This week's juicy, action-packed (as if!) Jersey Shore finale (Season 3, Episode 13: March 24, 2011) picked up where last week left off — with Mike's meddling, manipulative phone call to his Cro-Magnon pal, and Sam's sometimes secret sext buddy, Arvin. Ron quickly jumped on the phone and demanded to know, man-to-man, mano-a-mano, if Arvin had ever made out with Sam. Arvin, of course, revealed that he had. Predictably, Ron flew into a weepy, yet homicidal, rage, and began scream-crying at Sam — who, in turn, stole the phone from Mike, and began yelling at Arvin, saying things like "Awwvin, I can't believe you ahh lyin' like that abou' me like tha'!" And truthfully, Sam performed an, if not a believable, than at least a persistent, fully-committed denial of Arvin's lascivious accusations.
Which, of course, nobody in the house believed, least of all Ron. And shortly after the last, grizzly Manson Familiy Dinner of the year, Sam cornered her ego-battered boyfriend outside and — shocker! — admitted to having kissed Arvin. She explained that it happened 3 years ago, that it meant nothing, and she begged for her Ron-Ron's forgiveness. Which he, in turn, gave? Question mark? — sometimes it's really hard to tell with these two. We've come to experience, in our many years as a Sam-and-Ron war correspondent, that not every Ron and Sam battle results in a fully vocalized reconciliation. For every "the kid has wicked changed, and I jus' wanna be with him", or "Sam's grown a f**kin' lot ovah the past 13 minutes, so I'm gonna take her back," there are just as many instances of the pair beating the crap out of one another and then silently, mysteriously making amends in a way that we mere mortals couldn't begin to comprehend.
Anyway, the pair had reconciled via pheromones, or smoke signals, or however the hell they do it, because they were hot-and-heavy and back in business the next night at Danny's end-of-season BBQ extravaganza, which all of the housemates were mega looking forward to. And really, their excitement for Danny's party was rather puzzling; after all, these kids have been to the Grammys, and the Golden Globes, and other legitimately A-list celebrations, and so their enthusiasm for Danny's shindig (which featured Doritos, coleslaw, and such luminary guests as Bowwow's father, who looks like a female professor of lesbian studies at Bryn Mawr College) seemed rather misplaced.
Deena brought her pal from home, Lisa, along to the soiree, and Vinny wasted no time in making moves on the Jersey Shore newb. When Deena saw that Vinny and Lisa were about to couple-off and have knee-scraping sex underneath Danny's hot dog buffet table, she quickly intervened, claiming that their union would ultimately upset queen bee Snooki. And really, Deena's meddling was absolutely the right thing to do. Regardless of whether or not Snooki's borderline-insane reactions to Vinny's sex life are justifiable, Deena recognized and defused a potentially dangerous situation, sparing everyone from yet another drunken, blue-balled bust-up between Vinny and Snooki.
Vinny and Pauly, however, saw Deena's intervention quite differently, and the boys viciously accused Deena of being a jealous c-blocker. Vinny, enraged at a missed opportunity for more casual, meaningless sex, called Deena "Angelina," which was way, waaaaay out of line — not just because his remarks were cruel (they were), but because any Jersey Shore aficionado worth his salt knows that Angelina, unlike Deena, never even made it to the finale in any of the seasons she half-heartedly starred in.
Anyway, the pair eventually made up the following night at Ravoli's all-you-can-binge-eat Italian buffet, when Deena, pushing aside her Rivoli's-issued feed bag, thanked all of the housemates for welcoming her into the fold with such drunkenly open arms. After they finished dinner the gang, hindered by the 97 pounds of linguine they had collectively consumed, lumbered over to Karma for a night of celebrating. But with painfully distended bellies, and a serious case of the pasta sweats, none of housemates felt much like, nor could physically manage, anything approximating a fist pump. And while everyone else grabbed their cannelloni-stuffed stomachs in first-world agony, Bowwoww weakly hobbled over to her main squeeze, Roger. Talk quickly turned towards the future and, under the romantic, purple glow of Karma's black lights, Roger bent on one, denim-embroidered knee, and proposed that the pair elevate their relationship from "f*ck buddies" to "boyfriend and girlfriend" — a proposition which sent Bowwow into a state of joyful guidette ecstasy.
As news of Roger and Bowwow's 4th-grade relationship upgrade spread, Sam and Ron launched into yet another Karmic brawl. As it happened, Sam was talking to several male friends (which apparently she's not allowed to have?), which sent Ron into another one of his teary hissy-fits. The pair stormed out of the club and, despite Sam's best baby-talking ("Why id Won-Won so mad at wittle ole Sammi-Wammy Sweatpants?" she asked in her best infantile whisper), nothing could deter Ron's rage. And back home, as the rest of the housemates eagerly watched Bowwow's two dogs, Juicebox and Forty-Ounce, crap all over the carpets, Ron and Sweatpants continued sparring. And after throwing around the usual verbal chestnuts ("You're a bitch," and "I hate you," and "I'm going to murder you with a dull ice pick while you sleep, so I wouldn't close my eyes if I were you, motherf*cker"), the pair retired to separate rooms for their last night in the house.
The next morning, as the rest of the housemates groggily packed their animal-print suitcases, Ron and Sam reconvened to talk about the sad and battered state of their pathetic excuse for a relationship. And despite Sam's heartfelt declarations that Ron is her best friend (yikes!), Ron ultimately decided to end the love affair that has captured the hearts and minds of America — nay, the world — for the past year. And really, it was like the end of an era — the end of a long, violent, and mind-numbingly awful era that couldn't have lasted longer if it tried.
Eventually, it was time for everyone to load into their separate cars and say goodbye. At this point, our dear friend and viewing companion (who, like Bowwow's dad, once dabbled in the lesbian department at Bryn Mawr) looked over at us and said "I bet they're all going to say that, despite all of the fighting, this was the best summer of their lives." Which, lo and behold, was exactly what each of the cast members said, verbatim. And they all, of course, added that it was breaking their hearts to leave, and that the group was their family, and that they wished they could live in their little Seaside Heights house of horrors forever, blah blah blah — to which we couldn't help but think, "Then just f*cking move there permanently, you jackasses." We mean, it's not like any of these muppets have real jobs to return to. Moreover, any one of these nouveau-riche morons could easily bank roll that dinky little beach shack if they really wanted to.
No. The real, unscripted truth is that, for the most part, the housemates were almost as sick of each other as we are of them. Don't get us wrong! — we love them dearly. They are all, each and every one of them, truly special people. But we kind of feel like we've been in the middle of a drunken, 13-week-long bar fight that we're just never going to win; our brain and liver are tired, and we just need a little break, is all.
And so for the next few months, we'll quietly reflect on all the things that Season 3 has, or hasn't, taught us about life, and secretly look forward to all of the garish, culturally offensive atrocities the gang are bound to commit during their upcoming tour of the motherland.
See you in Italy, meatballs.
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