Elsewhere, the guys are getting their drink on, though their mission is less singular than the girls, and they spend several minutes laughing at some big ol' lady butt and finding Speedo-wearing schlubs as fodder for making fun of each other (Vinny: "I'd say that's Pauly in about 10 years").
Back to the ladies, who are completing their show-mandated community service hours by teaching the bartenders more English. And by "English" I mean guido-speak. He now knows what "cuca" means, for example. Snooki asks how you say "vagina" in Italian. Well, Snooki, it's... drum roll... vagina. This exchange is not unlike the scene in Love Actually when they're all, "Say table!" -- "Table!" -- "Oh... same." Except Snooki doesn't have the presence of mind to realize the sameness and is all, "Vah-zheeeeeen-ahhhhhh!" A passer-by takes issue with the girls' wanton use of anatomical language and tries to share his culture with them (not unlike the priest did last week), and it goes over about as well as you'd image. Their response, "We can be as trashy as we want. We're from Jersey!" That's not exactly what they said, but it gets to the heart of their argument, really.
They leave the bar (telling the bartender on the way out, "I hope you get laid tonight!") and go drunk shopping. There's some stiff competition, but Deena wins the day with a pink floral ukulele. Quite quickly, though, JWOWW and Sammi realize they are not nearly as drunk as their companions. And, as you do when you're a good friend to someone who's on the verge of disabling drunkenness, they start hoofing it faster than the little meatballs' legs can carry them. Never fear! Snooki and Deena are scrappy. If they can't join 'em, they're gonna beat 'em, and they vow to trail behind the other girls making lewd remarks about their asses.
Eventually, JWOWW and Sammi lose the other two, and Snooki calls out, "How can moms leave their kids?!" It's no matter, though, because Snooki and Deena have become distracted in the way that kittens are by laser beams when they hear house music in the distance. They literally sprint toward the music. It's in a tent in broad daylight where literally no one else is dancing, and the scene quickly devolves into Snooki of Season-One-dancing-by-herself-on-the-boardwalk vintage. Only now, there is solidarity. Team Meatballs, attack the beat! God, that would make an amazing Saturday morning cartoon.