Hot girls have problems too, ya know...

I get told pretty frequently that my life must be awesome because hot girls have it easy.

To which I usually flip my perfectly coiffed hair over my shoulder, flash a brilliantly white smile, and say thanks.

Except I secretly want to stab people who say that.

Because I’m about to let you in on a well-kept secret: hot girls have problems too.

Now I know you’re reading this and thinking, Sure. Uh huh. Hot girl problems are tragic. Right.

Well we do. Because NO ONE rolls out of bed in the morning looking like this, despite what movies and tv shows will have you believe. Not even supermodels.

In fact, supermodels have a whole team of people who make sure they look that good whenever there could be a camera around. Which is why it’s so crazily amusing to Google pictures of celebrities without makeup. Seriously. Miranda Kerr looks like Gollum when she’s not wearing makeup. Which I guess makes sense, since her husband, Orlando Bloom was IN those movies. But still.

No, it takes work to look like this. Let’s start with the hair. Everyone knows that long hair is super sexy. But do you know how much work long hair takes to maintain? I, for example, have a jewfro. But you wouldn’t know that without me telling you because I’ve spent countless hours and huge sums of money taming it. On average, it takes me over two hours to blowdry and flatiron my hair to get it to be perfectly straight but with JUST the right amount of volume as well.  That’s two hours that I could be spending sleeping, writing my next novel, learning a new language, or just generally having a life.

But no. Instead, I’m making sure that my hair fits through doors. Hot girl problems.

And sticking on the subject of pesky follicles: body hair. Hot girls can’t have any. So I shave my legs every single day.  Yes, even in winter.  That’s another 15 minutes earlier that I have to get up in the morning. And I don’t care what anyone tells you, waxing sucks. Men, unless you have had all of the hair ripped out of your nether regions by a small Asian woman wielding hot wax on a tongue depressor, don’t even start with me. I know how much you whine when your girlfriend plucks your unibrow, but trust me, that’s nothing compared to the pain that the Brazilians have inflicted upon women.

And no one likes their women to be too pale, so tanning is necessary. But tanning causes cancer. And, in extreme cases, Jersey-Shore-ism, a horrible disease where you turn completely orange and your entire face peels off, Pauly-D style. So we come upon yet another hot girl problem—avoiding being too pale without looking like you work for Willy Wonka or getting cancer. Marilyn was wrong—diamonds aren’t a girl’s best friend. Bronzer is.

On second thought, no.

Diamonds are still a girl’s best friend. Bronzer just helps her make those friends.

Which brings us to makeup. Yes, I love makeup. But I’m pretty sure I spend more annually at Sephora and Ulta than the running budget of a moderately-sized first world country. I wouldn’t quite go as big as France, but definitely significantly more than it takes to run Portugal or England.

But Sara, that’s crazy!

No, it’s just another hot girl problem.

The trick, however, is to use enough makeup to make it look like you’re not wearing any. So in addition to being master depilators, hot girls have to be artists, and in some cases, magicians. Because we’re also hiding the fact that we get MUCH less sleep than the average-looking members of the population due to all the time it takes to look as good as we do. But, if you use too much makeup, the hotness factor is negated. That’s why they gave all the Jersey Shore girls (except Deena, whom no one anywhere would EVER confuse with a hot girl, even with the thickest beer goggles on the planet) make-UNDERS.

But making sure that we look our best at all times isn’t the only source of hot girl problems.

Oh no.

There are also huge misconceptions about hot girls that we have to fight each and every day.

For example, contrary to popular belief, a woman’s intelligence cannot be calculated as inversely proportional to her breast size. If that formula worked, you wouldn’t be reading this blog right now because I would be too busy running around with a pot on my head, letting my teeny, tiny pea-sized brain rattle all around in the big empty wasteland above my shoulders to write it. Sorry fellas.


And a lot of people think that if a girl is hot, she’s automatically a bitch—well—oh okay, that one is usually true.

But the one about how we never have to buy ourselves a drink, that one is totally—hmm… well I guess that’s true too.

Come to think of it, I guess I should stop complaining. Being a hot girl does have plenty of advantages that just about outweigh the amount of time and energy that it takes to look this good.

And I’m sure the rest of the population has their problems too.

Like earning enough money to pay for all of our drinks.


(And for anyone who didn’t figure it out, this entire post was satirical and I’m really not a stuck up, horrible person who goes around telling everyone how hot I am. But my hair DOES take two hours to dry and straighten. So please go buy my books so I can afford to get it Brazilian straightened again and fight the ‘fro when the weather gets warmer! Otherwise, you might just be its next victim!*)

*Not a threat because I have zero control over who the jewfro attacks. It could be you. It could be someone in Paraguay. It could be anyone. But if my books sell well enough, I’ll earn enough money to keep it tame for a few more months and humanity will be safe again.

Come on, Irene... no, really. Was that all you had???

So apparently it’s natural disaster week here on the east coast, but unlike with the freak earthquake, at least we had warning for Hurricane Irene.


Which of course, meant that the DC area went into apocalypse-style panic mode.

Not that this surprised anyone, because the DC area does that at least twice a week whenever rain, snow, ice, hurricanes, tsunamis, elections, or Glenn Beck rallies are predicted. (Which is understandable in the case of Glenn Beck rallies. Whenever one of those is in the forecast, I tend to start hoarding toilet paper, canned goods, Stila cosmetics, Harry Potter books, and shotgun shells in anticipation of the impending insanity. I strongly urge you to do the same.)

I actually got a notice from my apartment complex on Friday warning all residents to bring in any balcony furniture, put masking tape across windows and glass doors, don an aluminum foil hat to prevent the government from reading your thoughts, and stock up on canned goods, bottled water and flashlights in anticipation of Irene.

Oh, and it also said that the pool would be closed Saturday and Sunday.

Which really pissed me off because yesterday was gorgeous and what better workout is there than swimming in a pool full of hurricane-wind induced waves?

For the record, I did none of the things recommended by my apartment complex. Mostly because I pictured myself as a badass who wasn’t phased by the hurricane, a la Lieutenant Dan. And guess what? My balcony furniture is EXACTLY where it was before the storm started: smashed to pieces five stories below my balcony.

Crap.


But I did stock up on the essentials that I knew I would need when the power inevitably went out.

How did I know the power would go out? Easy, Pepco called and told me it would. On Friday. You see, our power system is so inept that they literally called and told hundreds of thousands of people to expect widespread outages due to the storm BEFORE IT WAS EVEN DEFINITE THAT THE STORM WOULD HIT US. How thoughtful of you, Pepco. Of course, SOME people might argue that the time and energy spent on warning us of the impending outages could have been better spent preparing for the storm. But those people are just silly.

So I went to the store to make sure I’d have everything I would need to survive the storm. And I was really surprised because everything that I planned to buy was in stock. Apparently most people buy all the milk, bread, toilet paper and C batteries in a store when they’re getting ready for a hurricane. Amateurs.

Who wants all that junk? As long as you have a gas stove, the only things you need to survive any natural disaster are marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate.

Yup, when the power goes out, I, like any rational and sane individual, make s’mores.

In fact, when my old roommate and I lost power during Isabel for about a week, we survived solely on s’mores and Pop Tarts that we heated on the gas stove by skewering them with fondue forks. (Little known fact: Pop Tarts, as long as you get the frosted strawberry kind, count as your daily servings of fruit and vegetables for a full day. The unfrosted ones count as nothing. You’d get more nutrition from eating a piece of cardboard. I don’t even know why they make unfrosted Pop Tarts except to punish people whose moms don’t love them enough to buy the frosted ones.)

I also bought the store’s entire supply of AA batteries so that I could power my portable ipod speakers, Kindle booklight, mini LED lantern, Rosie’s anti-bark collar, and my talking Pauly D bobblehead doll. You know, the absolute necessities.

Then I made sure that my kindle, ipod, cell phone, and new iPad were loaded with music, books, and movies and were all fully charged.

I was ready for the storm.

Which was the most boring hurricane ever because not only did my balcony furniture not even budge, but my power didn’t even flicker. So I now own the world’s largest supply of AA batteries for nothing. Seriously, they’re all going to go bad and explode before I can use this many.

Granted, Pepco will probably utterly fail for no apparent reason in about ten minutes and I’ll get to use them then, but still. I’m not a big fan of Irene.

So instead of using all that time to play on my new iPad (because really, the only scenario that I can come up with for an iPad being a necessity is when the power is out during a hurricane. Otherwise, it seems to be a gadget whose sole purpose is to entertain people who have so much money that they don’t know what else to spend it on. And I’m not one of those people. It was a birthday gift. And its utter uselessness will probably be the subject of an upcoming blog) figuring out why we, in the same week, had an earthquake and a hurricane.

And I came up with two reasons for the natural disasters (OTHER than the upcoming, Mayan-predicted end of the world).

Reason #1 Mother Nature is a Racist Bitch.

Yeah. I said it.

We were all thinking it. But I said it.

Why? Think about it. Yesterday was a BEAUTIFUL, albeit a little windy, day. Gorgeous. Sunny. Not too hot. Not too freakishly humid. Gorgeous out.

Would have been a perfect day for that whole MLK dedication thing, wouldn’t it?

But oh wait, that had to be cancelled because of the hurricane.

See, I think Mother Nature TRIED to undo that with the earthquake, but when that didn’t work, it was hurricane time.

Not buying it?

Okay, that leads us to the second reason.

Reason #2 God is trying to wipe out the plague that is Jersey Shore.

Irene hit at Little Egg Harbor, just south of Atlantic City and spun up the Jersey Shore wreaking havoc in her path. Washington was spared the brunt of her wrath. She had mostly burned out by the time she reached New York. This one was all new Jersey.

Now okay, MAYBE it was really an attempt to inspire Bruce Springsteen to put out another album, but it seemed to be trying to destroy New Jersey.

And for once, I can’t say that I blame the universe for wanting to destroy the state that spawned Jersey Shore.

Because if I have to sit through another season of Ronnie and Sam fighting, I too am going to lose it and pummel New Jersey with hurricane force.

Better stock up on s’mores ingredients now. Hurricane season is upon us.

Gaddafi: crazy like a fox, but funnier than Somali pirates

So as I was looking for a topic to write today’s blog on, I noticed that the biggest news stories of the day were the murder of four American’s by Somali pirates, the New Zealand earthquake, and the Libyan protests of Moammar Gaddafi.

I immediately dismissed the pirate story, as it’s hard to make murder funny. Well, okay, that’s not ENTIRELY true. It’s hard to make murder funny when it’s innocent people. Even when they’re killed by pirates. I mean, South Park made the pirates funny. But they can be as inappropriate as they want because they don’t have a teaching job to worry about keeping. I also dismissed the Libya situation for the same reason. Which left me with the New Zealand earthquake. Unfortunately, the New Zealand thing wasn’t that funny either. I mean, there’s only so many Middle Earth jokes you can make. Besides, hobbits are pretty steady in an earthquake because of those big hairy feet. Orcs? They go down like a Kardashian on a pro athlete. But hobbits are fine.

And I’m not too worried about New Zealand. Apparently Australia and New Zealand are the only two nations that would survive a nuclear holocaust. It’s true. Wikipedia said it. Therefore, it’s unequivocally true. If Wikipedia says evolution didn’t happen, then it didn’t. But since Wikipedia said the people of New Zealand are going to be the ones repopulating the earth eventually, I feel like they’ll be fine.  Even if the Shire does need some rebuilding.

(I'm kidding.  The people of New Zealand are in my thoughts through this whole catastrophe.)

Which brought me back to Libya. Initially, I figured Libya wasn’t funny because it lacked the elements that made the Egypt story funny. I mean, you can’t make ten plagues jokes about Libya. Or mummy jokes.

In fact, I knew pretty much nothing about Libya.

To the point where I got very confused when I read that it was in the Middle East because I thought it was in Africa and had to look it up on a map.

Then I felt REALLY dumb, because Libya IS in Africa, but apparently northern Africa counts as the Middle East. Which seems a little off to me. I mean, if Libya is the Middle East, shouldn’t Greece and Italy be the Middle East too? They’re right across the Mediterranean from Libya. They’re closer to each other than Alaska and Russia, and Sarah Palin can see Russia from her house.

Then I read a few news stories on what’s going on in Libya and realized that I was dead wrong. (Look mom, I’m admitting that I was wrong about something!) Moammar Gaddafi is actually hilarious.

Well okay, I guess not TECHNICALLY hilarious. I mean, he’s nuts. Like certifiably crazy. And his militant supporters are killing the protesters left and right. And he’s threatening to basically blow himself and his entire country up before he’ll step down. But he’s much more funny in a psycho, not-remotely trying to be funny kind of way than Hosni Mubarak could ever be.

I mean, Mubarak may have had dictatorial tendencies, but Gaddafi is the real deal. Unlike Sarah Palin, however, who’s crazy and stupid, Gaddafi is crazy and smart.  Like a fox.

What am I basing that on?

Easy. His argument for why he can’t step down as leader of Libya.

Are you ready for this?

He can’t step down because he has no official title.

Utter genius.

Think about it. He’s been in charge of Libya since the late 1960s when he overthrew the monarchy. But he’s not the dictator. He’s not the emperor. He’s not the king. He’s not the president. He’s not the owner. He’s not even the Dude.

And if you aren’t OFFICIALLY any of those things, he’s right. You can’t actually retire from a job you don’t have.

Well played sir, well played.

So I did a little research on Gaddafi to find out more about this “Mad dog of the Middle East.” Apparently Ronald Reagan gave him that nickname. Which I don’t think strikes quite the amount of fear into people’s hearts as Reagan intended. I mean, I’d get it if the British called him a mad dog. They’re psycho about keeping rabies out of the country there because they don’t have it. Sort of like Australia with frogs. Like I wish the US had been with those creepy Frankenfish, stink bugs, and Sarah Palin. But here, rabies is totally preventable with a shot. And curable in people. Not all that scary.

Gaddafi took over Libya at 27 years old and saw himself as being the next Che Guevara. Which seems to mean that he dressed eccentrically and wore sunglasses all the time. But I don’t know how successful this plan was, because I’m pretty sure they’re not selling t-shirts at Urban Outfitters with his picture on them.

And in order to describe the kind of government that he started in Libya, he made up a word, “Jamahiriya,” which is supposed to mean something along the lines of a direct democracy. Which I think he misspelled and meant to describe as a direct demoCRAZY. Because in an actual direct demoCRACY, if the people don’t want him in charge, he’s no longer in charge. But I’m not going to argue semantics here. It’s hard enough to figure out how to pronounce “Jamahiriya.” In my head, it sounds like when Newman said “jambalaya” in the Soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld.


So let’s recap here. Gaddafi rose to fame in his mid-late twenties as a self-described cultural icon. He dressed bizarrely and wore sunglasses whenever possible. He has a nickname that makes no sense in relation to anything about him. And he makes up words to describe situations that he finds himself in. And he’s completely and utterly insane.

Sound like anyone we know and love today?

Yes, my friends. If they did a tv show called “Libya Shore,” it’d be starring Moammar “Mad Dog” Gaddafi and following his adventures as he sets a horrible trainwreck of an example for his country and the whole world.

He even fist pumps.

And the double fist pump.

Although, if he starts talking about grenades, I’d duck and cover, not just hide from the ugly chicks.

But who knows? Maybe he’ll eventually take a page out of Mubarak’s book and leave peacefully.

I mean, Angelina did it. And I have a hard time believing that Gaddafi is crazier than she is. Smarter? Yes. Crazier? No.

But I would like to wish the people of Libya good luck. And the people of New Jersey as well. It’s going to take both groups a long time to win this war. And like the people of New Zealand, our thoughts and prayers are with you.

When the universe is against you, only New Jersey can fix the situation

Every once in awhile, I have a day when I realize that the universe just hates me.

Like it’s not even one thing that goes wrong. It’s everything. And in some cosmic alignment that baffles me every time even though I now expect it, the universe always launches the epic life-ruining attacks on me in the week between Valentine’s Day and Presidents Day.

I suggested yesterday that next year, I should spend this week in Disney World, because nothing could go wrong in Disney World. But that plan was met with pleas for me to stay home because apparently my friends don’t want Disney World to burn down.

Love you guys too.

But this year, I have a secret weapon. The one and only thing that can thwart the evil plans that the universe concocts to remind me that my life sucks.

No, not Bruce Springsteen. He’s not touring this year. Because the universe hates me.

I’m talking about my second favorite thing to come out of the Garden State.

Yes. Once again, last night was T-shirt time.

And no one, not the universe, not Angelina, not Sammi, and not a grenade can ruin T-shirt time.

Because if nothing else, Jersey Shore reminds me that even though the universe hates me and my life sucks, it could ALWAYS be worse.

Actually though, I saw on Twitter that Angelina got engaged the other day.

I mean, honestly, I can’t imagine a worse excuse for a human being out there. And someone wants to marry HER? Oh God, it’s official. My life IS worse than Jersey Shore.


FML.

But it still makes me feel better for an hour a week no matter what else is going on.

Of course, last night’s episode made me want to tear someone's extensions out when the previews for next week show Sammi back on the scene, because I was so happy when she left the show last week that I threw myself a one-person dance party and went to bed with a satisfied smile on my face, which doesn’t happen to this insomniac all that often.

But (cue ominous music) she’s baaaaaack. I’m starting to think that the only way to separate her and Ronnie is going to involve surgery and/or a chainsaw wielding axe-murderer. (Yes, I know that sounds odd. But honestly, I don’t think a regular axe murderer or chainsaw murderer would be enough to keep them apart. They’re like the world’s worst magnets.) 

The universe noticed how happy I was at Sammi leaving and retaliated by making it super obvious on Twitter that Sammi and Ronnie are still together now. Which put a damper on my dance party buzz the next morning when I realized that this separation was going to last less time than it took Deena to get naked in front of Mike. Which was approximately 0.6 nanoseconds. But I mean, crying in the bathroom at work Ronnie?  REALLY?  Come on man.  You're killing me here!


But then Jersey Shore won won out in the end with the prank war.  Vinny talking about how smart he is, then failing with a water balloon absolutely made me feel better about life.  Thanks Vinny.  I needed that laugh last night!

However, the universe is trying to destroy my one weapon against it. There are horrible, horrible, ungodly, and emotionally shattering rumors flying around the internet that the Situation is going to LEAVE JERSEY SHORE after the fourth season to pursue a career as a film actor.

I know. I laughed too.

And I assumed it was an early April Fools joke. I mean, the freaky DC area weather DOES feel like spring right now. Maybe it actually IS April.

But no. He’s serious.

God help us all.

Mike, I love you. I do. Not as much as I love Pauly D (who I now have a talking bobblehead doll of—thank you Ary, I love it!!!!), but love is love. And honey, stick to what you’re good at: being an Ed Hardy-wearing, Sunday dinner-making, grenade-fighting, trouble-stirring-up, GTLing, prank war-spoiling jerk. It made you famous. You’re a household name. And the quickest way for a reality star to go from Pauly D to Flava Flav or (shudder) Jon Gosselin is by taking himself and his—um—talent—too seriously. (No, I couldn’t even type the word talent in the same sentence as those names with a straight face. Sorry Mike.)

But with that said, the folks at MTV pulled out a good plan to keep season four from covering the same ground as the first three seasons. No, they didn’t take my advice to crash their plane in the Andes or add Samuel L. Jackson as a cast member (it’s not too late, MTV! I’m telling you, he’d be ratings gold!), but this plan to shoot season four in Italy has potential.

Of course, in ancient times, the Romans would never have tolerated the Jersey Shore-style shenanigans. If you were causing a disturbance back then, the Seaside Heights police didn’t arrest you and send you home a few hours later. Oh no. If you caused trouble in ancient Rome, if they didn’t like you, they either nailed you to a cross (no, contrary to popular belief and Mel Gibson, the Jews didn’t do that) or feed you to the lions and tigers in the Colosseum.

Not that that plan would have worked. I’m pretty sure silicone and excessive amounts of hair gel are toxic to lions. And tigers would assume that, based on her healthy orange glow, Snooki was one of them. They’d totally adopt her and raise her as one of their own cubs.

Then again, she does wear a lot of leopard-print. Her oompa-loompa-eque skin color might not be enough to save her after all.

Yet even without the lions and tigers (and bears, oh my!), Italy is going to be an interesting change of pace for my favorite guidos and guidettes. Even if it IS the last season before everyone leaves to fail at acting careers.

But if the show DOES fall apart before next February, Bruce, I’m going to need you to tour. Otherwise the universe wins. And it doesn’t fight fair (just like a roid-rage filled Ronnie). One way or another, I’m counting on you New Jersey to fight the February curse. Because without you, all I can do is sound my grenade whistle and hide in bed with my Pauly D bobblehead, hoping that everything will be okay and that someday, somehow, it’ll be T-shirt time again.

What time is it? It's T-SHIRT TIME!

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!

What? You don’t think the time between New Year’s and Martin Luther King Jr. Day is the best time of the year?

Then clearly you don’t know that it’s…

T-SHIRT TIME!


Oh yeah! Jersey Shore, yeah! (To be said in a Pauly D voice of course.)

Okay, I know what you’re thinking (because I’m psychic, remember?). You’re thinking that Mark Twain is rolling over in his grave even more than he was over the news of the last few days at the idea that my last blog was about Huckleberry Finn and this one is about the trashiest people/place on earth.

But I would make the argument that just as the “n” word is necessary to show the extreme racism and intolerance of the antebellum south, Jersey Shore is necessary to show future generations the idiocy of our current society. Because really, how else will people be able to justify things like Twilight, Snuggies, Scientology, the war in Iraq, Mel Gibson, the Shake Weight, and Pajama Jeans in 150 years if they can’t see the cast of Jersey Shore?

That’s right. I’m saying Jersey Shore is our generation’s Huck Finn.

No, not really. I’m just trying to justify how much I love it. Because I do love it. A lot.

With that said, I think this season is going to be worse than Ronnie and Sammi’s relationship. Which puts it on the Dyson level of sucking, because like Ronnie and Sammi, a Dyson NEVER loses its suction power. (Yes, I watched the Jersey Shore marathon when I was sick over winter break. Yes, it lowered my IQ, hence the vacuum cleaner joke. Sorry. I’ll go read some Shakespeare this weekend to restore some of my mental abilities.)

Not that I think it’ll be the last season. Oh no. MTV is going to milk this goose that lays the golden eggs for as long as they can. Wait. That’s not right. Milk this money tree? Stupid Jersey Shore! Me were not dumb before yous.

I am excited to see what this season brings, but I think they already covered everything that they could in the first two seasons. Every possible heterosexual hookup combination in the house has happened. All of the girls have gotten into hair-pulling fights with each other (resulting in hair extensions and broken acrylic nails everywhere. Oh the humanity. Although Ronnie’s description of Snooki as fighting like a T-Rex with the tiny little arms qualifies as one of the funniest moments in all of television history).


All of the guys have gotten into screaming matches with each of the girls and then been punched/slapped by each of the girls. Angelina has left the show early. Twice. We’ve seen J-Woww’s boobs (sorry honey, I love you, but pasties don’t count as a shirt. Even at the strip club), we’ve seen Snooki’s crotch, we know about Pauly’s special piercing, and we’ve heard Snooki’s description of Vinny’s—um—appendage, and if the Situation ever robbed a liquor store and people were looking for him, everyone in America could describe his abs well enough to a sketch artist that he'd be caught within about 30 seconds.

I mean, honestly, unless they get into same-sex hookups, start shooting up heroin on camera, or go on a massive killing spree, I can’t imagine this season providing us with anything new.

But don’t worry MTV, I have ideas that can make sure this trainwreck keeps jumping the rails.

For example, season four shouldn’t be in Seaside Heights or Miami. Been there, done that. I want to drop the cast off in the Andes in winter and see who survives. Okay, it’s a little predictable, because clearly they’ll kill and eat Snooki first. Unless Angelina was there. They’d kill her first--not for food, because I'm pretty sure she'd be poisonous, but because she's awful. And I’m pretty sure that Pauly D is indestructible because his hair serves as a permanent helmet, and J-Woww is more plastic than human, so I’m not sure she CAN die. But I think people would tune in to watch that.

Or make them be homeless for a season. I’m not going to lie, I’d absolutely tune in every week to see how they’d get by living in a cardboard box under a bridge. And Snooki wouldn’t have to complain about the tax on tanning if she lived outdoors. Have you ever taken a good look at homeless people? They’re the only ones with a darker tan than the Jersey Shore cast.

Wait, scratch that one. Homeless people have it hard enough without dropping that kind of drama bomb on them.

They’ve got the right idea with adding a new cast member, but I don’t think Deena is going to work out. Because after just one episode, I already think deserves the death penalty. Literally. I didn’t think it was possible to get worse than Angelina. Thank you, MTV, for providing me with proof that humanity is doomed.  Although I'd still take her over Sammi any day... what is WRONG with that girl?

I want to see Samuel L. Jackson living in the house with them next season. Think about how mad he got about those m#$*%#$@#&ing snakes on that m#$*%#$@#&ing plane. I would pay good money to see how he handles the current cast members when they get drunk and start fighting.

Of course, at most, there are only going to be another two or three seasons. Not because MTV will ever cancel the show, but because all of the cast members currently have book deals and I still don’t. Which is indisputable evidence that the Mayan prophecy WAS, in fact, correct, and the world will be ending in December 2012.

Repent now, my friends. The end is near.

But until then, the cabs are here and it’s T-SHIRT TIME!