After watching women swoon over ‘The Situation’s’ abs and salivate every time Ronnie flexes, one thing has become perfectly clear to me: I’m in no shape for the Jersey Shore.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are a few girls at the Shore that would love to cuddle up next to a pasty guy like me. On those cool, early summer nights, they might be thankful to have a dude with a slight beer gut and a rug on his chest to keep them warm...
OK, you're right -- it's highly unlikely. And that’s why I decided my best bet would be to hire a personal trainer. Summer is still months away, so I figured I’d be able to rock out like Pauly D by the time Memorial Day rolls around.
When I arrived at the gym, I told the trainer that I wanted a Jersey Shore body by May, and that I wanted to be able to lure women into the hot tub by simply lifting heavy objects from atop my balcony.
The trainer informed me that I’d have to change my diet. No more carbs, no more beer, no more bacon and no more ‘late night munchies’ trips to the taco stand. OOF.
Then he told me that he wanted to test my endurance, so he strapped me into some machine that looked like it belonged on the set of a Swedish porn movie. After about three reps and a near heart attack, it became perfectly clear to both of us that there was no way I was going to have a Jersey Shore body this summer, or any summer after that.
After my brief workout, while woofing down three tacos, I decided that since I wasn’t going to be an Adonis by the summer, I’d have to come up with another plan if I wanted to score with Shore babes like our boys in the house do.
So here's the plan: I figure that since most women love accents, I’m going to wear black socks with sandals and shorts and pretend to be Hans, a German exchange student. Please note: if a guy at the Shore that fits that description offers you a taste of his schnitzel this summer, please don’t rat me out.