TV Land: Butterfill on the ‘Shore’

This week, being the week of Valentine’s Day, has been most taxing. As a hermit and eventual cat lady, I’m too busy watching Jane Austen film adaptations to write. Thus, I will be handing over my duties to world-renowned gentleman Sir Lester Butterfill XXIX for this week for his rumination upon a subject most intimate to him:

Once upon a February, while I gnawed on curdled dairy

I sat alone, glum and gloomy, wishing that day of Valentine no more —

While I sat there, saddened, scowling, suddenly there came a howling,

As of some one vulgar prowling, prowling with a blaring roar

“Tis some hoodlum,” I responded,” howling with this blaring roar;

Only it was “Jersey Shore.”

Ah, distinctly I may reason it was in the sunny season

When I first laid mine eyes upon this most jaunty, Jersey lore

Sluggishly, I laid there sullen — scanning sparkly Edward Cullen

From my ermine-coated chair — when I arose, up from the floor

There it was in all its glory, my admiration soon to soar:

A show to love for evermore.

And when the program soon began, the image of a muscled man

Thrilled me — filled me with outrageous gladness never felt before;

I watched enrapt, the music streaming, all the while my heart was beaming:

All at once, I started screaming, “Pauly D! I do adore!”

That was when I called ol’ Duckworth henceforth to my chamber door

It was time for “Jersey Shore.”

See, Duckworth was my household aide — severely senile, never paid

A prize won from the dueling blade that settled an old family score

Presently, I called him hither, but instead he chose to dither

Lurking in the hallway thither, thither at my chamber door

“Duckworth!” said I, “Move posthaste! I cannot wait forever more”

Now began my “Jersey Shore.”

The glamour of the glistening sea, the tightness of those Jersey tees

Once again my MTV had harkened back to reality’s very core;

Snooki, with that hair like a raven, Sammi that lovely, “sweetheart” maven

All hail of Jersey as some haven, less graven than my current snore

With their words of endless wisdom, I was compelled to sit and watch some more

Thus, continued “Jersey Shore.”

For hours, days I watched these stunning creatures at that beachfront sunning,

Drama, intrigue, plans so cunning — what else could there be in store?

I saw “The Situation” flexing, he was primed for serious sexing

He saw a girl, started texting, texting with the hope for more

Then I knew that this was romance, no more was my life a bore

This was love on “Jersey Shore.”

With erstwhile care I observed this world of rich, seductive verve

They had bravado, an emboldened nerve that I had never known before

All up in the dance club grinding, night by night there they were winding

Never had they trouble finding one chick, two chicks, even four

To the hot tub, then for to transpire, their primal and exciting roar

How dames are tapped on “Jersey Shore.”

But, a thought did then arise whilst JWOWW talked of waxing thighs

I spied straight through her gilded guise as she considered drinks to pour

What is this love that I saw brewing for this show of wanton wooing,

Could it be that I was viewing nothing but repulsive whores?

In a tizzy of despair I turned my television off and there was nothing more

My love did end for “Jersey Shore.”

Alas, I was in desperate straights to find another show so great

In vain I tried, but was too late and thus was in a state so sore

I thought I had found love at last, but like the courtships in that cast

’Twas only lust that passed so fast and left me crying on the floor

Reality TV: so addicting, leads me to be more restricting, watching it no more.

See you tonight, my “Jersey Shore.”