The vapid, drunken stupidity that has become Vinnny's life is woefully apparent by his abysmal style and fashion faux-pas. First of all, he lives three steps away from the beach in a house full of gorilla juice-heads yet has the muscle tone and skin color of a bloated corpse recently fished out of a shallow pond. His haircut screams "I'M AN IDIOT!!! PLEASE KICK ME UP MY ASS!!!" and makes him look like one of the primates from the film "Gorillas in the Mist". Ronnie, who seems to be on his meds and is all the more boring for it, attempts to deconstruct this monstrosity by describing the new 'do as "a mixture between a mullet, a Mohawk, and a faux hawk". Add all three up and you get a haircut that's 100% ASSHOLE. From the back, he looks like a hastily manicured vagina.
He decides to leave, and the most telling moment comes when the gang decide to to go out to the club instead of hanging out and consoling their fellow Guido-in-crisis. They leave it up to Pauly, who still remains the most authentically likable of these Type-A assholes to talk Vinny to his senses. Pauly, limited as he is by a severe lack of emotional depth, admits the situation at hand is beyond him and Vincenzo bids him arriva-fucking-derci. As he is welcomed back into the psychotically ass-backwards mental ward that is the Jersey Shore house, he reveals a sporting new and grisly tattoo, because nothing says emotional stability more than ruining your pallid, sickly white skin with disgusting green ink and bad art work-
This tattoo is supposed to mean something. What it means is that the cure for anxiety should not involve returning to a house where you are cocooned by an asphyxiating, overbearing Italian mother who lets you do whatever the fuck you want and takes care of you like you're a three-year old. Chicken cutlets, anyone? Sure, she'll plop down fourteen of them on your plate at one time-and you better save room for dessert!!!
His fashion sense, never on par with the three other dickwads on the show on a good day, has taken a turn for the worse. Two-hundred dollar, tight-ass, purple cotton-poly blend jeans, worn in the ubiquitous tapered slim fit style that hug all the way to the ankle, makes a guy look like he's wearing clown shoes. But that doesn't seem to bother Vinny, whose oversized cranium makes up for any discrepancies that may throw his physique out of proportion.
Vinny, AKA "The Purple Haze"...
So now he's decided, because the publicity, fame and money he's garnered from being a useless greaseball wop on permanent vacation trolloping for whores all over Seaside, New Jersey isn't enough of an ego boost, to become the poster boy for anxiety on one of those websites that supposedly provides support for such issues, but only exists as a platform for loser celebrities to gain even more face time. "Hey, Vinny suffers from anxiety-it must be cool to wear tight purple pants again!!!" Newsflash for those truly suffering from anxiety and need help-it wasn't and will never be cool for a grown-ass man to walk around in public dressed like Alexander the Grape.
Vinny, you don't need help. You need a frontal lobotomy. From behind.
This jive-ass turkey is a sex symbol. Go figure...
Here is Vinny in happier times, hanging out with his anorexic, disgustingly shameless Eastern Whoropean girlfriend in Miami-
"A portrait of the douche bag as a young man"-
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