Merriam-Webster defines codependency as "a psychological condition or a relationship in which a person is controlled or manipulated by another who is affected with a pathological condition; broadly: dependence on the needs of or control by another.
And there you have it! Merriam-Webster perfectly, succinctly, recapped the most recent Jersey Shore episode (as well as Ron and Sam's bad romance) in less than forty words. So, yeah! — we're off to the bar to do tequila shots with Snooki's alcho-friend, Ryder. See ya!
Oh, if only life were that simple. If only! We know that you're simply dying for all the nitty-gritty details — so let's start at the beginning, shall we?
Out in Long Island, Snooki was helping the newly single Bowwoww pick up the pieces of her crumbled life — which included rescuing two immensely yippy Pomeranians (who we have named Jack and Daniels) from the evil, neglectful hands of Chinstrap Tom.
Meanwhile, back in Seaside Heights, Snooki's friend Ryder — who had recently fled from yet another stint at the Betty Ford Clinic — staggered through the front door, a near-empty bottle of Patron in her hand. "Wheeeya's Schmooki!" Ryder demanded, angrily stomping her way through the beach house. Always resourceful, Deena smartly distracted Ryder with an afternoon spent guzzling margaritas, shots, and cheap Merlot; and thankfully, just as night began to fall, Bowwoww and Snooki returned home, with little Jack and Daniels in tow.
Because it was Ryder's 22nd birthday (which, naturally, signified 365 calendar days of non-stop, legal intoxication), the housemates decided to celebrate with an outing to...drumroll!...Karma. Ah, yes, Karma! — which is either the only drinking establishment in Seaside Heights, or (more likely) the only drinking establishment desperate enough to allow camera crews inside.
Everything was going swimmingly at the club — drinks were binged, fists were pumped, livers and inhibitions were destroyed — until Sam spotted Ron talking to another female. Like a foaming, rabid bobcat pouncing on its prey, Sam sprinted across the bar and dragged Ron away from the innocuous conversation he was having. Of course it turned out that the female in question was just Ron's friend's baby mama (sadly, Ron's grizzly proof involved C-section scar tissue), but Sam's rage couldn't be contained. The one-sided fight continued all the way back to the beach house, with Sammi screaming "You never loved me, you hate me." No, Sam. Ron doesn't hate you, we hate you.
Sam concluded her desperate pleas of codependent gobbledygook with an empty threat of moving out of the house — eventually slumping her sluggish self downstairs, where the rest of the house was enjoying a late-night pizza party. Meanwhile Ron, who had finally reached his saturation point, hurled all of Sam's worldly possessions into the corner of the bedroom. After a short while, Sam returned to the rat den with a long overdue peace offering of pizza, and was perplexed to discover that, not only was Ron still angry, but that he'd essentially packed all of her bags and sweats for her. As Sammi Sweatpants tried in vain to apologize, the crocodile tears strategically streaming down her cold, calculating cheeks, Ron screamed, "Cry all you want, your tears don't mean s**t to me!" It was truly — truly! — a proud moment for Sam-haters the world over.
Next, Ron did what any self-respecting juicehead in a miserably dysfunctional, year-long relationship would do: he lay on the couch, and wept. He wept for the horrible way that Sammi had made him feel and, in some small way, wept for the horrible way that she made us feel. He cried, and cried, and just when we thought his beady little eyes couldn't take any more, he cried a little more. Bowwoww, in a shockingly sympathetic move, approached Ron and offered genuinely kind words of support and guidance. And somehow the pair, whose relationship had seemed irreparably broken by the whole Miami note-writing fiasco, managed — amidst weighted talk of mind games, and guilt, and lunatic partners — to lean on one other: Bowwoww, recovering from her nasty breakup with Chinstrap; and Ron, recovering from a year spent with a horrible psychopath.
Meanwhile Mike, who had paired off with yet another forgettable DTF lady at Karma, asked Sam if he could borrow some condoms. Essentially ignoring Mike's question, Sam asked about Ron's whereabouts and, for some foolishly unknowable reason, Mike told Sweatpants that Ron was talking with Bowwoww — which, like, really Mike? Why not just hand Sam a loaded gun?
Enraged, Sam bolted to Ron's side, demanding to know what was going on. "ARE YOU FRIENDS WITH HER?!" she screamed tirelessly, over and over again, her gravelly voice growing more hysterically maniacal with each passing moment. And then it happened — the thing that, on any other reality TV show, would have resulted in, at most, Sammi's incarceration — and, at the very least, her ejection from the program. Yes, Sammi Sweatpants punched Ron in the face. Not a soft, misplaced punch (as she'd hit Bowwow earlier in the season), but a strong, menacing punch; a cruel, jaw-numbing punch; an unforgivable, relationship-ending punch.
After slugging Ron, Sweatpants called her mother and told her that she needed to be picked up, and then retreated to the rat's nest for a good, long cry. Strangely, all of the housemates (save Ron and Bowwoww) fled to Sammi's side, and begged her to stay. "This is god telling me to go," Sweatpants grandly reasoned — which, like, no. No, you megalomaniac, no. Punching your boyfriend isn't some divine calling from a higher power, it's the violent act of a person who needs heaps and heaps of therapy.
And while Sweatpants preached the Gospel according to Crazy, Bowwoww decided to finally consummate her burgeoning romance with Razor. On a couch. Next to her caged, shrieking dogs. It was truly a thing of a great, unmistakable, trailer-park beauty.
Early the next morning, Sammi put on her best pouty-pout voice and apologized to Ron, asking if they could have one last hug before she left. Foolishly, Ron gave into Sam's sorry-little-girl routine and, after a few minutes of schmoopy-doop baby talk, the sad-sack couple decided to give their star-crossed love one more try. Because, you know, that's worked out so well for them in the past.
So, yeah. After that master class in co-dependence, we've basically given up on these two. Like, given up on them as human beings. Farewell, Rommi — enjoy your miserable, awful lives together!
Anyway. A few days later, during a routine trip the the barbers, the boys caught wind of a most titillating piece of gossip. According the barber, Deena's juicehead du jour, Ron2, was running around Seaside Heights telling anyone who would listen that Deena is a big fan of a very specific sexual act. Because Jersey Shore is on basic cable, though, almost all of the conversation — and Mike's subsequent retelling to Deena — was bleeped out. HOWEVER! — thanks to our trusty DVR, we eventually decoded the mystery of Deena's sexual inclination.
And while we'd love to share all of the juicy gossip with you folks, it's actually a bit too X-rated for the likes of this recap. Instead, we'd like use an allegory to more subtly, more gently, convey the story of Deena's bedroom antics. And so, friends, let us turn to that most timeless of classics — Sex and the City Episode 54, "Baby, Talk is Cheap." That's right, folks. We're talking Tuchus-Lingus. Mortified, Deena denied the story's legitimacy; and later, during a chance encounter at Karma, she wasted no time in cutting Ron2 down to size — telling the loud-mouth, in no uncertain terms, that they were so over, they needed a new word for over. Meanwhile, across the club, Bowwow approached Sam with the intention of, once and for all, burying the hatchet (sadly, only in the figurative sense).
And so, over a couple of cocktails, Bowwoww began to mend broken fences with her old frenemy. And Ron, who had packed her bags and begged her to leave, remained doggishly coupled with Sweatpants. And we, who had hoped for so many great things — A Sammi-free household! A possible Ron and Bowwoww romance! Less bleeping where sex is concerned! — were left heartbroken, and alone, and eagerly anticipating next week's show.