It is snowing in and around Philadelphia. Again. Some more. Still. Two feet arrived in December. Another two feet arrived just five days ago. Six inches fell overnight and there is another foot or two on the horizon today. The only explanation I can find for such unprecedented levels of snowfall is that Mother Nature is pissed. Such levels of anger and punishment can only be lessened by giving her what she wants – the heads of the cast of The Jersey Shore on dirty, beer-splattered, bar trays.
The God I worship doesn’t pay a whole lot of attention to reality television. To borrow a coined phrase from my favorite website, God is in the tub. I like to think He’s more into procedurals and likes to determine whodunit without using His omniscience. It’s a good a reason as any for the glut of them on TV right now. But Mother Nature, now she’s a big fan of Survivor and The Amazing Race, likes to see her earthly wonders showed off to a wider audience. When a show focused entirely on the beauty of her shorelines was set to air, she channel hopped much higher than usual (she usually doesn’t go past PBS) and found MTV. That is when it all went wrong.
Expecting to see long strips of sandy beaches, blue(ish) water, and glorious wildlife, instead, she was faced with the horror of orange-skinned people bulging with unnatural muscle masses in unnatural places, hair glued, ironed, bumped, and gelled into submission. These people had a clear inability to speak in anything resembling a full, grammatically-correct sentence or complete a thought above a third-grade level, yet they all had a driving urge to procreate. Who were these cavemen?
If you want to look for the defining moment when Mother Nature became truly offended, look no further than the episode focusing on the GTL. If you GTL the way nature intended, then you work up a sweat out of doors, engaging in agriculture, sustenance, and good old-fashioned labor. You do not go indoors, and play with equipment to gain strength. Then, if you want a tan, viola, you have already earned one through the process of engaging in step one! These morons lived across the street from the beach and went to it exactly once. Instead, they choose to spend every morning in a tanning bed, turning them a luscious shade of Oompa-Loompa. And finally, though everyone knows that clothes smell best if left to hang in fresh sunshine, they instead washed the same three Ed Hardy shirts over and over again using the harshest chemicals to get the smell of Brut and Aqua Net out of the collars.
Those of us who actually reside in the Garden state know that the Snookies are few and far between. Not everyone aspires to look like a 40 yr-old hard-drinking divorcé who has been rode hard and put away wet – at the tender age of 22. Not everyone chooses to look as if cantaloupes have been shoved under their skin. (True New Jersey girls would prefer ripe, tomato-sized breasts that would never, ever fail the pencil test). Not everyone wears short-shorts two sizes too small, pants two sizes too big, and bedazzled t-shirts (another example of why bedazzling really is the Devil’s craft).
Thus, the only way to end the suffering of the entire state (and really, the whole region, which just means that Mother Nature can’t figure out how to change the channel and got stuck watching Real World D.C. as well) is to offer as sacrifice the ridiculous and useless cast of The Jersey Shore. I would happily end The Situation if it makes my situation better. Can you imagine if Roid Rage Ronnie and his dimwit girl-toy Sammie Stupidhead actually smooshed enough the create the ultimate Juicy-Juice head? Wouldn’t it be better for humanity in general if we were to make sure that never, ever happened? So I say to you all – bring me the heads of JWoww and Pauly (but handle gingerly as they may be highly flammable). Use your nearest duck phone and call any one of the numbers scrawled hastily on the back of toilet doors from here to Delaware – but find me that cast. (But leave Vinnie alone – he’s mostly harmless.)