You introduced yourself as the princess of Poughkeepsie,
Then five seconds later you were way, way beyond tipsy.

Our first impression of you only got worse, dear Snooki,
You couldn’t handle your liquor and puked like a rookie.

You cried, packed your bags and kept threatening to leave,
We couldn’t care less what you did that early summer eve.

At first you were not our favorite, no, not by any means,
But then you got punched in the face by a guy from Queens.

Read The Ballad of Tiger Woods

You were knocked to the ground, bloody, your eyes tearing,
Suddenly you turned from obnoxious to utterly endearing.

You won our hearts as did your poof and white hair clip,
And dazzled us with your trademark dancing back flip.

When you held your solo dance party on the boardwalk,
We begrudgingly admitted we’d watch you round the clock.

(Guys we know are mesmerized by your eating of a pickle,
They think you’re the best thing since sliced pumpernickel.)

We all cheered for you during the rough times at the shore,
By the second fight we swore to have your back forevermore.

Read An Ode to Gerard Butler’s Lost Abs

Again you got clocked in the face, though not by a teacher,
Your attacker this time around was a female “zoo creature.”

You really tried but had zero luck in love or in lust,
Every single guy you brought home was an absolute bust.

We thought you’d hook up with that one guy in the Jacuzzi,
But on the deck he started puking and even we felt woozy.

You’re looking for a juicehead who takes many a steroid,
Who’ll pick up when you call from a duck, iPhone or Droid.

Read An Open Letter to Heidi Montag

We’d love to observe the dating life of our pint-sized guidette,
A show called Snookin' for Love — that’s your best idea yet.

We hope to see this televised, your guido-hunting expedition,
But in exchange for our viewership, we have one condition.

Please promise us one thing no matter your sexual frustration,
We’re begging, Snooks, no more hooking up with the Situation.

Betty's Poet Laureate spends more time than she'd like to admit reclining on her sofa, eating grapes and writing odes to her home state of New Jersey.