Shore Enough?

I saw that GAWKER was having an informal contest for people to try to write the first page of Snooki's autobiography, since she's apparently snared a book deal and such. I see it going something like this...

FAT, PLUMP FUCKIN' BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE TOP OF THE FUCKIN' STAIRS, luggin' a bowl of pickles on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow muscle shirt was blown gently-behind him by the weak morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

-- Cane che abbaia non morde.

Belching, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

-- Come up, Slitch. Come up, you fuckin' jesuit.

Seriously, he came forward and mounted the round gunrest (he fucked the staircase? Whaaa --?). For real, he fuckin' faced about and blessed the fuckin' tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of The Situation, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his fuckin' head. DJ Pauly D DelVecchio, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, fuckin' horse-faced in its length, and at the light balding hair, grained and hued like a fuckin' orange.

Buck "The Fuck" Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

-- Get Snook her fuckin' pickles, he said, like he was Howard Stern.