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|“They’re no Angels of the North”
|The real Angel of the North|
Tuesday nights here are my “must-see-TV” nights. But only because of the show, “Geordie Shore”. That’s right…the UK’s got a response to “Jersey Shore”.
I’ve never watched Jersey Shore, but I’m obsessed with Geordie Shore. These children are just nasty!
Are they typical of the northeast? Not exactly. Rather, they’re hyperbolic… caricatures if you will, of the party lifestyle associated with the Newcastle area.
Let’s meet the Geordies, shall we? First up, 18 year old Holly…
…who looks like a 40 year old who’s been ridden hard and put up wet.
Holly’s from Middlesbrough…so she’s really not a Geordie; she’s a Smoggie. An idiotic drunken Smoggie. Three Tuesdays ago, I watched her crumple because no one else in the house was paying any attention to her…so she packed up all her stuff and left for good, or so we thought. Last Tuesday, she marched back into the house and woke everybody’s ass up asking, “Where’m I gan ta sleep?” Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, no one wanted her as a roommate. And then, get this, she gets drunk every episode, tashes on a lad, gets back to the house, feels guilty and calls up her boyfriend to gripe at him for sticking with her. But I admire a puffy girl who thinks she’s fit, because that’s ovaries dragging and sparking.
Second, there’s Gaz or Gary or whatever the tard wants to call himself.
Don’t you think he looks like he would sparkle if he was in the Pacific Northwest? Gary thinks he’s a Casanova… I say he’s de Sade. I can’t stand him as is evidenced by the fact that I can’t think of anything nice to say about him. Plus, he’s diddling the next Geordie. He even diddled her when he was all sick and vomity and diarrhea-y. Stay classy, Gazzy.
Next is Charlotte who from the beginning was my favourite. (That’s right, I used the “u”. When in Rome, er…)
Really, I like her because she’s brash and brassy without being a butthead. She admits she’s a psycho and was adamant from the start that she wouldn’t fall in love with Gary, even if they were all nasty together. Guess what’s going to happen next? Yuck. I often have great debates with Peter the bartender at my local pub (where I watch the show) about the state of modern women because of her, well, because of all the lasses on the show. I had to school Peter on what a “ho” is. Oh Peter, your entire perception of American culture is based off of the Jerry Springer show; my perception of the UK is now based off of Geordie Shore. Who’s the biggest loser here, eh?
So here’s what I need: a Geordie makeover. That’s right. I need the fake tan and I need me some massive fake eyelashes. And then I need to go shopping to find the smallest dress that I can get away with, which probably means I need to make a personal appointment with the salon. Ouch. I’ll also need to buy some fantastically smashing shoes that’ll make me nine inches taller. Seriously. It’s all about the shoes and short skirts here.
I’m calling it Midsummer’s Geordie Night Out on the Toon to Reclaim Our Lost Youth.