I don’t know how Jersey Shore has been on the air this long without someone getting a UTI. I really don’t. Five seasons of synthetic thongs, drunken screwing on bare mattresses, gallons of Bod cologne sprayed directly into each and every urethra and inch-long acrylic tips scrabbling at the body’s most sensitive areas, and only now has Snooki experienced that signature searing pain? I feel like they’ve all been cheating the system somehow. I want to know their secret. Oh, do you think it’s The Secret?
Unfortunately, as Snooki is quick to point out, UTI does not stand for Ultimate Tanning Institute, even though it might as well. After losing control of her bladder on the dance floor (“I fucking peed on myself,” she gasps to a disgusted JWoww. “Dude, I peed everywhere.”), Snooki finds herself in the restroom, dowsing her pee-soaked panties with bathroom cologne. The restroom attendant looks on with a blank expression, as not a day goes by without her being witness to this exact same horrifying scene.
Now, I’m no Dr. Gregory House here, but you know what doesn’t help a UTI, besides everything everyone is doing on this show at all times? Sleeping in your urine-saturated underwear, then waking up and putting on two pairs of underwear sandwiched between a layer of airproof tights.
“I'm a vet tech and I know what I need to do with UTIs,” Snooki insists as the white-hot pain of a urinary tract infection tears through her excretory system. She means "do with booty shorts." Yeah, I can’t tell you the number of times my Basset Hound has come down with a bladder infection from wearing Spandex booty shorts for three days straight. On a side note, I belong in forever jail! “If I piss blood, can we go to the doctor’s tonight?,” Snooki begs Deena, right before they have this exchange in the ladies’ room:
Snooki: I'm not washing my hands.
Deena: Yeah, I don't ever do it.
Dear god, this whole time we thought it was lupus! Haha, just kidding, It never is.
Call me crazy, but last night’s episode was one of my favorites in recent memory. The pleasure I got from it – and hopefully you did too – came from the knowledge that most, if not all, of the major plot points were real and heartfelt. Did it feel like anything was at stake last week when the gang got yelled at by He Who Shall Not Be Named And Who Also Runs The T-Shirt Shop last week? Not really, because we all know they are petulant adult millionaires.
Did I actually believe Deena electrocuted herself with a flat iron this week and then had a worried conversation with Sammi about whether the electricity would make her brain "go crazy”? Yes, yes I did. Did I think Snooki actually slipped into her bunny costume, only to shove her nails into the Situation’s sleeping mouth and nose, whispering “I pinched your nose and you ate your boogers”? More than anything.
Similarly, earlier this season I could have watched JWoww painstakingly rip Deena’s extensions out one by one and throw them into a running bathtub where they floated like some kind of beautiful cheetah-print man-o-war for hours, because that is what’s real. Later Snooki’s adorable dad comes to visit; having forgotten about his impending arrival and opting to get her hair done instead, Snooki requests that he procure cranberry juice for her . . . and false eyelashes for Jenni. Seriously, give me a downstairs clogged toilet or a UTI or a dad’s eye rolls over romantic drama any day of the week. Not me personally, of course. Ugh. I just jinxed myself, didn’t I?
Speaking of things that are going to give me a UTI . . . of the mind, The Situation is approaching worrisome levels of paranoia. Having been nice for approximately a day after months of scheming and conniving, Mike is tremendously upset when everyone is somewhat suspicious of his new sweet personality. Or as Ronnie put it, “When are you blowing up the house, you fucking terrorist?” Too soon, Ron-Ron – though a valid question.
The gang returns to the house after a day of batting cages and hurt feeling at Jenk’s and the Situation loses it. He rages, he pleads, he tries to win everyone to his side. “I happen to be a very, very, very bold personality,” he explains while pacing the roof.
Meanwhile, the entire time he is talking, the Situation’s dick is just out. The entire time. HIS. DICK. OUT. Well, the neck at least. The Situation raves as his pants sag lower and lower, the blurred out area covering ten times more skin than it needs to in preparation for the worst. Strangers are literally screaming from the monorail that glides past their house, probably helpful suggestions like “HIS. DICK. OUT.” Eventually the Situation pulls up his drawers and apologizes to Ronnie and the boys for his over-the-top reaction to them thinking he’s a crazy person. He snorts in contempt over his previous plots and contrivances . . . then he calls up The Unit to blow up Snooki’s spot with Jionni once and for all.
What is a day without some kind of plot afoot, I guess? Just a day where Snooki pees on the deck. At like 4 o’clock in the afternoon. In front of Sammi. Then throws a pair of shorts over the pudddle so it doesn’t “smell like piss.” Just a day when we all secretly hope it might be lupus.
It has to be at some point, doesn’t it?
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