August 2nd, 2010:
It's a wonder how the terrain shifts and morphs from Poughkeepsie to Seaside Heights. Fields of green fade as sandy dunes take their place, dominating the marine landscape. My mind wandered as I drove my black Land Rover (my "Image-Mobile" as Lanette christened it) to that maximalist nightmare, the Jersey Shore house. The house were it all began.
Today marks month 14 of this unrelenting charade. (Or charAYDE as my "Situation" alter-ego would no doubt pronounce it). I feel the onset of a full-body numbness as I recollect the amount of time spent living in this lie. I would give it up this very moment, if it were not for Art. And you, my forever eager listener my confidant, know full well that I will do most anything for my craft. I have oft said: lend me your douchiest undersized graffiti-dragon T-shirt. I shall wear it in the name of Art.
Anyhow, I'd better get down to the day's happenings, our first back at the J.S.H. I'd be remiss not to begin with the arrival of Deena, our newest live-in slut. I fondly dubbed her "Rookie of the Year" after she unintentionally revealed her womanhood to me, dressed only in a cowboy hat and raspberry twist vodka. This self-proclaimed "Blast in a Glass" also engaged in a knighting ceremony of sorts, deeming Sammi Sweetheart a dark word that rhymes with "shunt". But two vaginal occurrences hardly deem one worthy of a title usually reserved for heroes and star athletes. And I must say her woman's area, purple-hewed and spiced with various rhinestone accoutrement, was not a site that has befallen these war-worn eyes. I was, I should say, a bit taken aback by the location choice (directly above said woman's area) of her tattoo that read "DADDY'S LITTLE P-CESS". If only she were a bit larger. Perhaps then the entire word "princess" would have fit above her womb. Such is life, my spiritual voice advises.
I room with Sammi Sweetheart and the steroid-wrecked man-whale Ron. I'll make it record currently that I shall not take kindly to the moans and sobs of their love sharing.
Snookie's substance abuse continues to flourish under the warm lights of an industry encouraging her to drink. But, between you and me old friend, during her fleeting moments of sobriety that bitch is boring as fuck.
Mike "Searching for Answers" Sorrentino