Jersey Shore, the (overly) buzzed-about documentary series created by the vengeful ghost of Margaret Mead, is coming to an end tonight. (Well, a season end, at least.) So what do we do now? Explore other terrible youth cultures, of course!
Former Jezebelian Jessica Grose just came up with a nice pitch for a new "hey look at those horrible regional young people" series: Massholes. This is a good idea! We have some intimate knowledge of those creatures and they are definitely worth scrutinizing and, as tends to happen on these programs, shaming. But who else? We can think of a few other cultural subsets worth shedding light upon/demeaning for cheap and ephemeral entertainment.
Mudders at the Panhandle
Who: You know, people who go mudding. In their trucks and four-wheelers. Country folk. Hill folk. Jug-blowers. Hootenanny-holders.
Where: Set 'em up in a sweet ass beach house in Destin or somewhere similar and watch their Yosemite Sam mudflaps fly. Or maybe South Padre?
Why: Because, like the Jerseyites, they're a loud and proud group, prone to the drink and the squabble. There's not as much preening (or, like, any preening), but there's definitely the same inebriated menace, that tottering-eyed fixation on punching things and, erm, pounding others. The girls will drunkenly eat pigs' feet and water when talking to the confessional cameras, Dooaign (pronounced: "Duane") and AmberBeth's relationship is tested, and the sex-obsessed SonicBurger will work on his potbelly and lure unsuspecting beach girls into the bungalow-shack. Plus: Funny accents.
Who: The kids who spend as much of the winter skiing (or, we suppose, snowboarding) as possible. It is their lives! They talk like surfer hippies. Some of them are surfer hippies. They are mostly all stoned, blonde-ish, and can be real assholes.
Where: A sweet A-frame at Jackson Hole. But, like, a big A-frame.
Why: Whether they're hittin' the moguls hard out on the slopes or hittin' each other hard, apres at the chalet, ski bums are a fascinating breed. Always weird and occasionally vaguely-moneyed, one tends to assume that these Nordic athletes are either laid back chill-dudes or snobby and unthreatening blue-bloods. This is not always the case. Sometimes these cold-skinned kids are actual mountain weirdos who like to get aggressively drunk and fight! (Just watch this documentary.) Will tough guy Whistler stir up too much shit with rival mountain men. Will it last when Dabney falls for Pitts, a guy from the wrong side of the piste? And will Rossignol hit every chick on the way down his slalom course of love? You must watch Bums to find out!
The Emerald Triangle
Who: Northern Californian ganj folk, man. Like straight-up egg-haired whiteboys with dreads. They grow weed, they smoke weed, they sell weed.
Where: A rambling brown one-story house in Humboldt.
Why: Well, this show would have to be a bit more ruminative. Sure it'd be kind of interesting to see the stoners and stonettes do their slo-mo thing (Hookah-up?) for a little while, but eventually it'd get a little repetitive. So turn on the ambient music and slap this thing on Sundance. It'll be that much more shocking when the stasis is interrupted by quick, graphic scenes of violence. Because, you know, they may be stoned, but they're still drug dealers.
Who: The West Coast equivalent of guidos, essentially. These are boobed and orange folks who crawled out of the nether reaches of the Inland Empire, from party schools as far-flung as ASU. They are the Real Housewives of Orange County. (Seriously, they go there.)
Where: Everywhere. How? Motherfucking houseboat.
Why: Well, if you've seen those episodes of RHoOC, you will know. We actually think we heard whispers about this reality show already being in the works. Havasu is as horrifyingly rum-soaked and sun-stained as Seaside Heights, there's just a little less house music. Watch as houseboatmates Braydin and Kayla say "Ahoy!" to love. Straight out of Fresno comes MikAyLah (pronouced: "Denise"), a tiny ball of furious rum guzzling and implant-getting. Will she ever find the Juggalo-lite of her dreams? Class is in session this fall at Havasu U.
Who: The rich people who summer near the ocean. Though, they don't call it "the Shore." It's "the Country" or "the Vineyard", or just the town's name. This cast went to New England schools for dumb rich kids — Rivers, e.g. — and they all scoff at the townie kids who work at the tennis club. Sure they'd never do a reality show in real life (oh, and the drug dealers would?), but we can dream!
Where: A rambling old place near Oak Bluffs. (You know, to slum it a little.)
Why: Because even during these times of economic hardship, we love rich people and love to watch them. Scuffles with local kids (home from college themselves, because it's the Vineyard, not Fall River), sunset-dappled romances explored on slat-fenced beaches. Basically everything in this. It wouldn't have the overt sleaze factor of Jersey Shore, but secretly it would. These kids drink, drug, and fuck just as much if not more than the Guidos. But they pretend that they don't, which makes it all the more interesting when they do.