RoL1: Oh my god, look what the cat dragged in

Many disparaging things have been said about reality TV: it's dumbing down America, it's taking the place of real, actual shows with plots and actors, it's taking morons and making them superstars...big whoop. I totally admit I'm part of the problem. I love this shit! And I'm only slightly ashamed to say yet again that I have been eagerly awaiting what is sure to be the crown jewel of the reality TV dating genre, Rock of Love. I love Poison (one time I won a super-klassy Poison mirror from playing the balloon-dart game at the county fair), groupies and people who publicly embarrass themselves. And that is why I am going to marry VH1 for developing this beautiful, beautiful trainwreck. It's true; we're officially engaged! The premiere episode was more than I could have ever dreamed of, and I'd like to offer up a little synopsis for any of you who were unlucky enough to have missed it, because it will likely never, ever air again.

The first episode starts out with a tanned and Barbie-haired Bret Michaels lamenting that "rock and roll is the reason for and destruction of all of my relationships," and who among us can't relate to that? All this bad boy with a heart of gold wants is love, but day-glo mike stands, snakeskin nut-huggers and a toxic mist of Aqua Net stands between him and true happiness. Bret seeks a woman he can have sex with AND who will be his pal. How else to find such a lucky lass then by sending VH1 lackeys to the classiest of all strip joints and hairdressing schools America has to offer?

Bret shows up to briefly greet the bitches and we are treated to high-pitched screetching and devil horns rock hand gestures aplenty. Then—BAM!—right off the bat we are treated to the ritual humiliation of five girls who are chosen by Bret's "head of security" to pack their bags and get back on the bus. You know where you are? You're in the jungle, baby! You're gonna diiiie! However, one of these busted beauties will not take this abrupt elimination sitting down (or sober), which we'll get to in a few.

After Big John the Security Goon lays down the groundrules (No peeking at Bret hatless, don't touch the guitars, and absolutely, positively no puking in the Jacuzzi!), the ladies enter Bret's manly (fake) crash pad, a home that features everything covered within an inch of its' life with leopard print and chrome, plus an array of Bret's favorite things: motorcycles, guitars, and...surprise! A stripper pole! Ah, the design element that will separate the women from the girls. I didn't notice if the producers had remembered to install a Purell pump nearby, but I'm sure any self-respecting stripper carries anti-bac Wet-Naps in her little wheeled suitcase, so hopefully we'll be OK. In the meantime, the girls hit the bar to whoop it and get sufficiently shitfaced before meeting their knight in shining Lycra. It's a great chance for us to get to know the ho-bags that made the cut while in their natural habitat, including:
• Erin, better known as Miss Hooters of Illinois
• Not one, but TWO Brandis (both blonde and idiotic)
• Girls named Tawny, Raven and Dallas
• A chick who calls herself Rodeo and immediately falls for Bret (but is pretty much guaranteed a painful elimination, as she seems to be too close to Bret's age for comfort).

Besides being blown out and overprocessed, these ladies all have one thing in common: they want to scratch each others' eyes out to get to Bret Michaels. Oh, and boobs. They all have big, huge, fake boobs.

Speaking of boobs (literally and likewise), one of the Brandis and another Aryan named Kristia immediately decide that they are best friends, which we all know spells trouble in a big way. How long will it take for them to end their deep, meaningful, bros-before-hoes sisterhood because one gets to go headband shopping with Bret and the other doesn't? It also doesn't help that these two have the combined IQ of a dead ant. When Kristia says "If we put our boobs together, we can think better," you can practically hear the frantic scribble of pens in the VH1 exec boardrooms as they sign off on Seasons 2 and 3, which should take us all the way through to Summer '08.

Now, about that girl that refused to simply accept her looks-based elimination and slink back home to relative obscurity...she comes storming back and starts pounding on the door, demanding to be let back in. Of course, she is. She looks like the spawn of Pia Zadora and Jerri Blank and acts accordingly, getting smashed, telling off everyone in her path, slurring out garbled bon mots, and pogoing on Bret's lap like Perv Tigger on a meth binge. I read on the official Rock of Love webpage that this chick Tiffany is a nurse. She also lists her talent as "can bounce her boobs." Exactly what kind of nurse is she? "I came to help restore your pluck, 'cause I'm the nurse who likes to..." Which means she's not getting voted off for a good five eps.

One last memorable scene that I have to mention involves the aforementioned Brandi luring Bret's attention by squeezing into a pink bikini, sitting on his lap and suggesting they move to Utah so they can live life as polygamists. OK, so she doesn't actually say that, but she does attempt to seduce him by informing him that he can have all the girlfriends he wants, as long as she is the "main one." Bret immediately envisions a Hefner-esque lifestyle and of course, Miss Brandi is granted a backstage pass to the next episode. In a "surprise" twist, Tiffany also makes the cut because either Bret didn't get a chance to really talk to her because she was so trashed or because the suits smelled gold in them thar hills. Either way, the previews revealed that there's more fun on the way with these two, and promised loads of super-sexxxy hot tub rondezvous, lesbo action and hair-pulling catfights. In other words, it's going to be VH1's highest-rated show ever, I guarantee it.

Don't you just love America??