By Reno Gruber, Contributing Hobo
Rock of Love 2 Featuring Bret Michaels.
If you missed it, you apparently hate yourself and for that I am kind of worried about your health. You don’t know it, but you missed out on the worst thing ever(which not so coincidentally means you missed out on a hell of a television show.) But don’t get all suicidal, there is many an all-day marathon planned…this is VH1 we’re talking about here; Celebrity Fit Club only has so many episodes. But as the title suggests, this is the second offering of this cultural masterpiece- which means that shockingly, the first go-around didn’t solicit the former Poison front-man a lasting chance at love. Michaels had to decide between an off-putting 34 year old stripper who drank like Keith Richards and looked like a Blonde…Keith Richards and Jes, a Chicago hairstylist who was half his age, ¼ his weight and actually seemed pretty cool…and maybe out of his league. Turned out she thought so too, dumped him at the reunion show and suggested he was better off with the haggard stripper from Las Vegas (North, I presume.)
This year meant that VH1 and Bret Michaels both conceded they hit the jackpot last year with white America’s answer to Flavor of Love, so it’s safe to assume that Bret wasn’t too heartbroken when the waif-like Jes darted for smaller, but probably more tasteful things. He again introduced us to twenty of the least diverse/most predictable reminders why fathers everywhere should pay attention to their daughters for as long as they can. Hold on Fathers, or you will see them soon crooning your nearest reality show on the community stripper pole of rock stars that aged like fine milk. The first couple of episodes are a mess, where the producers’ hand-picked train-wrecks are poised to earn their per diem, and play their role of hilarious whores that are somehow not good enough for the remaining members of Great White (too soon?) It’s hard to remember what happens besides the formula of probable disease + predictable dance moves x Cabo Wabo by the gallon = mega ratings? The girls clamor to get to know Bret, while he walks around making awful one-liners that would cause any normal man to find fleeting salvation in his palms. I think I heard him point at “boobies” and say “me likey” at least four times. Apparently singing ‘Unskinny Bop’ over the years does NOT help your verbal ‘game’ with the ladies. Of course these ladies think it is the greatest thing they have ever heard. But it’s safe to say these women would either not notice/care if Bret Michaels was quietly replaced by Dee Snyder, Richard Marx or Chuck Woolery. They done seen him on Tee Veeee!
But the star of the show is also the thing that must be on the first line of Mr. Michael’s contract; Bret’s wig and its unconscionable absence in any discussion from anyone. I assume if anyone mentioned the “W word” production comes to a similar halt that my dancing does when I hear his music (immediate, with disregard for personal health.) Being a sloppy late-twenties man, I can’t exactly spot a weave. So its safe to think if I can, it’s one found at paper warehouse a few weeks into November in the dollar bin. I like to think Bret actually picked up a Bret Michaels wig from a lonely kiosk in some Rhode Island mall and got an empty compliment when he wore it. He seems disillusioned enough to slap a Steven Tyler silk bandana around it and just “Rock.” The first two episodes are pretty entertaining, but hardly notable. It’s obvious there are girls there that are merely paid to be a complete joke (wait, aren’t they all?) Cue the myriad of third generation porn “stars.” Its not shocking a show like this wouldn’t take it self seriously, but it’d be easier to call it hilarious if it wasn’t so aware of how bad it was. Concurrently, that’s exactly why American Gladiators sucked so badly. It DID take itself seriously...they just never get it right do they?
Anyhow the eventual winner is pretty much eliminated in the first episode, but some awful, haggard looking girl quits for no reason and Ambre (the winner, also an actress; weird, I know,) gets the pity “VIP pass.” They say the word destiny about 40 times before it’s over, and I was waiting for God just to annihilate the entire zip code that filming was in, but I assume he has bigger fish to fry at the moment (Cheney, wear a rain coat.)
There are 3 “hot” girls, all with more daddy issues than Patty Hurst and Paris Hilton combined. Kristy Joe, a cute brunette until you take a second look and see she has maybe the greatest case of “crazy face” ever witnessed on TV. The next spin-off should be a competition to see if anyone can look into her eyes and see any semblance of a soul. Daisy was your conventional tattooed rocker girl, and later we find she is the bastard niece of Oscar De La Hoya. She’s kind of cute, then you hear her talk, then you look at her again…then she keeps talking, then you take the nearest living thing and end its life force. The greatest laugh of the season was when she revealed that she also fucked CC Deville (also in Poison, also looks like Tina Yothers.) The nearly cute one was Megan, a tall, familiar looking girl that matches Kristy Jo’s dead look, and raises it with a vacant nothingness of a personality that plagues all too many women that have been told they were attractive once too many times in high school. I come to find out she was on “Beauty and the Geek” last year and actually won it. So yes failed actresses, you too can have an acting career shabbily playing yourself while chewing the scenery on the way! The only one legitimately cute was Jessica, who was completely ignored in the shows editing despite making it to the final 4. No time for cute girls when you have tramps to laugh at!
But the most fun I had laughing at, of all the women, happened to be the unreal duo of Peyton and Catherine. Peyton has to be the oldest 34 year old alive. I assume she had smoked a pack and a half of pall malls while tanning 5 hours a day since 82. Where last year they had someone that could be a blond Keith Richards, Peyton actually was Keith Richards. Rumor has it the army is trying to clone her skin as a prototype for a new type of bullet protecting armor. Seriously, I don’t care how much you care about personality, how this bitch got on any TV show can be only explained in two words. Blow and Job. Completely unreal and she lasted until like the final 7, outlasted somehow by Elvira, wait Catherine. Catherine was older than Bret, and was probably hot when Foghat was kicking ass that wasn’t the Apple Valley Bowling Alley. (Maybe the 1977 slow ride tour? I assume this again was the producers playing a funny on us, but seriously- I was insulted. I am not looking for Rock of Love to show me the exploits of how love conquers all, and how anyone can find love. If anyone does please stop reading this, find a butter knife and kindly insert it into your brain.
I was going to re-cap the whole show, but that would somehow make me more pathetic. Just know that in the end he had a chance between two different cases of fetal alcohol syndrome. Daisy, the rocker chick with eyes nearing her temples and Ambre (yes, she fucking spells her name Ambre) who’s eyes made her look like a live-action Kathy cartoon. He picked close eyes over far eyes. She cried, he looked like he just chose to have a tuna sub instead of cold cut combo.
Let the world erase this from their brains immediately.
Thanks for the memories, Bret. See ya next year when you find your Rock of Love in a bottle of Malibu laced with Propecia and Viagra.
hilarious escape attempt after another foiled by the stern but comically fumbling Col. Klink and his band of Keystone Nazis. But secondly, it has also taught me that in order to live a full, happy, adventure-filled life, there is only one way to go about it... by contracting genital herpes.
And from that point on, I swore to myself that I would spend every waking hour sticking my ween into any orifice willing to accept it until I contracted genital herpes, and consequently, found true happiness.
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