South Park Recap: WTF South Park, I'm From Jersey! - Cornell University The Cornell Daily Sun

I have a confession. I’m from New Jersey, and I will tell you, I love it. Bruce Springsteen is god, Jersey tomatoes are the juiciest around, and as any high-schooler with a car will tell you, the Jersey shore is actually a magical place (Please, please don’t let your prejudices toward my state keep you from reading the rest of this blog). So as I sit here, trying to recap another episode of South Park, I wonder how I can convince you that New Jersey is not the place you see on television (unless you’re watching a Kevin Smith flick then it’s okay – I suggest Dogma).

So before I do my magic, and tell you about the hilarity that is this week’s South Park satire, I want to set the record straight. I don’t understand what people mean when they say, “It’s a Jersey thing.” Not everyone in New Jersey uses spray tanning lotion, relatively few girls actually wear the “poof,” and only a few men wear those ridiculous gold chains (but no more than anywhere else).  We don’t all hang out with our bros all day, we aren’t obsessed with exercising, and only some of us have nicknames (here’s a shout out to Jonesy, Butch, and Nunch). But, to also be fair, I do love Frank Sinatra (what’s not to love?), I do exercise my right to fucking curse whenever possible, and I do have a thing for dark-haired Italian girls (I mean, who doesn’t?).

Most importantly, the only people from New Jersey with shows are Jon Stewart, Kelly Ripa, and a few lunatics.

Okay, after 246 words, I should recap the show – I’m sure I will have plenty more to say.

 “Mom, Dad, what’s muff cabbage?” Kyle asks his parents during a quiet dinner, after hearing it from South Park’s newest resident – a very stereotypical family ala The Real Housewives of New Jersey.  In eighteen continuous years in the Garden State, I never once heard the term, “muff cabbage.”  If you’re wondering what it means, it’s exactly what you think – vagina (I Googled it).  

So, when Stan’s family invites these new neighbors to dinner, it turns into a reality show meltdown.  A muscle-clad Italian dude (with all those gold chains) shows off his muscles, and when Mrs. Marsh makes an off-hand remark about the housewife’s eyes, she unloads a full truckload of muff cabbage:

“You whack-job, prostitution whore. You’d probably sell your muff … for six dollars! You fucking psycho bitch. Fuck you! You’re nothing but garbage. That’s what you are! You’re garbage. You’re sick, old woman, muff garbage. Muff cabbage!!!”     

Of course, wise ol’ Stan immediately recognizes the problem, “It seems like all people from Jersey do is hump and punch each other” – this is not true (it would be such a cooler place!).

While analyzing the predicament at The Sizzler restaurant, the boys unravel a stunning new trend – “There’s people from Jersey all over!” Surrounded by the stereotypes I listed above, the entire restaurant erupts into a “Jersey-party as Sizzler” – I have never been to one, but rumors of this majestic event travel the turnpike, exciting all who hear of its awesome glory (yea sarcasm).

As the Jersey folk cause chaos (in the form humping and punching, I guess), South Park  falls under siege - “Everything east of the Rockies is now part of New Jersey. The jersey shore now includes Jacksonville, Miami, the gulf of Jersey Mexico, and the Jersey Islands.  My favorite character, Randy Marsh, leads the fight to defend the city.

A starting revelation comes out, Mrs. Broflovski was born and raised Jersey, and in South Park, she can control the Jersey-side in her.  But she fears that, as she comes in to contact with people from the Garden State, she might lose control – of course, Cartman outcasts Kyle because he is ginger, jewish, and from Jersey, and therefore, “a heartless, backstabbing Jersey boy” ( I resent that because I have a heart mumor, and therefore, must have a heart).

“You can take the fetus out of Jersey, but you can’t take Jersey out of the fetus,” and Kyle too uncovers a startling revelation. When he added a little hair gel, cut off his sleeves, and trimmed his eye-brows, he was, in fact, a Jersey boy! Shocked and amazed, he tried his best to hide his inner gweedo, named Kyley-B.

In the meantime, Randy Marsh and his followers crackdown on the Jersey folk – “It’s like these people got a beef with Jersey. What’s up with that?”

So, New Jersey invades Colorado (doesn’t South Carolina starts all the civil wars?). Randy seeks help from California and Japan, no help comes.  Cartman harasses Kyle, leading to his first Jersey breakdown. And Snookie (I am in no way attracted to her!) makes a guest appearance as a short, fat, Snarf-like creature (Horray! ThunderCats references!).

As South Park falls apart under the pressures of siege warfare, Randy seeks help from the only logical ally he can imagine – Al Qaeda. He begs, “I know you have seen countless horrors in your lifetime, Mr. Bin Laden, and that you have witnessed the very worst of mankind, but now I ask you to watch this,” showing Bin Laden the true terror that is Jersey Shore.

Also determined to save the town (sort of), Cartman conspires to lock Kyle in the meat locker in the freezer at The Sizzler. Wise ol’ Kyle calls Cartman on his scheme, but Cartman is confronted by Snookie, the Snark-creature. As she “rapes” Cartman, Kyle undergoes his Jersey transformation, and as he embraces his inner “The Situation,” he rescues Cartman.

Randy leads the battle as a swarm of Jersey stereotypes descends upon the town – “Fuck New Jersey” – okay, so maybe he’s no longer my favorite character. As the townsfolk run out of ammunition, they are saved by Al Qaeda.

“On a cold, October night, a small town in Colorado stood up to New Jersey and finally said, ‘Go away.’” Thanks to Osama Bin Laden, New Jersey retreat, Kyle conquers his “monster,” and South Park begins to heal.

As Randy summarizes, the moral of the story is this: “there are no real enemies, only people with differences.”  New Jersey is defeated … oh! And they shoot Osama Bin Laden.

I have many complaints.  No way is New Jersey as bad as Al Qaeda; it’s not that hard to hide your inner Jersey monster; and “it” is, in fact, NOT a Jersey thing.

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