Are America’s fist-pumping arms finally getting tired?

After the recent premiere of the fifth season of MTV’s “Jersey Shore,” ratings for the Thursday night show were down by 1.2 million viewers.

As a Jersey Shore local, it’s about damn time.

What has happened with “Jersey Shore” over the course of the last few years of network television is the result of an utterly disastrous whirlwind of blowouts and hoop earrings. Since December of 2009, MTV’s “Jersey Shore” has fist-pumped its way up the ratings with orange skin and techno beats, bar fights and drunken drama.

As a coastal N.J. girl now living several hours away from the beach in the Triangle, I beg of you—end the visually vicious cycle of gym, tan, laundry and find another state to take pity on.

Watch shows that matter, like “60 Minutes” … or “Swamp People.”

The world anxiously waits to see if Sammi Sweetheart and Ronnie will be together … again. The nation watches carefully to see if Snooki’s poof can endure a night of dancing on top of the bar at Club Karma, while the (infamous) “guidette” dodges another fist to the face along the way. Will Pauly D sound the grenade whistle? But now, five seasons into the series, MTV is literally going to have to scrape the filth from the floor of nightclubs to find new material for the show. Is this a light at the end of the tunnel for us infuriated Jersey-Shore locals?

After four unbearably embarrassing seasons (during two of which these classless individuals took long-term dysfunctional field trips far, far away from coastal New Jersey), viewers finally seem to be coming to terms with the idea that watching Mike Sorrentino drink, smush and be merry for five straight seasons is making the 29-year-old anything but a Situation.

We New Jerseyans are from the state that others affectionately call “the armpit of America,” and the airtime we get portrays gaudily dressed and excessively bedazzled items from the latest Ed Hardy line on the juiced up bodies of non-Jersey residents. Sadly, foggy, spray-tanned orange-colored glasses taint the world’s view of New Jersey, and the heavily costumed image portrayed on television invokes the ire of many locals. That being said, perhaps we have garnered the worst reputation of the whole United States simply because no state can take the blame for fostering Nickelback or Justin Beiber, who exist as Canadian horrors that plague the lives of innocent Americans.

I live in a small shoreline town called Belmar, to which “guidos” or “guidettes” are neither indigenous nor welcome. Our citizens are beachcombers void of hair gel and orange-glowing skin. Men boast necks bare of gold chains and earlobes without a single diamond stud. Women have their natural hair and their natural breasts.

When I found out that Mike “The Situation” had purchased a house in my hometown, I was thoroughly appalled and downright disturbed that someone whom Abercrombie & Fitch pays to not wear their apparel could be living just a few streets away from me .

My friends from home share the apathy, in addition to the frustration of constantly repeating that people don’t wear Bump-Its or furry slippers to the beach.

We don’t all fly an Italian flag from the façade of our home, nor do we paint said flag on our garage door, like an elementary school art project.

We might have last names that end in vowels, talk with our hands or have others pump our gas. I’ll defend my mother’s homemade red sauce to my grave. But it would be outrageous to say that my friends and I call for T-shirt time and stumble to Club Karma in search of juiceheads and the rare, dangerously toxic guido breed. (Club Karma, for those of you who are so fortunately unfamiliar with the institution, is essentially Shooters II on steroids, minus a mechanical bull, plus a lot of steroid-swollen guidos or their female stiletto-strutting counterparts.)

Now, five seasons deep of being tormented, belittled and smeared by something called Snooki, I ask (plead, beg, etc.) you to reconsider supporting something so tragic as MTV’s series. I challenge you to search “Spring Lake Boardwalk” on Google. Keep your eyes and nose closed when you land for a layover at Newark Liberty International Airport, because that’s not what Jersey is.

I am speaking for all loyal Garden Staters when I say that we won’t tolerate the Jersey Shore stereotypes any longer. Should they continue, we’ll smile, be silent and toss you the one-fingered “Jersey Salute.”

Ashley Camano is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Tuesday.