Jersey Shore Season Finale: Clutch in the Cooch

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Well, my friends, it’s the last crapisode of Jersey Shore.  It seems like just yesterday we were learning how Italy officially hated “The America” after the kids from the Jersey Shore landed on their little island (?) and, you know, ruined it.  Now today, they’re getting ready to leave.  You can tell that this show should have ended 47 episodes ago because the first 35 minutes were absolutely pointless.  Don’t get me wrong, the last 35 minutes were just as bad.  Wait, does that total 60 minutes?  Eh, my abacus has been rusted shut for a month, unlike VaDeena’s gentlemen greeter. Hey-oh!  Either way, we pick up right where we left off last week (yawn) by Grandpa Sitch coming home from “da club” all alone after he tried to have an official Italian “sass-off” with random patrons who would, most likely, kick his elderly ass.  In order to celebrate his own return, Sitch decides to roundhouse kick the walls a few times and shove a sub down is mouth whilst he watches Snooki slumber.  It was like watching Paranormal Activity except instead of the ghost watching the couple sleep for 8 hours we’re forced to watch a really greasy older gentlemen with puffy bloat drool over a little over-tanned tot wearing a fright wig that you find in the Halloween aisle of Walgreens right next to all the dented cans of Silly String.  You know the aisle.  Either way, same/same.

By the time Yawnie and Yawnie make it home from “da club” they decided that the roided out Yawnie should wake up Grandpa Sitch from his alcohol induced sleep and tell him what he really thinks of him.  That makes sense.  Why not be a man about it and say it behind his back in the diary room and then discuss it after the show airs and you’re caught red-handed upwards of three months later?  I mean, that would be my reality show strategy.  But I’m different.  I’m also less oily.  Regardless, Ron decides to tell Sitch that he needs to fix his burnt bridges or he shouldn’t go to Jersey to film the next season.  Uh, they’re called “burnt bridges” for a reason.  You can’t really fix them.  You just find another way to move forward.  Usually it’s a lot longer of a trail, but you still get to your destination nonetheless.  Trust me, I’ve burnt enough bridges that I have endless buckets of toll money.  What?  I jump in the water after I burn the bridges so I can collect the coins from the toll.  What?  You don’t do that? You don’t?  Oh.  Me either.

Later, since Sam and Ronnie haven’t been able to express their feelings to each other via punches and other violent measures, they decide to do sex to each other.  They gather all their belongings like they’re headed on an adventure via the Oregon Trail and get the smoosh room ready for sex.  This consists of placing one skid-marked sheet on the filthy mattress and turning on the 1970’s fan that is at the very end of the bed.  Romantic.  Because at the end of the day when two dirty Italians are in the heat of the moment you definitely want that smell spread evenly all throughout an enclosed room.  It must smell like an Italian sub was deep-fried and left out in the sun for the summer and then sh*t on by a skunk and then ravaged by a rabid raccoon and then eaten by Snooki and then sh*t out back on the bed.  And then Deena rolled around in it.  And then she did squats.  So, yeah, that’s the smell I’m sure.  AnywhattheF, 5 minutes later they are done having sex and both can go on with their miserable lives.  I wonder if sex gave Sammi that black eye.  I’m kidding.  I’m sure Ron’s fists-o-fury did that.

After more boring crap happens the gang (minus JWoww because she looks like a truck hit her…again) decide to go out to “da club” so they can be well behaved and not embarrass The America.  Of course I mean the opposite of that.  After 5 minutes of spending quality time together everyone basically runs like al qaeda when they hear a low-level plane nearing them.  What, I know some political junk and stuff.  Team Meatball heads off to some crack-den where they can dry-hump a couch and pretend that we all don’t know that they’ve gotten fat.  Suddenly we come upon some random drunken(er) chick who crashes their dance party and slouch-dances on the couch whilst doing gun-salute dance moves with her fingers and then somehow she literally shoves VaDeena’s purse up her vagina.  I kid you not.  Honestly, why do I have the feeling that having VaDeena’s purse shoved up some random girls greeter is actually more sanitary than having VaDeen hold it with her bare hands?  A clutch up the cooch is also the official way of letting people know its Daylight Savings time in Italy.  Ole!

Sidenote, VaDeena and Snooki stumbled home and VaDeena took off her shoes so the bottom of her feet now are an exact match of her liver, heart, soul, and back teeth.  Just a guess.

Yawn.  We’re off to the pizza place where the gang was asked to bring clothes that represent themselves so the creepy pizza place owner can hang them from the inexplicable clothes line he has hanging over his customers.  He wants something that everyone can remember them by. Wouldn’t it be better if they all just shot their own bodily fluids into the pizza sauce?  I mean, this way at least when hundreds of patrons get random STDs and it becomes a pandemic they can be like, “Hey! My d*ck burnt off because I had a slice of pizza that Snooki made!”  I think that leaves a much more personal touch.  Although, seeing VaDeena’s husky thong hanging over your head is, well, pretty special too.  Vinny should have left his lazy eye.

After another Sunday-like dinner the “girls” decide to help out and clean up a bit.  This consists of Snooki trying to scrub what I can only assume is aborted fetus off of everything in the living room and VaDeena mopping up semen spills off the wooden floor.  Of course VaDeena falls whilst mopping and I’m pretty certain I hit rewind on my DVR upwards of 23 times.

Later the Douche Bag Brigade decides to take a formal walking tour of Italy.  When having to decide if they were more interested in “art” or “history” everyone had a look on their face like someone just told them that they were off the TV show and would be forced to become normal working members of society.  Complete horror.  They do, however, end up meeting up with their tour guide who may or may not be a cast-member of Diddler on the Roof and for some reason he is yelling into a megaphone right in their faces even though there is only about 7 of them and they’re standing two inches away from him.  Speaking of two inches, Snooki wants to spray tan the Statue of David and at one point when they’re looking at a ceiling painting that Michelangelo did she asks if it was real that “those babies really had wings.”  Yes, Snooki, they did.  Back in the olden days there were flying babies that carried bow and arrows.  I mean they couldn’t speak or hold their own head up, but they could fly and shoot.  Bricks.

In the end, the gang has some drinks on top of some mountain.  I was waiting for Old Susanna to be coming around that mountain when she comes, when she comes.  But, alas, she didn’t and they all just drink and Grandpa Stich gets to faux-apologize to all of them for being an older gentlemen who should no longer be on this show, or in society for that matter.  However, this “new Sitch” isn’t that new anymore because once they all head out to “da club” he picks a fight with some little kid and “the gang” turns on him yet again.  Regardless, Sitch still decides that he is going to go to the Jersey Shore “next season” and everyone looks disgusted.  In the end, they line up mattresses down the flights of stairs and throw their luggage, pride, and themselves down the stairs so they can all hop and on plane and get the F out of Dodge before Italy actually starts a war with us.

I’m dumber for watching.  You’re dumber for reading this.  Let’s all do it again next season!  The reunion was just as terrible, but let’s discuss it in the comment section below.  Hell, even I’ll toss in a comment or two and, let’s face it, I’m the worst!

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