Woot, Followed by Another Woot.

Da Shore. Allegedly a big deal.

This past weekend, I somehow managed to work up the courage to venture into the very heart of guido territory: The Jersey Shore.

Please note: It is not, for whatever reason, called the beach. It's The Shore. Apparently there's a difference.

I have never seen more wifebeaters, chin-strap beard things, or hair gel in my entire life. There were tribal armband tattoos everywhere you looked, as well as poorly planned stomach tattoos just waiting to be stretched into oblivion by the impending arrival of a beer belly. Gold chains, CAW-Fee, WAH-tah...

My ears were bleeding.

I think there were two people that epitomize my experience at the shore.

1) Skinny Jerz kid.

This kid was skinny, probably about 18 years old, had a sweet farmer's tan, a backwards hat, and most notably...

THIS WAS TATTOOED ON THE BACK OF HIS (tiny) BICEP.

I wish I could make this stuff up.

2) Da Guido.

Not only did this guy have a totally bimbo-licious grrrrrrrrlfriend, but a list of his most endearing features is as follows:

-Razor-straight chin strap.

-Gelled hair. And I mean gelled. If it was longer, he would have looked like a Dragon Ball-Z character. He went swimming in the ocean, came out, and his hair was exactly the same.

-Gold chains.

-Accent.

-The Walk. chest out, arms flexing to show off his steroid/excessive gym time muscles. It's basically a strut, just Jersey-fied.

Other than that, it was great. Other than the fact that the Atlantic is a mean ocean and I have a bruise the size of my fist on my butt where the ocean literally flipped me around and dumped me on my butt.