Jersey Shore: The Battle of the SexesS

You would think the guidos and guidettes of Jersey Shore, the most important sociological experiment of our time, would get along. But no, the relationship between genders is strained and contentious, mostly due to boobs—both real and fake.

We learned a whole lot about the breasts of the female of the species last night. The most important fact that we learned is that the bosom of the guidette is biologically different from that of most Homo sapiens of the female persuasion. Due to years of inbreeding and the radioactive effects of the UVA and UVB rays that give the animal its distinctive skin color, the woman's body has actually mutated. While most people respirate through their nose or mouth, the guidette actually breathes through her breasts. It's amazing we haven't discovered this before.

When JWOWW starts her shift at the gelato shop, the proprietor gives her a T-shirt that covers her from neck to navel. She says that she needs to let her "girls" breathe, but she is not allowed to alter her uniform. She spends her entire first shift grasping at her chest, struggling for breath, and running to the bathroom to air her puppies out. This explains why the guidette always wears clothing that bares a significant part of her mammaries. It's not to show off and attract the male, like it is for most species. No, the strange holes and vents often carved into their blouses is a biological necessity. That's why, for her second shift, JWOWW has carved out a notch in the top of her T-shirt. It's sort of like a snorkel so she can get some air.

Most people don't understand this about the guidettes and think they are trashy or slutty because they always accentuate their decolletage, but really, they're just trying to survive! For the male of the species, their hair is usually misunderstood. It is so thick and brillo-ous (we just has to concoct that word specifically to describe its consistency) that it needs to be tended to by highly-trained specialists. The problem is, those specialists are often in the more unsavory neighborhoods of the city. However, the guido is given free reign when in those neighborhoods, as long as he is going either to or from the barber shop. No one wants to get between a guy and having a good fade. However, just like outsiders are frowned upon in the clubs, bars, and other hunting grounds of the guido, they are not welcome for more than their tonsorial necessities. Once their "tape-up" is completed they must leave without dilly-dallying. No one wants the guidos around to drive down their property value.

It's also hard to deal with a guido if you're not part of their subculture because their language is continually divergent from ours. Lately, it has taken on a whole new reliance on acronyms. Much like Cockney rhyming slang or Polari, the nearly lost gay patois, it is a way to differentiate themselves from people outside of their group and to confuse those who might be listening in. After all, if you can't discern what all the various codes and letters signify, you won't be able to communicate with them or join in their fun. But we are going to bust that door wide open. Here are some words the tribe won't expect you to be familiar with, but you can fool them with your deep knowledge of their lingo.

  • GFF: Not to be confused with IFF (the "I'm Fucked Foundation"), GTL (gym, tanning, laundry), or MVP (Mike, Vinny, Paulie), the GFF is the Grenade Free Foundation. Formerly known as the Society for a Grenade Free America, the GFF is a coalition of guido men that attempts to only hook up with beautiful women. There are zero members of this cult, because, well, as much as the men would like to sleep with only the most attractive, because of their rabid appetites for alcohol and pussy, they end up sleeping with "grenades" anyway.
  • Hyenas: Like a "beast," "grenade," or "landmine," this is another term for an ugly woman. However, this is the most dangerous type of woman, because she can actually hypnotize men into sleeping with her. The process is unclear, but still fascinating.
  • Bronx Zoo: A club, party, bar, or other location that is full of unattractive female specimens.
  • "Ma Ma Ma Ma": This is the sound that a nagging female makes to a male. Much like an adult character in a Charlie Brown cartoon, as soon as a guidette starts complaining to a guido, he has evolved a mechanism that allows him to not comprehend what she is saying. What he hears instead is "ma ma ma ma." Any connection to his mother (who he also calls "ma") is still inconclusive.
  • Good Look: This is not a flattering outfit. Instead it is behavior that will be perceived by other guidos as positive. If someone is doing something shameful, it is "not a good look." The perception of a good look is not only applied to the individual who is participating in the behavior, but also all those who associate with them. Therefore, one must have a good look not only for himself, but also for all his friends and associates.

Now that we know their code, let us look at the fractious relationship between the sexes, a divide brought on by that great leviathan that has been terrorizing Miami for weeks now: Trash Bags. After her drunken altercation hitting DJ Paulie Dipshit last week, we learned JWOWW came out of the house and told Trash Bags that Paulie is her "brother," and he would defend him. It was the only solidarity we would see between men and women for the rest of the evening. JWOWW reminded us that the men are not allowed to hit women, but she said she would beat Trash Bags on Paulie's behalf.

After another fight between the girls and pissing off her only two friends in the house—DJ Paulie Dangle and The Situation (the two men she's slept with)—Trash Bags fell into a deep depression. This is when The Situation called The Great Guido Peace Summit of 2010. It will go down in the annals of reality TV history as one of the watershed moments of modern diplomacy.

The Situation, who is the alpha male due to his (ahem) advanced age, has decreed that Trash Bags can not only hang with the men. Why? The grooming activities of the male and female guidos are too disparate to commingle. Much like the lioness hunts for prey while the lion lazes all day in the shade shaking out his mane, the guidettes must hang together and get their nails done, gossip, drink, and talk shit about boys while the guido is off at the gym, tanning salon, laundromat, and barber shop. Also, due to their tactic of recruiting women from the "battlefield" in packs of two or three, the men can not go out to the club with women, because they throw off the dynamic of their herd.

The women don't want to be friends with Trash Bags because she has committed the cardinal sin: she has not admitted to talking shit. But the women agree to give Trash Bags a chance, and The Situation creates an occasion for everyone to go out to the club together so they can patch their wounds. This is basically like Jimmy Carter inviting Anwar El Sadat and Menachem Begin to Camp David to sign a treaty. And just like the gambit of our benevolent 39th President paid off, The Situation's political savvy also bears fruit.

Snooki, who was once on the outs with all the other members of her group, decides to extend an olive branch (a pickle jar?) to Trash Bags at the club and tells her that if she admits to talking shit, then she will be back in the good graces of the women in the house. Trash Bags does just that. And immediately, all is forgiven. It's a very strange event, where both Snooki and JWOWW both seem to thank Trash Bags for talking shit about them. Still once it's over, the dominant females of the pack warn Trash Bags not to talk shit anymore. Unless it is about the boys. Apparently the females can talk shit about their "brothers" with impunity. That is the benefit of having a family, now isn't it.

Even after the Peace at B.E.D., Trash Bags still wants to hang out with the boys though. She thinks that the activities of the women are boring. She does not want to get her nails done, talk shit over dinner, or go to play pool with JWOWW, Sammi, and Snooki, all of whom are currently betrothed to men. No, she wants to go out to either find another mate or to continue to woo DJ Paulie Delicious, the man she both loves and hates. When the men want to go out for a night of their own, Trash Bags forces herself on them. But they are more devious. They wait until she has turned her back and then they flee, in a pack. They run for safety, the whole group jumping into a cab rather than facing the barely contained rage of Trash Bags. Then she sits and sulks for the rest of the evening. A defeated lioness, wanting to dine on the flesh of hyenas, but left all alone, to lick her paw in boredom with the rest of the crones.

She shouldn't be too upset, because back at the club, all the uglies were out and at last call, MVP decides they'd rather have their balls blown off by "grenades" than have not been in the war at all. But once they get back to the house, there is an unfortunate incident.

Yes, a woman's chicken cutlet comes out in the pool! This is horrible because it means that there is an impostor in their midst. Yes, we have learned that guidettes breathe through their breasts and must leave all or part of them exposed in order to survive. Having implants is acceptable—nay, preferable—because it expands the surface area of the boobs, making it even easier to get air into the body. But these "chicken cutlets," as they are called, would suffocate a guidette very quickly. Stuffing these fake products in a guidette's bra is like putting a plastic bag over a toddler's head and then tying the handles around its little, vulnerable neck.

Not only are these women "grenades" but they aren't even guidettes, and when that horrible chicken cutlet comes out in the wash, it's like an insult to the guidos very species. It's as if they scratched one of them and instead of seeing blood, they saw the green scaly flesh of one of those reptile aliens from V. That is why they had to be kicked out of the Jacuzzi. Finally, just when men and women try to come together, they are ripped apart again.

Yes, guidos can only mate with their own kind. As we have learned from the Troubled Tale of Sammi and Ronny, an ongoing telenovela that we can hardly watch anymore (and which we're ignoring this week, because we'll be all up in it next week), the guidos tend to look within their own clan for permanent mates. Is the same thing happening between Snooki and Vinny?

The latest piece of simple technology that Snooki does not know how to operate: a table. Yes, she doesn't understand the physics of having a raised plane on which to place objects. Her clumsiness and obvious drunkenness aside, when she sits down at the phone to call her boyfriend Emilio, there is a darker magic at work. Yes, the guido's forgotten household god, The Duck Phone, is working its evil mojo on Snooki. As we can see, there is a false Duck Phone idol on this little altar by the bean bag chair. It is just an empty shell of a duck, with no wires, quacking bowels, or red eyes burning with ire. No, this is just a hunk of wood. Vinny, dreaming back to days gone by, even tries to hang up this decoy duck, but it doesn't work.

And though there is a false idol, that doesn't mean the power of the gods is any less. No, it places a love spell on both Vinny and Snooki and they go to bed together. But the spell is not complete. Vinny only sees sharing the bed with Snooki as companionship "like a dog." She is his sister, and trying to lure them into an incestuous smoosh is the Duck Phone's wretched way of having its vengeance. Luckily, they are too drunk to fuck (as the Deceased Kennedys once observed), because if they had it would have ended with Snooki hanging herself with JWOWW's discarded hair extensions and Vinny poking his eyes out with DJ Paulie Drama's Prince Albert. The women and the men should lay separate or else drama, no tragedy will ensue.

The table is not the only simple technology that Snooki can't operate. She also has no idea how to use an ice cream scoop.

Our pack of misfits may have forsaken their household god, but they have a new patron, Enzo the Gelato Guy. He is a walking Italian stereotype. He a-wants to a-show a-Snooki how to a-scoop the ice-a a-cream. This is why everyone likes him so much, especially Vincenzo, the only thoroughbred Italian of the group.

What they don't know is that Enzo has two brothers, Mario and Luigi. Back in their village of San Gimignano, they were known as the Super Mario Brothers, after the oldest, Mario. One day, when Enzo was out learning the ancient art of frozen dessert making, his brothers were kidnapped by an evil animated dragon named Bowser and sucked into his parallel universe. There lives a constantly periled princess and they can't leave the video realm until they finally rescue her. They traveled all over that world, sometimes dressed as raccoons and frogs, sometimes riding a green dinosaur, sometimes ingesting the universe's strange narcotic stars that gave the users super powers. But they could not defeat this Bowser and come back to our universe. So Enzo traveled to the New World to make his money selling gelato, trying to amass a fortune so that he can one day a-find his long lost brothers. Such a sad tale.

As for The Situation, he is also sad, trying to lure customers into the gelato shop with his abs, like he once did to the T-shirt shop in Seaside Heights. But without their Duck Phone, the luster of the guidos is already fading. They are starting to not be a draw any longer, so they revert to their old ways. Snooki puts on her poof to go out to the club, making her hair that much closer to their god. JWOWW puts on her old gold lamé titsling and hopes that the long, deep draughts of oxygen will clear her head. Vinny rubs his eye, even though it has long stopped itching from a fat vagina infection. And Sammi and Ronnie, they just fight. They fight with the riotous passion of heathens, clashing and separating, bumping and grinding, smooshing and parting. These are the revelers of Sodom, dancing the dance of the doomed while their angry god looks on, just waiting to turn them all, man and woman, into pillars of salt.

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