Hounded by the Specter of Impending Crap
F*#k me running, is there no getting away from you jackasses? Ooh look, it's the spooky "Event" people, all dressed down in blacks and grays and trying to intrigue me in front of some enigmatic backdrop of metaphorical fog. Drop dead. No, first get the hell out of all my media platforms and then go drop dead. I just don't have time to devote hours and hours of my life to some bogus conspiracy a couple of 20-somethings cooked up on a napkin at Jerry's Deli. I'm sure you think you have some multi-season story arc of awesomeness planned, but you know and I know you don't...just endless meetings with the network trying to figure out how much padding it will take to get to 21 episodes and renewal for next season. I don't have the time, the patience, or the will to suffer through more of this "what does it all mean" bullshit? Wondering whether or not Ronnie or Snooki will be found dead in a pool of their own vomit is an infinitely more interesting and plausible storyline than any crap you guys have cooked up, I'm certain. So, git, skedaddle, don't let the pixels hit your ass on the way out.