SUP, BITCHES? It’s ya boy, ya favorite Sicilian-American-born poon-destroyer, Joe “the Event” Santuccio Jr.  Now I know my boyee the Landman has been throwin down mad real knowledge on how it is to be the fuckin’ tits at fuckin’ tits (right before getting’ that pussy nailed down, NO DOUBT) and that’s cool ‘n’ shit, but I need to let you know how it RALLY goes down for an Italian stallion stone-cold stunna like yours truly.  

Now peep this: I love the Landman like my own fuckin’ brotha.  If some punk bouncer ever tried to stop my boyee Landman from giving himself a beer shower during an off-the-hook DJ AM set (can you say AUTOMATIC?), I’d be liable to shout “WHAT YOU WANNA DO, BRAH?” at least 20 muthafuckin’ times WAY before 2 yuge black brothas tried to tame THIS beast while bitches were holding me back.  But LAX, BRAH? I’m liable to slice you like fresh mozz (don’t worry Grandma, definitely not without a little Tuscan olive oil) if I find you playing that ball-in -a -mini-hammock feather-Indian shit.  (No hate, but it is what it is, am I right?) The REALEST brahs don’t play games when they could be working on their REAL Game at the gym, funneling Muscle Milk and benching the same weight as YA FUCKIN’ WHORE MOTHA (no disrespect).  And for the reckid, if you think being a card-carrying Guido is anything like that shit on MTV, let ME tell YOU that you need to check yaself QUICK, fa real.

First off, no one has a fairy-ass, “I-like-ellipticals-better-than-frees” name like “the Situation” on the REAL Jersey shore.  NA Ah, SON . On the REAL Jersey Shore, you get passed down your name like Jesus (bless da name) got passed down the Ten Commandments on Mount fuckin’ Cyanide – shit is the fuckin’ realest.  What I’m sayin is they don’t call me Joe “the Event” Santuccio Jr. just because one night out with the boyees I drank a Big-Gulp and Smirnoff (bless da name) cocktail and got so jacked on Tiesto and Rockstar that I had to give myself a fuckin’ gay- ass comic book super-hero name for my (impeccable) abs like “the Situation.”  Nah son, I’m Joe “the Event” Santuccio Jr. because when I roll into the club/Piccadilly Pub Bar and Grill, EVERYONE FUCKIN’ KNOWS IT AND LOVES IT, BRAH.  I don’t like braggin, but hey –  it is what it is, am I right? 

When I roll up, it’s not even like people instinctively flock to me like flies to shit (which they DO, might I add).  Nah son, this is a muthafuckin’ CORONATION.  Peep this:  it’s like fuckin’ Pope Benny (bless da name) himself rolling up with his boys to St. Pete’s square on a bumpin’ Saturday night when the robed bitches are begging for it, except when I roll up, they aren’t pourin’ holy water and blowin’ horns - they’re pourin’ RedBull and vodka shots and bitches are blowin’ YOURS MUTHAFUCKIN’ TRULY (WHAT). I can’t believe it either - fuckin’ unreal.

I’m tellin’ you, me rollin’ up gets EVERYONE so fuckin’ lifted.  I’m not even five feet into the airport bar when I have some slut hangin all over my nuts and putting her hands up my lights-out, tiger-in-the-grass Ed Hardy tee to feel my can’t-handle-it lats.  And fuckin’ riddle me this, Batman: If the The Event wasn’t such a fuckin’ hot-ticket, than why is it that horny-ass, Franzia-pounding bitches tell me on the reg that I’m even better looking than their half-grandsons?? YOU. DON”T. EVEN. KNOW.

Irregardless of my no-joke skills for knocking down grade-A talent, you gotta know that I am above all a fuckin’ REAL man who loves his fuckin’ family and Jesus more than all the certified DTF pussy in Seaside Heights COMBINED.  I’m a REAL Catholic, so I know all about being a no-bullshit, straight shooter who never contradicts shit.  YEAH, I might slip E and roofies to half the Paramus High sophomore color-guard team, but you can bet ten bottles of LA Looks that the mutherfuckin’ likeness of our Lord is dangling in little Hannah Montana’s face as I show her the REAL fuckin’ meaning of “watching a movie at my ma’s place.”  SPPPREADD THAT SHITTTT, BOYEEEE!