In Impending End of Civilization news, the word around the Twittersphere [again] is that Jersey Shore's No.1 meatball is maybe, probably, most likely knocked up. Which is just the worst on so many levels. Assuming she manages to carry her gremlin spawn to term, the likelihood that this kid is not born pickled, with fetal gonorrhea syndrome (that's a thing, right?) and with physical and mental capacities bottoming out somewhere around the first couple of percentiles are approximately one million to zero.

Well, kids, it's the morning after. Last night's season premier of "Jersey Shore" is over-- it's just about that time when there's not much else to do but locate our skivvies (what are they doing in the fridge?,) scrape the vomit off our shoes and stagger bleary-eyed into the harsh light of morning. Hoping that we don't run into anyone who knows our parents on the way to the car (where is that car?)