Confession time: I want to read Snooki’s book

Congratulations, Snooki. You’ve now joined the ranks of Hemingway, Voltaire, Shakespeare, and all novelists. You wrote a work of fiction, and it was published.

I’m not going to lie: I really want to read this book, and it’s not because I find Snooki entertaining. I actually don’t watch “The Jersey Shore,” or any television for that matter. Snooki’s remarks are just too goofy, off-the-wall, unusual, and insane to ignore. You couldn’t make any of this stuff up.

Because I have graduated college and no longer encounter weirdos on a daily basis, I could really use a good laugh these days, and I feel Snooki’s book will definitely fulfill that need.

If you don’t believe me, just take a look at some of her book excerpts:

“He had an okay body. Not fat at all. And naturally toned abs. She could pour a shot of tequila down his belly and slurp it out of his navel without getting splashed in the face.”

“Yum. Johnny Hulk tasted like fresh gorilla.”

“Any juicehead will get some nut shrinkage. And bacne. They fly into a ‘roid rage, it is a ‘road’ ‘roid rage.”

“Gia had never before been in jail. It wasn’t nearly as gritty and disgusting as she’d seen on TV prison shows. The Seaside Heights drunk tank — on a weekday afternoon — was as clean and quiet as a church.”

“Gia danced around a little, shaking her peaches for show. She shook it hard. Too hard. In the middle of a shimmy, her stomach cramped. A fart slipped out. A loud one. And stinky.”

She may as well be speaking Italian. Oh wait, hasn’t she blasted people before for not being Italian enough? Oh, Snooki. Never a dull moment with this girl. If I ever make it huge in the writing world, I’d gladly write a profile on her. I know The New York Times did so already, but I’m sure her personality will be different enough in a decade that a fresh profile piece would be warranted.

Snooki, if you’re out there, ping me. I have a feeling we’d click. You’d talk, I’d laugh incessantly. Maybe you can teach me a little something about tanning, being that I’m a redhead, a.k.a. paler than Edward Cullen. I won’t lie: I’ll never reach guidette status. After all, I’m an Irish Catholic without a drop of Italian blood in my system, but I’m sure you’d appreciate my company. So come my way and make me laugh.

Florence, Italy 2009. Pasty as ever in Snooki's homeland!

 

Until we meet, I’ll just have to re-read these excerpts from your novel whenever I desperately need to giggle.

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