It’s been announced that Snooki and JWOWW have a potential Jersey Shore spin-off in the works. The show will focus on the guidettes doing grown up shit like writing checks and learning about mortgages. And I, for one, am mortified.
As someone who once vacayed at the Shore (what? I was seventeen and it was prom weekend), the beauty of the show (at least, for anyone that grew up in the Tri-State area) is that you can watch (and laugh at) carbon copies of the assholes you know in real life from a safe distance, without fear of an acrylic-aerosol beat down coming your way. This is valuable.
Why? Because anyone who has lived their life in close quarters with these people has had to stifle many a chuckle. The tans, and the cars, and the t-shirts. The jewelry, and the steroids, and the blowouts, and the tribal tattoos. That shit isn’t glamorous without the buffer of a television screen. It’s obnoxious. Not only does Shore provide a release for those of us who have shared parking lots and college lectures with these bastardizations of Italian culture, it shoves these characteristics into the face of every American; no matter their proximity to the trainwreck. This is now our burden to share.
Yet and still, the show deserves more credit than that. As jaded as I’ve become from years of exposure to Ed Hardy, Jersey Shore made me open my mind– and heart– to guidos. Sure, we have different priorities. I’ll probably never beat the beat up or eat a sandwich in bed while my roommate fucks someone two feet away (and in the same room). Likewise, my taste in men would probably seem effeminate to Sammi, and my lack of tan; a mortal sin to Snooks. A bitch be pasty. But despite all of this, I find the cast truly likable– albeit alien to my understanding of what life in your twenties looks like.
This is precisely why the cast of Jersey Shore must stay. at. the. shore. We got a tiny preview of what life would be like if the cast moved on to greener pastures in Season 2, when they were uprooted from the t-shirt shop and found themselves instead serving dairy-based refreshments in Miami.
It wasn’t right. There weren’t enough gorillas, for one thing. The guys were in over their heads; trying to wife up the finest dancers money can buy instead of the usual semi-attractive girl, illuminated by the mere presence of her grenade friend. The Situation revealed himself to be the grumpy, t00-old-for-reality-TV curmudgeon he really is. Sammi and Ronnie were fighting like JWOWW’s tits over Focaccia breadcrumbs in her cleavage.
The cast was out of their element in another party town with sand and booze. What makes the producers at MTV think this time will be different? An unconfirmed spoiler reveals that during the pilot of the new show, Snooki uses all of JWOWW’s toilet paper and eats all of her groceries. …Oh? If I wanted to watch The Ridiculously Mundane Trappings of Young Adults Who Don’t Live on the Beach, I’d set up a camcorder in my living room.
Factor in the part where this show consists of Snooki and JWOWW moving into a 1.5 million dollar home. Remind yourself that their fortune was acquired by acting as Professional Drunk Bitches Who OD on Artificial Sun and Can Serve FroYo. Think about how a week ago, you witnessed Snooki faceplant on the beach and subsequently get apprehended by Jersey’s Finest. Sit on the fact that Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie did this same exact show almost ten years ago, and it was just as pathetic back then to watch grown women struggling to understand basic shit as it is now.
The surefire way to kill Snooki’s smush factor is to show her taking gross advantage of the wealth she’s done nothing to earn. We want Snooki eating pickles, or Snooki sleeping until 6 PM, or Snooki drunkenly knocking over a bike rack. Snooki in her element. Show us Snooki tackling the frustrating minutiae that we’ve accepted as life? The flame ignited by schadenfreude will burn no longer.