An Ode to Becoming Irrelevant

In an era where your relationship doesn't count unless it's on Facebook, an idea isn't legitimate until it's on Pinterest, and a thought is meaningless until it's broadcasted to the Twitterverse, one can't help but to ponder the topic of irrelevancy. Hell, the sole reason why this blog exists is to remind myself that I have a semblance of a sense of humor and, on occasion, a poignant thought or two (bold statement... noted). Though, amidst this seemingly universal sentiment, there is a frightening amount of TV becoming as irrelevant as the Yellow Pages, beepers, or even terrestrial radio (like... what is that?). Let's take a look at those shows slowly but surely securing their place in the cobwebbed attic of the silver screen...

Jersey Shore

Is this show back? No seriously... is it? It's pretty bad that I even have to ask that question as an entertainment industry professional (weird... I've never said that aloud before). Hold on... I just Googled... ah well yes it appears that the new season is in fact running. It also looks like Vinny may have left? (I always liked him) ...But then he came back? (Ugh, comeon). Bottom line: this show has stretched out it's welcome much like Deena's stretched out JWow's hand-me-downs. Snooki can diet as much as she wants; nothing is going to change the life expectancy of this show. The moment Jersey Shore becomes relevant to me again is when in 4o years MTV decides to air a reunion special: Boca Raton Shore. I'd love to see what years of tannarexia does to their aging faces.

GLEE

At least this show recognizes that no one cares anymore. No way in hell they'd toy with a "Finn and Rachel" getting married story line if anyone was actually paying attention. Next thing you know, aliens from planet Schuster will come and abduct all members of New Directions (Ryan Murphy you'd love that, wouldn't you?). Aside from gimmicky episodes like this week's MJ tribute (which, despite my bellyaching, was ridiculously entertaining), it's becoming all the more clear that McKinley graduation day and the series' doomsday are one in the same. Sorry, Britney.

Desperate Housewives

I've never left a show in its final season... that is until now. Yes, I'll always have a spot in my heart for the series that gave women and gay men everywhere a shirtless Jesse Metcalfe, but I can no longer stomach James Denton's blatant disrespect for the acting craft. Sure, he's OK to look at but watching him act makes my brain shrivel. I held on passed the "fast forward" all too long... farewell old friend... farewell.

The Bachelor

It's no secret to faithful readers that I've had my ups and downs with The Bach franchise. So many fond memories... yet so many doody bubbles. In my humble opinion, it's all gone sour since Jillian's season. We've had nothing but weenies, whiners, and ugly ducklings ever since. Until this show cuts the fat and starts from scratch with someone remotely desirable, my Mondays will be exclusively spent with CBS sitcoms.

Tanti Auguri a me

I haven't heard better news since Angelina moved out of the house. I haven't been more excited since JWow lit my cigarette and told her manager to "get that bitch away from me." I haven't been to Italy in 4 years and it's finally time to go back.

You heard it hear, folks! THR just reported that the dirty jerz it heading to Italia!!! With that said, I have a few words of wisdom for the gang based on the time I spent in Roma:

1. When you get drunk, it's natural to want to jump in a fountain. Do it... but be sure you can run.

2. Vespa rides from strangers are totally acceptable... so long as you remember where you're going (Sorry, Snooks. Maybe you should stay back).

3. Dance offs are encouraged and highly celebrated. I once danced off a pantless stripper in Art Cafe. Snooki... you better practice your backflips.

4. Drink orange juice whenever you can get your hands on it. Drink wine more than that (preferable in the form of juiceboxes)

5. Please don't ask the Pope to "beat the beat"

Ciao, Ragazzi!!!! <--- Click through

"I Will Attack You Like A F#*$&N Squirrel Monkey"

I can always count on my girl Snooki to broaden the limits of my knowledge base. Even on the very first episode of the JS's 3rd season (the highest rated show ever accoding to the FB status of Michael "The Situation" Sorrentino. Don't judge me), Snooks taught me that looking like a hooker is awesome, you never grow out of stuffed animals, and most importantly, that squirrel monkeys are a ferocious band of beasts that should never be messed with no matter what their size might be.

This prompted me, as always, to learn more about this scrappy, Napoleon-esque creature. Please allow me to share:

Squirrel Monkey, from the Latin: Saimiri Gorilla Juiceheadeum, is native to the shore areas of central Jersey, seasonally thriving in the area known as Seaside (but if you were to ask Sammmi she'd just say "Ugh. (Pause. Eye Roll.) Jersaay").

The female squirrel monkey is the most interesting of the species. She requires an excess of Vitamin D to be accepted by the squirrel monkey community. She feeds upon cherry vodka, pickles, and whatever Gorilla juice-head sauseeege she can get her hands on. Otherwise mistaken for a "meatball," a female squirrel monkey cannot go two months without having sex or she will involuntarily show her cooch to the first male she sees.

The male squirrel monkey is also very sexual and is often forced to "stick it in one of the jetholes." Perferred mating ritual of the male squirrel monkey is to prepare with GTL (a practice similar to peacocking) and seek out non-grenades to intoxicate and bring back to the mating nest, otherwise known as the hottub. The male squirrel monkey's diet consists of burgers for the boys, protein shakes, and lady squirrel monkey.

The squirrel monkey, while often large, is not the most intellegent of primates. Shunned by most other species, the squirrel monkies band together to "beat the beat," a ritual believed to repel the more intellegent animalia.

Well... I hope this was as intellectually stimulating for you as it was for me. Until next time...

Let's Have a Toast for the Idiots

This just in: Kanye West writes new song about Ronnie Ortiz-Magro and the Staten Island Dump.

Well… not exactly…

In truth, Kanye practiced some serious lyrical diarrhea last night on the VMA stage. But seeing as he accompanied his “sampler” (aka keyboard for the 21^st chromosome) with ballerinas and rhythmic gymnasts, we’ll consider it “artistic.” BAH.

What do I think? Well… though the potty mouth is about as deep as a desk chair, I still have to believe that he is drawing inspiration from somewhere. The obvious answer is that he spent long hours in front of his MacBook Air with photo booth on, playing word association. However, I would like to present the idea that Mr. West also tuned in to the special Jersey Shore lead-in to the VMAs and, in fact, Runaway is about the following:

Ronnie Ortiz-Magro: Guerilla king of the D-Bags. Ronnie doesn’t like tests (I don’t know if you’re aware that’s the reason why he didn’t go to college). Instead, he likes to mind-eff his dumbass girlfriend with what must be a very teeny weeny. Pumping your 4’9” bod with steroids can’t really do anything for the ole’ sauseeeege. “Toast for the douchebags.”

Ramona: You broke Vinny’s heart… prepare to die. “Toast for the assholes."

Angelina Pivarnick or anyone who wears a fossil watch: Better known as the Staten Island Dump. As if I didn’t need another reason to despise Angelina, Wikipedia has informed me that she like to go by the nickname “Jolie” (Yes… as in Angelina Jolie). If I were Maddox, I would fly my fire-breathing unicorn straight to Staten Island and sizzle off the hooker’s voice box. “Toast for the scumbags.”

Jose: If the song had a line “Let’s have a toast for the newly diseased” it would really put this sucker in contention. For now, “toast to the jerkoffs.”

Grenade Grundle Chodes: Nothing much to say here… I just really wanted to write that.

Now let’s go eat a goddamn snack.

Editors Note: While I had zero intentions of even googling "Kanye" because I hated the below so much, I happened to stumble across this poop. Feel free to watch it if you want to throw up your half sandwich.

Runaway (Live): "Kanya performs an ode to himself at the VMAs"

The Groundbreaking Cultural and Historically Accurate Phenomenon that is Jersey Shore

Some of you have asked why I have yet to blog about the show sensation that is making people all across our great country “beat the beat.” The show that has people asking, “what the hell is GTL?” The television spectacle that, by its very nature, challenges the historical and cultural authority of our ancestors. To be honest, the reason why I have not yet posted about Jersey Shore is because its depth and intelligence is infinitely beyond my authority as a measly little blogger. Are you confused? I shouldn’t imagine you could be! Every tidbit of guido/guidette knowledge radiating out of the little house on the boardwalk defies our schooling and inherent street smarts. Before I could comment on such a groundbreaking piece of work… I had to do some research.

The beginning of my studies sent me to Ancient China, the formally known origin of what we have come to learn by name as, “the poof.” You see, on Jersey Shore, it’s been rumored that Nicole “Snookie” Polizzi is the sole creator of “the poof” hairstyle—a fact my simple brain could not begin to accept. But as research would prove, I now stand before you corrected. As you can see pictured, the intricate sketches would lead you to believe that there would be a poof of hair atop the heads of these women. Do not be fooled, however. The “poof” of hair shown is simply a mass of hair, or a “bun” if you will. The lack of airy poofiness of these “poofs” negates poof completely.I then thought to myself “surely big hair presented itself elsewhere in history.” And why yes! It surely did. Pictured below, you will find a portrait of Marie Antoinette circa 1770. A poof, you say? Wrong! Further research will tell that Marie Antoinette was a wearer of ornate wigs. Gripes—history has fooled us yet again.

Feeling monumentally betrayed by earlier poofs and their constituents, I jumped a few centuries in research, determined that THE poof would present itself in the later 20th century. I landed among the pages of 1960’s fashion magazines and found in the pages a hairstyle so poof-esque I was positive I had proven this “Snookers” wrong. As shown below, the hairstyle embodies all aspects of “the poof;” it has definitive height, is assembled with just some gathering of the hair, and is, in fact, NOT a wig. But is this style a “poof?” Sadly, no. It is defined in fashion articles of old as a “bouffant.”

I can’t explain to you all how discouraged I felt at that moment. There was even a time that I thought I, myself, may have even invented the poof before Snookie. I went digging through old pictures only to find the below… a deflated non-poof. Clearly I had not mastered the art of the poof prior to MTV phenomenon, and upon realizing this, I surrendered to the genius that is Jersey Shore.

That’s right. I discontinued all research aiming to discredit the wise words of guidos and guidettes everywhere. Because of this, I have come to grips with the fact that Italy is the center of the universe; not the sun. I now know that laws of attraction imply a man is only desirable if he be “tan, juiced, and a meat-head guido.” I am now aware that if one is to jump in a hot tub wearing a thong, it should be a thong bathing suit. Men are welcome to hit women in public and a pickle was never once a cucumber.