An Ode to Jersey Shore

In honor of the third season of Jersey Shore I feel that it is my obligation to share with you a poem I wrote last summer in commemoration of the second season of Jersey Shore.  Like all good Christmas tales, this one bears repeating every year.  So without delay I present “Twas the Night Before Jersey Shore.”

‘Twas the night before Jersey Shore and all through the house,

Not a guido was stirring, not even a mouse;

The laundry was done in the dryer with care,

In hope that by morning the grenades would not be there.

 

The guidos were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of fist pumps danced in their heads;

And the girls in their bikinis and the boys in their caps,

Had just settled down for a booze fueled nap.

 

When out on the pool deck there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the duck phone to see what was the matter;

To the sliding glass door I flew like a flash,

Stumbled ’round drunkenly and threw up on the sash.

 

The moon shown brightly on all pimp and ho,

Gave the lustre of mid-day to the skanks below;

When, what to my blood shot eyes should appear,

A tanned juiced guido or eight where here.

 

With the crew all together, so lively so fast,

I knew in my heart of hearts it was the Jersey Shore cast;

More rapid than eagles they basked in their fame,

They hooted and shouted, and introduced themselves by name.

 

“Now J-Woww, now Vinny, now Angelina and Sammy Sweet!

On, Pauly D! on, Snooki!, on, Ronnie and Situation you meet!

To the top of the boardwall! to the top of the seawall!

Now dance away! dance away! dance away all!”

 

As the boardwalk trash that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, look up to the sky;

So up to the roof deck the cast members flew,

with hands full of booze, and Italian sausages too.

 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

That magical girl with the three foot tall poof;

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the stripper pole Snooki came with a bound.

 

She was dressed all in leopard print, from her head to her toe,

And her clothes were all bedazzled so that they would glow;

A bundle of booty shorts she had flung on her back,

And she looked like a hooker just opening her pack.

 

Her eyes — how they twinkled! Her dimples how merry!

Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry!

Her tanned little face lit up like a candle,

Feet perched high on heels she surely could handle.

 

The stump of a pickle she held tight in her teeth,

Its briny smell encircled her head like a wreath;

She had a dark flowing hair and a little round belly,

That shook when she laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

 

She was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

and I laughed when I saw her, in spite of myself;

A wink of her eye on her cute little head,

Put me at ease with nothing to dread.

 

She laughed and nodded, beginning to work,

Outfitting us all then turning with a jerk;

A job well done by our eight magical pimps and hos,

Back out on to the roof deck the guidos and guidettes arose.

 

“Into the hot tub!” she said with a whistle,

The cool night air made their hair bristle,

But I heard her exclaim as they flew out of sight,

“Happy Jersey Shore to all, and to all a good-night!”

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