better fish in the middle of the ocean. But of course, there’s flailing, and it’s all very Gilligan and Skipper trying to gain frantic control of the SS Natural Selection. Thwarted by the sea, that cruel mistress, they pile back into the car, which Jenni notes now smells like “the smash room,” a moment I plan to “Eternal Sunshine” away the minute the technology becomes available.
Later, at the house, Mike continues to try to put weird moves on Snooki, saying that if she marries Jionni, he’ll come running in when the priest asks if anyone objects, which is when she says she’ll shoot him in the eye. Good job, Nicole. They’re playing a game with plastic bolas and make a bet about some kind of ninja’s pact where the loser has to wear the bunny suit to Karma. Snooki loses and it’s okay because it’s all part of creating an elaborate backstory for the bunny suit, which she’s decided is a Vegas stripper prostitute with a fake vagina. Vinny admits that he’s kind of turned on by the whole thing, and I think I speak for James Spader someplace far away when I say, “No, gross.”
At Karma, it’s mostly unsanitary fur suit dancing and a few very insecure young women who try to pick up on Mike and get pawned off on the other guidos. Everybody else heads home but the meatballs, who go to the beach instead for an illegal frolic. Things like this make me nervous, because I know their history with water and I’ve read The Bridge to Terabithia. PHEW! It’s the police, who escort them from the beach, but not before Deena hits on one of the cops.
Pauly’s stalker Vanessa is back, and because it’s a good idea to get all up in the faces of unstable strangers, Jenni decides to confront her during a shift at the T-shirt shop. She wants to know what’s in crazy Vanessa’s crazy plastic bag. Pauly worries idly that he’s going to be “DJ Pauly Dead” but because this is JS, nothing really happens. It’s one of the few times in my life where I’ve thought, “Please let there be somebody’s head in that bag! Please!” But alas, Vanessa is just kind of a shy weirdo who wants to have sex with a television famous person with future hair. It’s actually sort of sad, like those grown women with the life-like fake babies.
Vinny and Snooki go out to day drink, and the sexual tension is palpable. Did I said palpable? I meant “pulpo blahhh,” as in the popular Spanish dish of stewed octopus and the word somebody might say if they were very bored watching a television show.
Snooki tries to badger him into doing shots, but he won’t, because of some kind of moral obligation slash potentially problematic drug interaction. He says something about how they’re the Ross and Rachel of Seaside, which is appropriate because they’re both annoying. They head home to shower, maybe together, and is this what passes for a cliffhanger these days? Very well, Jersey Shore.
Next week, it looks we’ll be treated to some kind of camping trip lighter fluid mishap and Vinny trying to win over some lesbians. PHEW. Thank God. I was like, “The only thing that can save this show is lesbians and some sort of wild explosion.” It’s called thinking like a producer, MTV. If you need me I’ll be sitting here, eating dry creatine from the drum and chanting “girl on girl” and “fireball visible from space” to myself until next week.