don’t call me snickers?

December 13, 2009

Dear MTV,

I’m really curious about something. I spent four hours today watching the first two episodes of your new show Jersey Shore, and, despite my thorough entertainment, could not get over one atrocious injustice: my personal absence. Where was I when you cast this show? Why didn’t I receive a direct phone call asking for, at the very least, a guest appearance. This is worse than when I was left out of Growing Up Gotti.

Yes, MTV, we both know far too well that I am the supreme guido. Incase you needed some reminging, here are my ten reasons I belong on the Jersey Shore:

1. I am Italian.
Please, do not let my blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Aryan face deceive you. Though I appear as though I could hail from somewhere in Northern Europe, I assure you that I am, indeed, Italian. My last name remains to be the single shard of proof I can come up with. Unless you count my large nose and love of the cannoli.

2. Have you seen my hair?
I may not have invented the poof. And I may not require seven and a half ounces of gel daily. And I may not need to primp for at least forty five minutes before “hitting the clubs.” That being said, my hair is a beautiful thing to behold, and it does necessitate a fair amount of care and attention.

3. My Delicious Tan
It is clear to see by looking at me that my skin has the gorgeous, natural glow of Kraft macaroni and cheese. You can probably tell just by reading this that my body looks like it has been twice baked by Willy Wonka and resembles the flesh of an almost-rotten nectarine.

4. I enjoy protein.
Like all good guidos, I am a devoted activist for the balanced diet. For breakfast, I have a large steak with a protein bar. My lunch consists of a protein shake and a lag of lamb, and, on an average night, I consume an entire live bull.

5. I’m a firm believer in the use of steroids.
I will be the first to tell you that lone desire of all females is a VIP ticket to the gun show. I will also tell you that the fastest way to obtain said guns is by injecting needles into one’s arms, legs, buttocks, groin, and lower lip.

6. I do not refer to myself by my legal name.
Also like all good Guidos, I believe it is a mortal sin to refer to myself using the name given to me by by parents. You may feel free to use any of the following: The Alternative Solution, Baby Corn, The Vending Machine, or Health Care Reform.

7. I often horrendously misuse the English language.
It troo. Ask one a muh bruhthas.

8. I’m a superb dancer.
Take me to any club, basement, or shed, and I will prove to be the life of the party. My fists will be pumping, my groin will be thrusting, and I will promise to bring home the first girl who tells me she’ll take off her thong in a hot tub. I know how to pick them. And I enjoy doing so.

9. I revel in debauchery.
I’m always game for leaving the drunk girl behind, hanging up the duck phone on someone multiple times, yelling at strangers, getting physical with strangers, and freak dancing with middle-aged women.

10. I’m a bat shit crazy hot mess of pure classiness.

Thank you. I resteth my case. Viva Italia.


One Response to “don’t call me snickers?”

  1. Thithter Says:

    funny funny markass. wish i watched with you.. very soon broha.

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