A Letter To The Producers Of Jersey Shore

To the producers of Jersey Shore, We need to talk. No, I’m not here to go on a tirade about the representation of Italian-Americans, the glorification of promiscuous sex, the misogynistic representations and treatment of women, or how as much as I say that they’re gross, I would probably pretty easily rawdog all of the girls but Snooki after like five or nineteen beers. No, it’s not 2010 anymore. I’d also like you to know that I’m not some jerkoff who claims to be a “pop culture critic” on my Twitter bio. I don’t watch Jersey Shore because I feel some pressure to stay relevant, or use it merely as conversation-fodder for floundering social situations. I have, without fail, watched Jersey Shore with my roommates every single week since it began to air. Because I like it. Because I giggle at Pauly-D and Vinny’s bromance. Because I shrug in a “girls will be girls” sort of way at the Meatball-duo’s hijinks. Because I think the Situation is a sociopathic genius. Sure, I’ve had my gripes. I’ve yelled, “FUCK OFF RON AND SAM I DON’T CARE!” countless times.

I’ve actually gagged just looking at Deena – whose recent plastic surgery I’ll admit is a genuine improvement. I’ve wondered how many times a group of people can go to a club called Karma and not begin to contemplate exactly what sort of karma is going to be doled out for promoting idiocy, superficiality and alcoholism to millions of young viewers. But nonetheless, I’ve stuck it out. Until now. What in the actual fuck is going on? You stupid, money-grubbing sacks of severed dog-dicks, you. Why do you belittle us so? I’ve been trying to understand: “sure,” you thought, “Snooki is pregnant, Situation was in rehab, there’s some press, let’s roll with it.” Fine, I can rationalize the move. So you sunk, I don’t know, a couple million into starting up production for the sixth season, maybe? Why, then, after literally one day in production, didn’t you immediately quit? Clearly, you’ve never heard the expression “cutting your losses short” before. A retarded six-year-old could have seen that things simply weren’t working. Let’s do a quick recap of the first two episodes of Jersey Shore (the only two to have aired at the time of this writing) to get an idea of what you, the producers, deemed worthy to go to air.

The gang arrived to the house. You, the producers and editors, attempted to pass off the previous spin-off shows as reality – “Snooki and J-Woww moved in together for a while (NOT FOR MONEY FOR A SHOW) but it didn’t last long (NOT BECAUSE THE SHOW ENDED FILMING)” – before quickly launching into the action. What action, exactly? Mike makes dinner. Ronnie and Sam get a different bedroom than the last time. Deena cries for no real reason, almost as if to create a false sense of drama because literally nothing else is happening. Oh, and the other two major plot points? Both Snooki and Mike don’t drink anymore, which is fine, because it’s not like alcohol has ever fuelled entertainment on Jersey Shore in the past. And that’s it. Seriously. If you haven’t seen the first two episodes, that’s all you’ve missed. Zero embellishment. Shit is so fucking dire in the house, one night ended in them standing in a circle playing some fucking hand and sound signal game you’d generally find being taught by some pedophilic pseudo-drama teacher in the basement of a low-income inner-city school. This is what you’ve deemed up to the standard for your viewers? Just cut the bullshit.
I am sure you could compress all of the quality content from the remaining episodes into some 90-minute special, and just end on a high note. I know you didn’t really have much integrity to begin with, but think about this: what will your children think of you? Or your grandchildren. That you so selfishly forced avid fans to give up on you, and so close to the end? That’s about as tragic as the future life of little Lorenzo “Snooki” LaValle.

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