I would like to begin today’s post by apologizing for the absence of posts this past week.  I blame the liberal media establishment.

Even though I took a short leave of absence, the world rudely kept generating news anyway:  Justice Stevens announced his retirement,  the latest papal scandal was blown wide open, and Kyrgyzstan finally succeeded in its quest to make it onto American national television (“Pat, I’d like to buy a vowel”).  However, while all of these events seem momentous today, none of them can hold a candle to one truly astounding development with real, long-term implications; luckily I stumbled across it while reading a completely respectable news source.  Dear readers, I recently learned that the cast of Jersey Shore has been blacklisted from numerous clubs in Miami while attempting to film for their next season.  Oh my gawd.

For the untanned, unjacked among you who have never lived your life by the code of GTL (Gym, Tan, Laundry), Jersey Shore is MTV’s smash hit reality show following the exploits of eight self-proclaimed “guidos” and “guidettes” as they live it up at the Jersey Shore.  From ingenious dialogue (“I am all natural. I have real boobs. I have a nice fat ass. Look at this sh*t, I mean, come on, I’m hot”) to illuminating social insight (“they don’t understand that ‘guidos’ and ‘guidettes’ are good-looking people that, you know, like to make a scene and be the center of attention and just take care of themselves”), Jersey Shore has captivated the hearts and minds of the 4% of the American population that they have managed not to offend.

Let us then turn to the issue at hand.  How could any proprietor refuse service to a  [questionably] sentient mass of booze and testosterone that goes around punching people?  Honestly, what type of example are they setting for their children if they discriminate against the tanned, the gelled, and the moronic?  This is America—people have the right to bare arms so that they can fist pump to their hearts’ content.  The club owners are violating these young people’s rights to be demeaning to women, Italian-Americans, and the congenitally pale alike.

Incorporating requests from Astute Readers for more poetry and my deep-set conviction in life, liberty, and the pursuit of slap-happiness, I have composed a verse to help mend the rift between the Miami clubs and our orange comrades:

Dear Miami Club Owners,

There once was a class act named Snooki

Whose ‘do rivaled that of a wookie.

To make some quick dough, later go watch the show

Then “guess” when she’ll pass out. Call your bookie!



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