You all knew I had to touch on this...

OK, OK... This is a Jersey Shore post. I know I have not posted in quite some time, but you see I have been busy working. These legal fees don't pay themselves folks.

Meanwhile, back to the Shore...

First of all, this is a show that is designed to entertain. Why is it entertaining? Because much of the world had no idea that behavior such as this went on in American society. But it does. Apparently...

A brief overview: MTV has actually been trying to make New Jersey look like the dingleberried taint on America for years. It all started with a show called - True Life: I Summer on the Jersey Shore. MTV hates New Jersey , they just have to. Either that or they secretly love that lifestyle. What's that? Could this be a conspiracy? Perhaps. The head of MTV is an Italian-American himself. Dun Dun Dunnnn. Or should I say, Tan Tan Tannnn?

Anywhoo, the seed was sewn and Ed Hardy stocks soared. Jersey Shore is about eight self-obsessed, morally bankrupt, overly tan, crazy people. So you can see how I quickly got on board with this concept. The cast members are employed by an aging Guido that basically owns an oversized trash can (leased from Oscar the Grouch) that features the sale of just that, garbage. Such items include: Insipid key chains and t-shirts that say 'I'd Blow Me', temporary tramp stamps, and probably bottled chlamydia - in bulk.

The cast goes out every night and drinks more alcohol than Lindsay Lohan does when she is in the pokey guzzling on turrlet wine. The cast always seems to get into some sort of altercation and the police are normally called. Sometimes a grenade is in tow as well. Now on to the cast!

Angelina: Boring.

JWoww: Claims to be a graphic designer. Which I think is Jersey Code for pubic hair shaper.

Sammi: Boring, cries too much.

Vinny: Probably the most normal, thus disposable.

DJ Pauly D: Has the hair of the Gods. His blowout should actually be kept behind bullet proof glass and transported through the city in a Popeish way. Actually, now that I think about it - he probably has enough hair product on it to survive 900 nuclear holocausts.

The Situation: Anyone who talks about themselves in the third person that I would be afraid to hit in the face is alright in my book. The dude LOVES himself. But you kind of get the sense he is hiding something. Like maybe a history with trannies or shameful IBS. *oh, and thanks for following me on Twitter*

Snooki: If ever there were a true diamond of a person, this is her. Snooki exudes more elegance and class than Queen Elizabeth dressed in ruby encrusted nipple tassels. Never before has a woman roamed this Earth with such beauty, sophistication, grace, and charm. To her thoughts on life, to getting hit in the mouth by a transient bar scrape; Snooki should be held with the utmost highest regard across every continent. Bitch should have diplomatic immunity in Seaside Heights for life.

In summary, it's a show for you to watch and feel entertained, but also to feel better about yourself. It's like watching a car crash on top of a volcano during a bio-chemical test site. It is television gold.

Let's get southern drunk...

The other day a friend of mine got what I like to call: Batshit Blackout. This made me think about a few things. Given where I live - Charleston, SC - (the most beautiful place on earth) I began realizing what it means to get all swamp-donkey up in this bitch.

For the Southern Belle, all is forgiven after your walk of shame. For girls in Charleston, if you can manage to find your pearl earrings... you simply put them back on and you look like a classy gutter slut mess. It is so easy to give off the essence of dignity and sophistication long after you lost it in the Cooper River after a sex time session on the boat of some millionaire that it's captain took out for the night. It's something that may be tired and trite... But who can ever get tired of a boat that you don't own, maintain, and have to drive?

Other times I have found that this particular breed ends up in handicapped bathrooms with randoms for lengthy periods of time. This behavior leads to my cell phone blowing up around 10am with questions about who was blown. But it's OK. Why? Because in the South, we go to brunch the next morning. Get sauced on Mimosas, and do it all over again. That is why it is forgiven. Just because you did something questionable last night does not mean that anyone will remember it the next weekend. However, if you managed to hitchhike your way home from the strip club, perform fellatio on a sea turtle, sing anything in public from Lady Gaga, and sleep under a Ryder truck; this may not be overlooked.

For guys its all the same. Why? Because we are so technologically advanced. We know to delete text and call history after we manage to open one bloodshot eye. That means it never happened right? That means we wont even acknowledge the girl (or guy - not judging) the next night.

But here is what I am saying: Why not? Who gives a shit. We are all a bunch of borderline alcoholics that do insipid things under the influence of vodka and glue. So the next time you go out and have a several too many, just try not to drive. Everything else is usually fine. Except trannies. Try and avoid those.

Sounds Like 2am To Me...

Things sometimes kind of don't fly within my radar... But when someone donkey punches my Big Mac, I take issue.

Apparently Mayor McCheese and Ronald McDonald met late one evening in a glory hole and they came (haha) up with this culinary abortion. I mean, they could have at least put some sesame seeds on it. Look at this. Gaze deep into it. Are you weeping like a school girl after daddy touched you in your no-no squares? This one really made me pat my weave. Yes, you are getting two all beef (probably kangaroo meat) patties, special sauce (we've been over this before), lettuce, cheese (government), pickles, onions on a PIECE OF SHIT! The Big Mac... It's a staple that does not deserve this kind of treatment. Although, when you are driving and are completely special SAUCED, I imagine this form of Big Mac is ideal. But at least I wait to get home or jail before I dine on such epicurean delights. What Mayor McFuckstick and Ronald McBlowme need to figure out are a few key elements. First, "Our credit card machine is down." Excuse me, I call bullshit. I can understand if Ray Ray is coming by later and you need to make sure that you have the appropriate level of Sol Glow on. But come on! I'm willing to bet this problem never arises at a Waffle House. Betty and Donna are there all night for you while you make bedroom eyes at your T-Bone. And they give you a chocolate milk after you have smothered and covered the restroom. Second, if I want a McFlurry - why are the machines always broken? Look, I get you don't want to make it. I know you are just finishing up giving a dude a McFlurry in the freezer (adds stamina), but come on! I'll make it, just hand me some of those gloves and a hairnet. By the time I'm done with that place it will be so busy, you will have to hire the B list. And by that I mean some sort of prison release employer program. Look, I haven't worked out the funding but Obama has been making all these promises. Lastly, and this is on a whole different level of fast food in general... Who on planet Earth (this excludes Tom Cruise, the Real Housewives of Atlanta, and this guy) uses but one packet of ketchup? I mean, other than an Olsen twin... Bottom line, Mr McDonald - you are going in the wrong direction, sir. Instead of having meetings at rest areas, maybe you should listen to your public and stop hocking that damned McRib all the time. And by the way, bring back Grimace. He cannot be your dungeon bear sex slave anymore!

Funny People - should have been named Melodramatic Motherfuckers.

Always the sucker for alliteration... Anyway -

Perhaps I walked in thinking it would be another great from Judd Apatow or perhaps I thought I was going to see a funny movie, because FUNNY was in the title... OR perhaps the term "dramedy" was not in the shit trailer...

Look, I typically am no authority on movies. I mean, White Chicks is one of my favorite films EVER. But sir's and ma'am's - I fucking know comedy, even if I am laughing by myself.

The story premise had the best of intentions. A handful of rising comedians, a veteran (Sandler) and promises of Sarah Silverman telling jokes related to the crotch. OH, and a personal favorite... Leslie Mann!

I got about 40 whole minutes before asking myself, "Is this shit ever going to pick up - or should I just go ahead and pour me another mimosa without pressing that temperamental pause button?" I did, and then watched the rest in its entirety (bringing bottle of choice Andre with).

The story does not really get off the ground as quickly as most viewers would expect. Like, Sandler takes forever to cock-slap Leslie Mann. Typically I would not mind this if the story was entertaining from the get-go, but this was like driving behind an Ohio tourist on Labor Day without A/C and a cassette tape featuring Milli Vanilli stuck on "Girl You Know It's True."

Sandler in the film seems like he is 400 years old. I guess I can no longer really be expecting another Waterboy or some other cinematic genius, but what I can expect is for him to at least act like he is not on self prescribed Lithium from a Canadian pharmacy. He is playing the role of a sick person, but it mirrors the same character in Spanglish. Even featuring a tap dancing Mexican leprechaun troll tranny in this movie would have not made it any better.

Look, I'm not going to spoil it for you - that is wiki's / IMDB's job. But it does have an ending. A stupid fucking ending, but an ending none the less. I finally got to stop watching and take my usual Sunday afternoon bubble bath featuring pirated episodes from American Dad. One day I may get electrocuted, but as some readers know - my hair looks like that on any morning rolling of someones sofa.

Everyone have a great Sunday Funday. And remember, dental dams are not just a suggestion.

DROP YOUR PANTS!

The other day I was leaving a July 4th party when I received the following text message:

"Currently sans pants watching Lockup..."

I went home and immediately took off mah pants and settle in to watch Lockup. Only one problem, fucking Palin decided to resign. It's times like these that Lockup does not need to be on MSNBC, but on Nickelodeon.

So over the course of a few drunken evenings and hungover days, I have comprised a list (with the help of a few special fuckers) of things that are just more enjoyable without pants!

In no particular order...

1. Mop (because why not? Careful not to get MOP & GLOW on your no-no.)
2. Smoke a pipe (preferably not one used for smoking crack or Raid.)
3. Snowboard (Just don't Sonny Bono that shit.) BTW, Chastity is becoming Chaz...
4. Video Chat (just not with your mother or parole officer.)
5. Work with clay (because those bongs don't make themselves.)
6. *Watch Lockup (Raw or Extended Stay, doesn't matter.)
7. Directing traffic (I would advise against this in certain countries, but if you are looking to get three meals a day, shelter, and all the fisting that Big Mike can give - feel free.)
8. Judging people (it says to the victim, yeah - I don't have on pants. But your face looks like someone implanted 9 Blackberry Pearls in it.)
9. Blogging or reading other blogs (I mean I'm not wearing pantaloons now... Are you?)
10. Go on a carriage ride (If lady Godiva can spread her Britney all over a stallion, who are you to be wearing pants in the backseat?)
11. Eat Sloppy Joes (well, I mean you are gonna get that shit everywhere anyway. Actually go ahead and eat that in the bathtub or gutter. Whichever you call home.)
12. Have sex (we aren't in middle school anymore.)
13. Paint a picture with your genitalia / ass (Valentines Day comes just once a year.)
    

I was going to post a list of celebrities that have not died...

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BIRTHDAY SEX

Yesterday was my birthday... AND I'M STILL CELEBRATING!

Be back with you tomorrow, er - afternoon.

Your move, Vince the ShamWow asshat.

Billy Mays 1958 - 2009

WTF America?

Who is next? Wilford Brimley? I do not want to live in a world without him...

Details as I get them. It has been confirmed that he was not taking a lethal dose of Oxy Clean.