The Spirit of a Jewish Mother

                Eli's mother hovered forebodingly beside his bed, hands on her hips, her head shaking slowly back and forth. She always had a way of making Eli sense her disappointment from body language alone. He spent half his childhood feeling like a scolded puppy. 
                This time, she had caught him in a rather compromising position.

                "For God's sake, again?"

                 He quickly covered up and chucked the latest edition of Maxim magazine across the room.

                "MOM! Oh my God!" He hoped an exclamation of utter shock would distract her from present circumstances. It didn't.

                "Don't mom me young man. So this is what you're doing with your life now? You just lie there all day and do...this?"

                "God mom, not all day. Just because you're a ghost doesn't mean you don't have to knock."

                That was stupid. He couldn't control himself.

                "Excuse me? Oh yeah, sure! Lock your dead mother's ghost out of your room! Real nice. This is my soul, you know."

                 Eli's mother was dead, and still she knew how to make him feel guilty.  She even looked the same while doing it apart from the pale, partially transparent skin. She wore the same old dilapidated nightgown he saw her adorn every single night of his childhood. He somehow found a brief moment to contemplate ghost clothing. How can an outfit pass into the afterlife? And is that outfit what the spirit is stuck in for the rest of eternity?
                The exchange continued.
                "It's not that I'm trying to lock you out. It's just...embarrassing."

                "Embarrassing for you? What about me? Having a son who treats his body like it's an amusement park! Do you want to give me a heart attack?"

                "...A heart attack mom?"

                She turned her ghost body and started looking around Eli's bedroom - "What else can I yell at him about while I'm at it?"        

                "And what is going on in here? Did you forget how to clean?"

                There it is.

                "I was going to clean up tomorr..."

                "How can you live like this? It's disgusting."

                "Sorry."

                "Sorry. You're sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry that I raised such a slob.

                "Ok m..."

                "Why can't you find a girl so you don't have to lie here and waste your life away? Is it so hard? You are a handsome, smart boy. I'd even be ok with you dating a Goy if she distracted you from this nonsense.

                "OK mo..."

                "If you're going to continually abuse yourself, you could at least do it to some nice Jewish girls. Not this Maxim garbage. You could at least get the right image into your head!"

                "MOM!"

                She hovered quietly for a moment, hands still on hips, head still shaking. It couldn't be over yet.

                "And just how long has it been since you've visited my grave?"

                There it is.

                "Mom, how many times do we have to go over this? You're a ghost. You can visit me whenever you want."

                "Oh yeah, sure, but I better 'knock' first, or I might find my son treating his body like it's the state fair!"

                "Can we please, please stop talking about this now?"

                At that, the ghost of Eli's Jewish mother gave one last sigh, floated up into the ceiling, and disappeared. On the way, she used her lifeless, gray index finger to take a quick swipe of his bookshelf.

                "Would it kill you to dust every once in awhile?" 

For the Betterment of Mankind, Part II - The solution

It may be useful to incorporate something into the everyday lives of humans to remind them of their duty as a species to remain incorporated in evolutionary improvement. This would be an evolutionary "challenge," something that would act discriminately to punish those who chose to embrace idiotic behaviors, reestablishing once again Natural Selection as the ultimate ruler of survival in human populations.

There are many species of predator that could act as such a challenge, wild animals that could easily catch, kill, and consume an incautious human. A lion, for instance, could deal almost certain fatality to a human, if the animal so desired him as a meal or perceived him as a threat. In fact, a human is no match for a lion's stealth, speed, and power. A large serpent such as an Anaconda could also easily swallow and digest even a large human if presented one. However,  its inherent sluggishness and lethargy render it unlikely to manage such a feat, assuming the target is mobile and comprising the five senses. A creature somewhere in between the prowess of a lion and the sluggishness of an Anaconda may well be a good match for a human.

A bear, perhaps, stands as the most appropriate middle ground. Bears can be fierce but often cumbersome, lethal but not exceedingly stealthy, and a human may have a fair chance against a bear, if they are paying heed to their surroundings. Certainly, an unwary human in a famished bear's habitat stands little chance. However, humans have the advantage of intellect, and in a situation where the human is in familiar territory and is aware of the possibility of an attack, he has a fair chance of evading an encounter.

Therefore, and for the betterment of mankind, I propose we introduce bears into society. This will serve a grand purpose, to reintroduce a primal element of Natural Selection into human populations. For without Natural Selection, the idiots continue to reproduce, and our species cannot improve.

This, of course, must be carried out systematically:

Because the United States is the most modern, industrialized nation in the world, its city centers would be the first to incorporate bears. If the goals of this project were being met, or at least if its successes outweighed its failures, bear incorporation could begin elsewhere in the developed world.

It would become legal in all city centers and areas of the US in which bears per capita equaled less than the national average for enough animals to be released to reach that limit. Release of bears would be strictly limited to licensed, federal wildlife officials who were specifically appointed in the management of this project. Specific, mapped points of introduction would be carefully coordinated taking into consideration predicted roaming patterns and habitat usage of each introduced animal, as well as human population densities. This would ensure even dispersion of bears among groups of humans.

Animals to be released would be born of wild bear mothers in captivity, and reared under such provisions until they were able to survive on their own. Thus, the bears would be juveniles at release, old enough to be self-sustaining but young enough to be non-threatening on introduction. This would allow humans in the area to learn the bear's habits before the animal became lethal. Humans who chose to be observant at the beginning would have less chance of an encounter. Only female animals would be released, as to avoid breeding and territorial disputes between individuals.

By growing up in city centers, the bears would learn to live in human areas and to tolerate human presence, which would habituate the animals to human activities and illuminate humans as prey items. Furthermore, naturally occurring bear populations would help keep introduced bears within their desired ranges.

Attacking or killing a bear in situations other than self defense would be punishable by law. All instances of fatality of both human and bear would be thoroughly reviewed by a panel of legal administrators, specially trained forensic examiners, as well as local law enforcement in order to determine circumstances and legality of death.

As to ensure all humans' participation in this project at all times, there would be a strict "no-limits" clause in regard to where the animals could roam. If a bear wandered into a Wal-Mart, college fraternity, or the Jersey Shore beach house, no measures would take place to remove it until it was killed during an altercation or it decided to exit.

Crucial to this project would be to minimize casualties that were not a product of the overall goal. After all, the objectives would not be a drastic reduction in human population size nor to endure copious innocent lives lost. By releasing only enough animals to reach natural, average bear densities per capita, humans would still grossly outnumber bears, and each human's chance of an encounter would remain relatively small. However, the possibility is what would change behavior. One could not completely engross themselves in their fast food burger, bury their head in their mobile device in disregard to the rest of the world, or act otherwise idiotically, because they might get attacked and devoured by a bear. Those that persisted in such a lifestyle would become the individuals most likely to be selected out of the population.

This survival-of-the-fittest schema would drastically increase the overall quality of mankind by producing a human species that was more adept, involved, and aware of their environment. The knowledge that, at every point in the country, somewhere within several miles, there is almost certainly a man-eating bear, would force humans to adapt, to improve. It would force humans to evolve.

For the Betterment of Mankind, Part I - The problem

The defining feature of humans as a species is extreme intelligence. The presence of so many idiots among us, then, is the epitome of irony.

It's true, the idiot is on the rise and can be found in most corners of modern society. Evidence is abundant in your local Wal-Mart, college fraternity, and the Jersey Shore beach house. It has arisen in airports, newsrooms, and city halls, and it is unmistakable on television and the internet. The idiot may be ferociously text messaging on the interstate, boorishly fist fighting at a sporting event, or verbally abusing a Starbucks barista for incorrectly preparing their grande single shot 4 pump sugar free nonfat extra hot no foam light whip stirred white mocha.

Interestingly, humans have exclusive rights to idiocy. After all, there are no idiots elsewhere in the animal kingdom. There are no stupid chimpanzees, no moronic salamanders, and no imbecilic salmon. Indeed, all of these species are less intelligent than humans, but as a collective, and only due to a less evolved brain. In the animal kingdom, the only appropriate equivalent to an idiot is the individual that is promptly selected out of the population. It is the individual that does not survive, the one that is killed by a predator or by one of its own or by other variables in its environment, because it is less fit than others of its kind. And is that not the way it should be? Is that not the beauty of evolution? It is the brilliant simplicity with which the "idiotic" individuals die that so gracefully embodies Charles Darwin's central theory on the evolution of life - survival of the fittest by Natural Selection. In the face of challenges within an environment, variability between members of a population heeds differential survival. It's simple, and Darwin made it clear 150 years ago - the idiots are supposed to die.

Alas, the idiot human does not suffer the same fate as the "idiot" chimpanzee, salamander, or salmon. In fact, the idiot human often outlives the non-idiot human, both in terms of longevity and lifestyle. I return to the the Jersey Shore television show, where exemplar idiots live a lifestyle often dreamed of by the non-idiot. These individuals are rewarded for their unhealthy behaviors, in this case with riches and fame. The more they engage in physical confrontation with others, expose their bodies to copious amounts of alcohol and other harmful substances, and have unprotected promiscuous intercourse yielding more people like themselves, the more success they find in life. This may not seem like a problem, but it is a slap in the face of Darwin. Indeed, any other species cannot take part in comparable behaviors, because each one has its own specific, and prompt, consequence on the overall fitness - and therefore survivability - of the individual. Take a chimpanzee. Say this chimpanzee foolishly challenges a much stronger, more experienced chimpanzee to a fight for dominance of a troop. Defeat for this chimpanzee most likely means death of its injuries - Darwin's survival of the fittest at its height. Conversely, a cast member of the Jersey Shore who demonstrates similar foolishness and who suffers the same end result gets a high-five and a ratings boost. Certainly, the entire, overly tanned Jersey Shore cast may die of cancer caused by harmful UV emissions, or of liver disease resulting from alcohol abuse, but these are only eventualities. Such will not occur before they have had the chance to live auspiciously, reproduce plentifully, and pollute the minds of millions of viewers with incessant bouts of idiocy.

The question must be raised, then, why does a member of the Jersey Shore not have to abide by the same rules as a chimpanzee? Are they not both primates? Are they not both products of thousands of generations of continuing evolutionary advancement? Why are human idiots not enduring their due fates? The answer is a paradox: it is a consequence of intelligence that allows idiots to survive in human populations.

Continuing in the vein of idiots on television, reality TV programs like the Jersey Shore are prime examples of this phenomenon. Despite its noticeable lack of surface value, reality TV is a direct product of human ingenuity. The recognition of our society's attraction to such humans as are found on the Jersey Shore television show has yielded a multi-billion dollar industry cashing in on the promotion of idiots. In this way, we are enabling their idiotic behavior. Such cultural exploitation is strictly human and must be attributed to sheer mental capacity.

Society's attraction to observing idiots on television and elsewhere is widely evident and may serve as an indirect source of their success. However, human intelligence has contributed to this apparent hitch in Darwin's evolutionary scheme in a much more remarkable way. Essentially, humans have manipulated their environment to an extent to which it is no longer evolutionarily challenging. That is, after all, a crucial aspect of Natural Selection. In every other species, environmental challenges, be they predation, competition between or within species, or resource acquisition, are what act on variability between individuals and eliminate those that are not fit to survive. Without such variables, survival becomes easy for all, including those that are less fit. The average, modern human is our prime example. His challenges have nothing to do with his inherent, natural environment. Rather, his problems, the things that really threaten his survival, surround elements of life that he himself has created - automobile accidents, crime, drug and alcohol abuse, war. These are all  elements of a strictly human society, because only humans have the advanced intellect necessary to create them. Even disease, seemingly the only true "evolutionary" threat left to mankind, is largely driven by the actions of humans. Even when it is not, it does not act on behavioral discrepancies, and it does not serve to punish an individual's idiotic behaviors.

In summary, because there is no longer a viable evolutionary threat to exploit human idiocy, the species cannot improve. In part II of this commentary, I will suggest that, perhaps, it would be useful to reintroduce that element of threat into human populations.

Rap line analysis

I often find myself in debate with a friend over whether or not rap music is indeed music. The arguments are always the same: I maintain that music requires harmony, melody, and musical instruments. My opponent usually declares the existence of some sort of raw musicality, wherein the sounds of someone banging two rocks together could be considered musical. I respond with an explanation of the difference between noise and music, followed by sarcastic applause for their entirely accurate comparison of rock banging and rap music. The argument usually terminates at that juncture in a mutual exchange of "to each their own," and maybe that's how it should be.

However, sometimes the dispute drags on and morphs into a ping pong match of verbal insults aimed at each others' music tastes. It is at this point that I am forced to bring out my completely air tight, irrefutable winning argument. It is as follows: rappers, without question, come up with some of the worst lyrics in the history of lyricism.

In an endeavor to prove this point, I will now fire up Google and illustrate some examples. Then, for fun, and in an effort to provide even the slightest benefit of the doubt to past and future debate opponents, I will attempt to explain, even rationalize, a selection of some of most heinous usages of the English language I can find. But mostly, I am just going to make fun of them.

Be warned, some of the following will definitely be offensive. Just remember, these lyrics have earned their writers millions of dollars - there must be something good about them, and I'll try to find it.

Dr. Dre - "Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang"

"Never let me slip, cause if I slip, then I'm slippin."

What I really want to do is start with the title of this song. For length reasons, I will refrain except to point out that a "G thang" is not a real thang. I mean, thing.

Apparently, this self-appointed 'doctor' (I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to call yourself a doctor without the proper credentials. Besides, now anyone with the last name Dre can never become a doctor without infringing on trademark laws) does not quite understand the concept of cause and effect. It goes without saying, doctor, that if you slip, you are indeed slipping. There is no need to spell this out for us. Never unnecessarily repeat yourself, because if you unnecessarily repeat yourself, then you are unnecessarily repeating yourself.

If I'm forced to try to rationalize this, I suppose our doctor could be pleading to not let him physically slip, let's say on some ice, because he doesn't want to hit his head, because that often leads to a more metaphorical slip, like a mistake or blunder caused by head damage from the initial slip. Who am I kidding? This sentence is simply nonsensical. Not a good start.

LFO - "Summer Girls"

"When you take a sip you buzz like a hornet, Billy Shakespeare wrote a whole bunch of sonnets."

Ok, I'm all with it for the first part. A "sip" of alcohol makes you "buzz like a hornet," because you are buzzed from the alcohol, and hornets go 'buzzzzzz.' I decoded that part pretty easily. Where the confusion sets in is in the second part, where, out of nowhere, the rapper finds it necessary to display his knowledge of the profession of William Shakespeare. Is this a rap about drinking or Shakespeare? Stinging insects or poetry forms? I certainly don't see the association. And where does this guy get off calling Shakespeare "Billy?" There is no way to be sure that was even his nickname. And if it was, this rapper certainly does not know him personally. Where are your manners, LFO?

Again, I'm hard pressed to find any semblance of sense in this (I'm getting the feeling such will be a regular issue throughout this process). Perhaps the rapper was in fact drunk when he wrote this, and while describing his current situation in the first part, his inebriated mind took over for the second part. This is the only thing I can think of, and the average running speed of an adult African ostrich is 43 miles per hour.

Kanye West - "Two Words"

"I live by two words: f*ck you, pay me."

I could write a whole essay on the irony of an eighteen-time Grammy Award winning millionaire film and fashion mogul who doesn't know how to count. But I'll leave that for now, and instead point out the unlikeliness of "f*ck you, pay me" resulting in any monetary success. The only profession I can think of where saying "f*ck you, pay me" would actually get you any money is prostitution. In fact, any John would likely respond to that statement with, "Ok." Regardless, I doubt Kanye West has made his fortune working as a prostitute. Kanye, I'm really happy for you, Imma let you finish, but you live by one of the worst mottos of all time.

I'm not going to try and rationalize any of this. This guy's a moron.

Snoop Dogg (before he became a lion) - "California Girls" (a Katy Perry song, which makes everything that much more relevant)

"Bikinis, zucchinis, martinis. No weenies."

Mr. Dogg, if you're going to randomly throw a member of the summer squash family into the mix with hot chicks and booze, why not at least add some ingredients that belong with it? Why not bikinis, zucchinis, martinis, and tortellinis? Still rhymes, and tastes delicious. How about bikinis, zucchinis, martinis, and Charlie Sheenies? I mean, he is just the kind of guy who would be creeping around a bunch of girls in bikinis drinking martinis. But I guess that would violate Snoop's "no weenies" clause - unless he's talking about cocktail weenies. But who doesn't like cocktail weenies?  Alright Snoop, what's going on here? This is quite the loaded lyric.

My rationalization is that he was high as a rocket ship when he thought of this. He probably giggled for 20 minutes after writing the word 'weenies.'

Lil Wayne - "Barry Bonds"

"I don't go backwards, and I don't practice, and I don't lack sh*t, and you can get buried, and suck my back b*tch.

This guy really needs to work on his insults. Maybe I will "get buried" Lil Wayne, maybe I'll get all buried in my comforter at bedtime. And no, I won't suck your back, not because it is insulting, but because it is a very strange request. And also you weren't specific enough. Your back is very large, and there are many different parts like vertebrate and shoulder blades. Maybe instead of asking people to bury themselves in their linens and suck non-specific body parts you should go backwards and learn what a run-on sentence is, and then practice it, and then lack one less thing, and then people will be able to understand you, and you will continue to make millions, and less people will wonder why.

Here are a few more lines whose idiocies are very apparent and require no explanation whatsoever:

"Rock star, flier than an ostrich." - Juelz Santana

"We from two different cities, Minnesota and Philly." - Freeway

"First family will gradually lift that a** up like gravity." - Lil Fame

".38 revolve like the sun round the earth." - Jay-Z

"I like them black, white, Puerto Rican, or Haitian, like Japanese, Chinese, or even Asian." - Chingy

"Thirty-two grams raw, chop it in half, get sixteen, double it times three. We got forty-   eight, which mean a whole lot of cream. Divide the profit by four, subtract it by eight. We back to sixteen." - Foxy Brown

"I'm an animal, half man, half mammal." - Jay-Z

"You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe (x3). You a stupid hoe, (yeah) you a, you a stupid hoe. You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe (stupid, stupid). You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe (stupid, stupid). You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe (stupid, stupid) (stupid, stupid)." - Nicki Minaj

These people make millions.

A call for purple society

At seeing a poster of Queen and an especially (even more than usual) ostentatious-looking Freddie Mercury plastered on my bedroom wall, a friend asked me how I could possibly be a conservative. I responded with, "I guess I'm unique."

In afterthought, I decided I should have said, "your implied association of my supposed political affiliation with my choice of an artistic display seemingly reserved for those with loose and left-leaning moral values is indicative of a sweeping socio-political trend that has changed the cultural atmosphere of this nation and has shifted us into a seemingly inescapable political paradigm of polarization and strict adherence to prearranged dogmatic platforms."

Hindsight in this case is about 20/30.

Despite what I said, should have said, will certainly only ever say in afterthought, etc., I suppose it's easy to see where my friend was coming from. After all, he's a working part of a decreasingly purple society.

We used to be a lot more purple. In 1953 for instance, we elected republican Dwight D. Eisenhower as president. Republican Dwight (shall we call him Re.D?) proceeded to endorse some very un-republican like policies, such as the expansion of social security, the increase of minimum wage, and the creation of governmental departments of Health, Education and Welfare, all things which really gave those on the far right a case of the blues. Despite such actions, he was elected, and, even as a red president showing hints of blue, re-elected for a second term.

How purple things were back then.

In November of this year, we will need to choose a president with whom we can, as a collective nation of concerned citizens, paint an improved portrait of America for future generations. However, it's difficult for the modern American to even envision an equally purple option as Eisenhower, much less see one on the ballot. Rather, we must render from a presidential palette offering but two colors in stark contrast, the reddest of red and the bluest of blue, smeared on polar opposite sides of the easel. If we choose to paint with red, options for the slightest tint of blue later on will not be available - hopefully we won't have plans for any water in our future America. If we choose blue, our options will be equally limited - we can paint the ocean or paint the sky, but impossible becomes a sunset of reds. If president Eisenhower were a legitimate third option, an additional color would be added to the middle of the easel -- purple. By choosing purple we could paint a majestic humpback whale, then separate out our reds and our blues and provide our whale with a deep blue ocean that reflects the rays of a red sunset in a cloudless sky, providing endless light for the happy citizens below riding on very American-looking jet skis.

Now that sounds like the kind of painting our next generation will want to hang on their wall, right next to their Queens and Freddie Mercurys.

Of course, I am not suggesting purple is always the right choice, but rather that with purple in the literal and figurative picture, one can take some red and take some blue as they wish, without having to commit to a single color scheme. It is important to understand that this is not a manifesto for independent voters. I am not attempting to equate my notion of purple with any political affiliation. By purple I do not mean a literal 'middle ground' between left and right, nor am I advocating against voting for anyone who does not have a 'mixed blend' of political perspectives. I only hope to shed light on the thick (and getting ever thicker) boundaries that now stand between groups of  ideologies, and the difficulty in overcoming such boundaries in order to be considered a legitimate participant along a commonly accepted ideological spectrum.

It's a sad sort of farce that one could make themselves into the most promising republican candidate for president, yet it's all for naught if they happen to simply be pro-choice. Conversely, they could be a sharp and dedicated democratic candidate, and have no chance whatsoever of winning the white house simply because they support something like tax cuts to those in the highest income bracket. One must commit fully and solitarily to a side, to a single group of ideologies, and run on them with steadfast persistence if they are to have any chance.

This all may seem hyperbolic, but it only takes imagining such a scenario in modern politics to realize how true it really is. Go ahead, try it - I dare you to come up with a reason for Mitt Romney's delegation to concede the legality of abortions, and I double dog dare you to conjure a situation wherein Barack Obama's constituency would support tax cuts to the rich. Furthermore and finally, I triple dog dare you to think of someone you know who, upon seeing this on my wall, would not assume they stood in the bedroom of a "liberal."

Truth be told, I get weary at even hearing these words anymore - liberal, conservative, democrat, republican; the original meaning behind these classifications has been contorted and they now stand as fundamentally disparate social categories, categories defined by their purely insular philosophies and those that abide by them in totality.

Furthermore, and in the spirit of color wars and other exhaustive analogical machinery, I propose we refer to our two major political parties by the animals that represent them - elephants and donkeys. Unfortunately for all the "independents" out there, the only thing in between an elephant and a donkey is an ass of some sort, depending on which animal is in front of the other. And so it is far too convenient not to repeat: although I am promoting purple, I am not condoning being an ass. Whether you agree with my political leanings or not, that is a proposition everyone can get behind, figuratively speaking.

The bedroom comment that incited this commentary is seemingly petty, but it is simultaneously a prime example of anti-purple thinking. What was assumed about my political alignment was juxtaposed with something as trivial as a poster of a 70's rock band. Right then and there, I fell into a strange category far and away from red elephants, blue donkeys, or asses of any color, one separate from all the preconceived notions present on either side of any modern debate. That is what sparked my friend's question, and that, along with the shifting dynamic of modern politics towards stringent categorization and staunch polarity, bears meaning to the notion of purple - I suppose I owe my friend a thank you.

We should look back to the years of the Eisenhower presidency to re-appreciate the independency of thought, the tolerance of mixed ideologies, and the value of thinking purple.

An attempt at something

A month devoid of any substantial writing ideas whatsoever has resulted in a month of blog emptiness.

I don't presume that I have run out of topics. No, that shouldn't happen - the world is full of humor.

However, what I may have realized is that in addition to writing about nothing I occasionally long to write about something. As I start this post, that something still eludes me. Nonetheless I will continue to type words in neat succession until something (the generic and the particular) comes out, because blog emptiness is sad.

Growing up in grade school, we were all taught to formulate ideas before starting to write. Outlines, concept maps, and bubble diagrams were all promoted. Here, I compose in utter revolt of such stratagem. Not only have I not outlined, but I also do not have the slightest topic in mind. I feel rebellious, almost insubordinate.

To be clear, it's not as if anything I have posted previously has been the result of careful preparation, but it is especially ironic here as I attempt to relay the sort of 'substance' that is said to require structured planning.

But what if this so called 'substance' never actually makes its way onto the screen? What if I just continue to string together coherent sentences until I have a product that seems lengthy enough to be considered legitimate? Does that require preparation? Or is this drivel itself the direct result of a lack of planning, formulating, thinking?

Where's my 4th grade English teacher when I need her... 

  

Of course, the great irony of this increasingly inexplicable commentary is that it was meant to be about something, and has instead turned into more nothing-ness than anything else I have written. But I wonder, can the nothing-ness shine through as, something? I know, now I'm just being deliberately facetious.

I'm trying so hard to find something.

I guess I'd better go back to writing about socks and airplane peanuts.

If I were on "Jersey Shore"

I'll admit it right here for the first time: I have watched a full episode of MTV's "Jersey Shore."

It was a blustery spring night, the year 2011. I was at home, alone, near midnight. The glow of the television in pitch blackness was the only source of radiance save for flashes of lightning that ruthlessly pierced the darkness and illuminated the bed sheets shamefully veiling my self-conscious bones. All light slowly drained from my soul as an emblem of the wrought betrayal of a once resolute television fortitude. Outside my bedroom window the heavens wept in a continuous torrent that formed a wall separating me from all other existence.  Crashes of thunder resonated through the walls, seeming to penetrate into the deepest chasms of my morality.

On the screen, 8 pretentious morons trampled all over the unfortunate shores of New Jersey with the collective grace of a mentally handicapped orangutan. One of them insists that his abdominal muscles represent a "situation," and he does not hesitate to expose said "situation" in a bout of voyeurism to any passerby that has female reproductive organs. Another goes by "Snooki," a name which I still insist should have a "the" in front of it, because her physical appearance is akin to that of something called The Snooki Monster. Another character is named Ronnie, which is close enough to "Roidy," which I don't believe to be a coincidence (the steroids probably give him hemorrhoids, so it works on two different levels). Then there's "JWoww," I'm guessing because one can't even finish her full name without being "woww-ed" at her giant, artificial, bosoms. According to the opening credits, this character tends to "rip mens' heads off" after she sleeps with them. I still cannot understand why she would want to advertise this - quite the red flag. The other characters seemed normal enough at the start, besides Pauly D's ugly hairdo. I very quickly discovered, however, how wrong I was.

As I lie there, in the most utter disgust of my current choice of television programming, I imagined what it would be like to interact with these people. I imagined what it would be like if I was in the Jersey Shore house....

(This screen is getting wavy. A harp plays. These words are gone, and now, you see me, in a sleeveless t-shirt and swimming suit, sitting in a chair in the Jersey Shore house living room. The rest of the cast are randomly assorted around the house. "The situation" walks in)

Situation: "What's good bro?"
Me: "Uhh, lots of things. This house is pretty good, the beach is good, great, actually."
Situation: "Huh?"
Me: "What?"
Situation: "Bro, you really gotta hit up GTL with MVP, you're white and scrawny as hell bro." (shows me his abs).
Me: "What's GTL? And who is MVP?"
Situation: "Bra, GTL. Gym, tan, LAAAUNDRYYYYY! With me and my BOYS, Vinny and Pauly. MIKE. VINNY. PAULY. M...V...P!"
Me: "Could you not refer to me as a brassiere? Also why are you yelling?"
Situation: "What bro, you wanna go?"
Me: "Uh, no, just wondering why you're yelling."
Situation: "COME AT ME BRO!" (stands right in front of me, and at my lack of responsiveness, shows me his abs).

(Ronnie walks in)

Ronnie: Guys, break it up! STOP FIGHTING!
Me: "I'm not fighting, I'm sitting in this chair."
Ronnie: "STOP IT! LET me handle it, OK?? Situation, why you always gotta be stirring up drama bro?"

(Situation and Ronny start fist fighting, as I watch from the chair. Camera goes from the fight, to the chair. Fight, chair. Fight, me in the chair. Fight, chair)

(Pauly D and Vinny come in)

Pauly: "What's good bro?"
Me: "Uhh...the house? The beach?
Pauly: "What?"
Me: "Huh?"
Pauly: "You comin' out with us tonight bro? Me and my BOY Vinny are gonna pick up some hot CHICKS."
Vinny: "We're gonna get it innnn, bro!"
Me: "Get what in?"
Vinny: "Get it in, bro, smush.
Me: Get what in? Smush who? Huh?"
Pauly: "Bang chicks man, bang chicks."
Me: "Ohh, I see. Bang chicks. For a minute there I thought you meant Ronnie was gonna smush some girl because he's so big and muscly. He he he he."
Ronnie: "I heard that bro, YOU WANNA GO??"
Me: "Just joking man."
Ronnie: "That's ****ing right you're joking!"
Me: "Yeah...I am."
Ronnie: "That's RIGHT!"

(Snooki waddles in)

Snooki: "What is all this yelliiiiiinguhhhhhhhh? RAAAWHHHRURRRUHH!!"
Situation: "It's chill Snooki, the new bro is causing drama."
Me: "I'm just sitting in my chair."
Situation: "Stop talking sh** bro!" (shows me his abs).
Snooki: "WWWWHRRRRRRRRRUUUHHH!" 
Me: "I think I'm gonna go to the beach..."
Ronnie: "Why don't you wanna be part of the group bro? Why you gotta be separated man? We're a FAMILY here bro."
Me: "Because you guys are insane."

(At that, JWoww comes in, smacks me in the head with a bosom full of silicon, and I fall to the floor unconscious)

I figure that is pretty much how it might go. Personally I think it would make for quality TV, but I don't think the producers would be keen to add a scrawny white guy from Colorado to the mix.

That would add a level of normality that is just unacceptable for the viewers of "Jersey Shore."