Jersey Shore

Surely the Mayans had to predict this, right?

Last night, 2012 inched closer to the end of days with the return of Jersey Shore. No longer content to spread their collective stank around Italy (or in boardwalk speak, "Idillee"), the Axe body spray version of the Little Rascals headed back to Seaside Heights. And before you could say "pickle shots," they were back to business. And by that we mean drinking their faces off and bitching about how their trip to Italy got in the way of GTLing.

Because being so orange you look like you're in renal failure is vastly more important than exploring new cultures, seeing classic art, and not being horrid. Of course, we don't watch Shore for anything resembling culture. We watch to see just how low these common denominators can go. Snooki screaming drunken threats in front a bar full of family? Check. Ronnie offering to get Sad Vinny a hooker? Check. Pauly D going for sloppy thirds? Check...and he should probably should get checked.

Yes, they're vulgarians to the core, but in seasons past, they were also at least entertaining in their idiocy. Now, the whole experience is like the grenade of TV shows: Loud, ugly, desperate and almost impossible to escape.

So, are you happy the gang is back? Or is this, as the Situation referred to his post-Italy paleness, "like the end of civilization"?

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