The history of ASHeather's hair

Tonight's the night, kids! Who will Bret choose: Aging, Strident Stripper Heather or Pink-Haired Cutie Jes? And more importantly, how big will ASHeather's hair be for the final elimination? Let's take a look back, courtesy of super-fab blogger Rich Juzwiak at the Celebreality Blog, at the bad, the worse and the truly horrifying of ASHeather's 'dos throughout the last 10 weeks.

The world according to Haim

I'm totally depressed and it's all Corey Haim's fault. Thanks to the guys over at Reel Horror, I've been made privy to the 1989 straight-to-video blockbuster Corey Haim: Me, Myself & I, a short film that Corey put together for his "fans." According to IMDb, the real point of this masterpiece was to serve as damage control, as this was around the time that Corey started getting bad press about his drug use. Obviously, the powers-that-be behind the Corey empire are just as deluded as as the people that keep allowing Britney out into public, because, well...you have to watch it. Here, I'll even embed it so we can watch it together (sort of). Just do it. I'll wait. Then we'll analyze:



Warning: this is going to be a long post because, as you just saw, there is oh-so-much to cover. Let's start at the beginning: Corey and his frost n' tip hair are sitting on a cushy white couch as the camera zooms in on him. He does this weird sideways smirk thing with his mouth and makes that little chin-up head nod thing that K-Fed always does and says, "Whassup? Hel-lo!" I think he's trying to be sexy here, but it comes off like he's the 25-year-old burnout working behind the counter at Chik-Fil-A who tries to hit on all the 12-year-olds that come in. Also, he's clearly on something; my guess is 'ludes. And are those rubber Madonna bracelets I see there, Calvin Klein??

Next they show some hapless flunkie pumping air into a giant inflatable alligator, which is for Corey to float around the pool on. I guess this is supposed to give us a taste of the glam Hollywood lifestyle that Corey leads. I mean, it's not like any of us can blow up an alligator float and laze around in a pool all day. We are also not on the forefront of the fashion scene, like Corey is with his Ray-Bans and '80s neon-yellow parachute swim trunks. He also affords the luxury of having an entirely separate duckie-shaped float for his drink that is floating along behind him. We see cuts of him on the alligator interspersed throughout the segment, including riveting "behind-the-scenes" footage of PAs jerking the float around to get a better shot and also pulling the float over to the side of the pool. The soundtrack features this totally tubular background music that sounds like the jukebox at The Max on Saved by the Bell. This is what living large in Tinseltown is all about, kids!

We're then treated to some outstanding Corey quotes about what he's been up to and his favorite "projects." Bear in mind that this was made in '89, when Jimmy Hollywood had a whopping nine feature films under his belt. Here are some of of his riveting statements, all delivered with a smug little grin and a pseudo-intellectual haughtiness:

• The direction in my life right now, that I'm trying to, I guess, proceed with, in the business is, gradually, from being the little boy, from the younger, you know, brother, to trying to be the older brother. Or the only brother.

• Is there someone I look up to? Uh, yeah. Um. I look up to John Ritter, just because, I guess, he's a physical comedian. Um, and I enjoy that. (followed by Corey inexplicably screaming, "My man Three's Company! Jack Tripper! Furrr-laayyy!")

• I'm trying to get in the habit of, you know, picking up a book and learning how to write my feelings down. Not my feelings, but my thoughts, about things.

Someone sign this guy up for Toastmasters, stat. This is worse than watching Bush try to debate.

Now we come to my favorite part: the "music" segment. Corey reveals the bombshell that he likes to "slap on the headphones and dibble-dabble on the keyboards", which is followed by a clip of him sitting in front of about eight synthesizers and pushing one button with one finger one time. Does anyone remember Praga Kahn? It's kind of like a horrifying version of that with some shitty, Corey-added C+C Music Factory-esque overdubs "dibble-dabbled" in. I'm surprised he isn't just sitting in his bedroom with his Casio keyboard set to bossanova and plinking away on one key to create his awesome music.

I bet you're wondering what kind of music this man-of-many-talents likes best. The answer is: "That Japanese funk!" OK, Corey, what the fuck is that? I'll tell you exactly what it is: there's no such thing! Corey is clearly one of those guys that makes up genres so he sounds like he's the cool, hip guy in school that knows all about some underground scene that no one else has ever heard of. Everyone knows someone like this: "Nah, Duran Duran's too mainstream for me. I'm into Japanese funk. Oh, you've never heard of it? Well, it hasn't made it over here yet." Ug! I hate that!

Get ready, because it gets worse: while the production team is setting up, Corey occupies himself by jamming out on the synths, because he obviously just can't stop himself from creating, and voice-overs "We are all born with a certain inner rhythm! Hearing a certain song can remind you of a time or event in your life that was special!" Sort of like how "Head Like A Hole" reminds me of the 1991 Haim hit Prayer of the Rollerboys? Oh, wait, no it doesn't! Because that time or event in my life wasn't special. Corey is obvs into his own special little moment because he embarrassingly flails around playing air guitar and banging his head like Rainman and exclaiming, "Let's get all funky!" while the idiot director eggs him on. Looks to me like someone might have bumped into something on the way to the studio, if you know what I mean. Here's more evidence. Next up, we see him at a photo shoot wearing a vest with nothing underneath it. Here we can see that he has what looks like the bat symbol tattooed on his arm. Jesus Christ, he is seriously K-Fed...

Can't take the heat that is emulating from your computer screen? Then let's take it down a notch with a few more thought-provoking quotes. Prepare to have your mind blown:

• I have to say, the way I'm feeling, nowadays, would have to be: intense. Powerful.

• I think maybe ten years from now, I'm hopefully going to be, in like, Tahiti or something kicking back like in my huge mansion, if everything goes right, it's all up to me, just watching like the dolphins, and the porpoises and the sharks and the little sea horses and all that fun stuff go by in a whole different country, while things happen back here.

• What does kissing really mean to me? To me, if you feel, when you kiss a girl, that certain feeling of all those dolphins, like, swimming through your bloodstream, and you get those good tingles inside your stomach, I don't think there's anything better than kissing. It basically comes down to that word: Love. I guess that's what it's all about.

Does crack consumption make you see dolphins or something? Because I think he's obsessed. What in the name of all that's holy is the matter with this guy?? I can't get over it. I'm thinking it's just some unfortunate combination of ego, fame, stupidity, and drug consumption. Is this where Lohan is headed? If so, please let her handlers be smarter than Corey's and never allow her to release a "fan video" to strengthen her tarnished image. I don't think I could handle seeing Lohan in something like this. Anyway, interspersed with these profound musings are more modeling shots of Corey, including one of him doing a drunken, off-balance karake kick and one of him wearing a badass leather jacket with skulls on the back...with a color-block shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck.

For the final scene, Corey dons a suit and treats his fans to some final words of wisdom:

Growing up on movie sets has its ups and its downs...all of it sounds like fun. But when you're 12 or 13 years old, you're very, very impressionable and I know it's easy to get off track...so be smart. Don't get messed up. Stay in school. Be anybody you want to be.

It should be noted that this inspirational message is delivered with a glassy-eyed stare, figety hand gesticulations and through several cuts that make it obvious this wasn't done in one take. That big faker is high as a fucking kite! Do you think your fans are stupid, Corey? We can see right through your Revlon Frost N' Glow hair...that shit was done at home! I swear I remember seeing some show where Corey was blathering about his "rock bottom" and how he did an anti-drug commercial while he was strung out. Could this be it? I don't think this was even near his rock bottom. He stole pizza and took 85 Valiums a day! Doesn't seem like things went right, unless he's on enough stuff that he thinks his mom's apartment is a mansion in Tahiti with dolphins and seahorses floating by the windows.

God, I'm utterly humiliated that I used to like this guy. I mean, I had my wall plastered with Corey posters! If there had been a Corey Haim hotline, I would have been like Lisa Simpson, running up the family's phone bill with late-night calls to hear the latest Corey news. Readers, I am ashamed of myself! All that time wasted when I could have been obsessing over someone more worthwhile, like John Taylor or Michael Hutchence. Please don't hold it against me; I was only 12! And I got over it and moved on to Nikki Sixx and Duff McKagan. That's a step up, right? Even so, it still makes me want to run into the path of an oncoming train. Maybe I need more dolphins in my life...or keyboard dibble-dabbling...or something.

RockitQueen's Tips on Disaster Preparedness

While you may already be in the full swing of celebrating National Honey Month, National Courtesy Month, and National Bleach Clean-Up Month, don't forget that September is also Disaster Preparedness Month! Don't think this is just more propaganda from the Department of Homeland Security to scare you into submission. This is serious, people! To help us ready ourselves for the inevitable bioterrorism attacks, raping, pillaging and other scary things that the terrorists are cooking up right this minute, the DHS has offered up some helpful symbols to aid in reducing panic. We don't know what they mean. There are several "funny" interpretations of these symbols floating around there on the internet to add to the confusion. As my contribution to Disaster Preparedness Month, I have provided instructions along with the symbols; you may want to bookmark this page and refer back to it in the case of an emergency.


After you've taped plastic over all entryways to your house, label each with "Door", "Window", "Vent" and "Fan" in Comic Sans so you don't get lightheaded from lack of oxygen and forget what's what.







Whatever you do, don't get trapped in under falling debris or surrounded by clouds of dust. If that happens, you're pretty much fucked.







If you see anything suspicious, toot your whistle or scream your head off to warn others.







Avoid San Antonio at all costs. It's a hotbed of radioactivity.





Standing around thinking about dead contaminated fish won't do any good. Panicking is way better.







If reggae fumes are making you sick, that's pretty much your problem. There's nothing we can do about that one.






If you encounter a giant radioactive spray can, casually turn around, walk away whistling and pretend you never saw it.








We've nicknamed three cities in Missouri "Town A", "Town B" and "Town C". Don't tell terrorists what towns they really are, so when we go there during an attack, they won't know where to find us.







If you see a large blast, don't drive toward it, dumbass! Do a donut and get the fuck out of there!








Carry a flashlight with you at all times in case a bunch of shit falls on you. Then, you can ignore all the blood, broken limbs and massive head injuries and have the state of mind to unpin your mangled hand and wave it around for hours, or even days, until rescuers can find you.









Gilbert Gottfried knows not to look out windows during a terrorist attack. They might see you.







If you turn into a zombie, don't forget that doors open from the knob side, not the hinge side.










You can either stand up and fight, crawl away and hide or rock back and forth while sobbing. Think long and hard about which one makes you a good American.







Huffing is always a good idea during a national emergency. It makes things seem like they're not that bad.







Terrorists want to crush the American Dream. If they win, you will have to choose either your house or your station wagon. You can't have both when there is no more freedom.







Don't even think about reenacting Wax's "Southern California" video.







Terrorists will try to break you down by playing Air Supply non-stop over the airwaves. While it's tempting to want to curl up in the fetal position and cry, resist those sneaky bastards and make a run for it.








If terrorists tape yellow arrows over your door to prevent escape, karate chop the door open with your hand.







Remember Aqua Net? Man, that shit was toxic!

RoL10: Yer daddy don't rock n' roll

Get ready, everyone, because this was the best episode of RoL yet! From here on out, television has a much higher bar to reach. It's time for the First Annual (Bi-annual?) Rock of Love Meet the Parents Episode! In which our hero (Bret) will engage in pleasantries with the parental units of the ladies that he has chosen thus far. We all remember how this played out on Flavor of Love, I hope!

First to arrive are the aging, strident parents of Aging, Strident Heather, who look like your run-of-the-mill Grove City residents (which those of you familiar with Cowtown will understand immediately), and whom ASHeather says she has only seen together in the same room twice before. Jes's parents show up next and they are completely adorable, just like Jes, and they instantly hit it off with Bret and seem refreshingly normal. Finally, we have the arrival of the refreshingly not-so-normal father, Otis, and step-mom of Hatchet Face. Immediately, you can see that this is going to be all kinds of uncomfortable, as Mr. Otis Hatchet is one of those self-made millionaire gasbags that loves to slyly cut people down to make up for his lack of ween. We all know someone like this, so let's all relate while Bret gets the third degree from this asshole. Oh, also, Otis Hatchet's wifey seems to be quite a bit younger than he and also doesn't talk much. She also looks *really* excited to meet Bret.

I'm sure Step-Hatchet will be even more exstatic to hear that Bret will be joining each family for a date over the course of the day. Lunch is to be at some wooden saloon-type place with the Aging, Stridents. Bret, ASHeather and Mr. ASHeather hit the giant beer bong situated in the middle of the table full-throttle, and Mr. ASHeather launches into this strange story about "a Chinese" who was farting on the plane. You would think it's the funniest story of all time, if his relating of it is any indication. Bret chuckles politely, then casually points out the mechanical bull and suggests that one of them (wink, wink) should ride it. Of course, ASHeather mounts right up and works her boobies (or, as she calls them, "tatters") to maximum bounce-ability. Of course, she gets thrown off after about three seconds, and then almost gets beaned by the bull's rearing head as an added bonus. This is when you notice that there are, like, two people in the rest of the restaurant. Probably because they saw Bret Michaels, some skank and some parental-looking people slink in trailed by TV cameras.

After this successful date, Bret takes off to meet up with Jes & Co. at some rock n' roll clothing store and hilarity ensues when Jes's parents put on bandannas, crucifixes and basically dress up like Bret. It's kind of like that scene in European Vacation where the Griswolds try on a bunch of clothes and then come out of the store thinking they look really fashionable but really just look like a bunch of assholes. It's pretty uneventful and the date is deemed a "9.5, if not 10" by Bret.

Now we get to the good part. Bret meets Hatchet and her fam at some swanky-looking outdoor patio of a place called "eat.", and that period is no typo. The tension reaches Mount Vesuvius level when Hatchet's dad starts in with the questioning. First of all, Otis Hatchet seems to somehow have it in his mind that Bret is engaged to his daughter for the sole purpose of pillaging the family's vast fortune, which he mentions at every opportunity. He riddles Bret with a machine-gun fire of awkward questions and comments: Are your parents still alive? You're not going to call me "Dad" are you? You're signing a prenup! I'm rich! My daughter's rich! Are you bald under your hat? When Bret asks if the fries have hot sauce on them because his mouth is burning, Otis Hatchet brays, "I think it's all the LIES yer tellin'!" Did this guy come from the same acting school as New York's mom?

Hilariously, Mr. Hatchet then proclaims that his lil' girl doesn't drink a whole lot. Well, Otis, I submit to you Exhibit A: last week's episode. Oh, and she's a Presidential Scholar. Hatchet looks a little embarrassed when this fun fact is revealed and rightfully so. Her "rocker chick" credibility just went down a notch. Geek!

Back at the Whore House, ASHeather gets all grossed out when a letchy Otis Hatchet blatantly checks out her cans as she putters around the room drunk n' topless. It's really gross and creepy, but she's giving him the free peek. Cover that shit up already and call him out!

It's dinner time and it seems as if these people are constantly eating. But at this mealtime, the gang is going to be served up a nice hot platter of condescension, courtesy of Otis Hatchet. Everyone sits down to eat and the Hatchets immediately start grilling everyone on their backstories. When ASHeather mentions that she has a degree in communications, Otis Hatchet smugly replies that he can hook her up with Time-Warner because they are a "client". Or maybe he said "hooker up". I'm not sure. And maybe "Time-Warner" is actually his nickname for his crotch area. Either way, it's very ooky and everyone at the table stares miserably at their plates, until ASHeather pipes up and instructs Hatchet to tell her dad how she "knocked over 40 bottles in Vegas." Hatchet cackles haughtily and plays it off like she already told them, but look closely and you can see Otis Hatchet's face turning red. You know what he's thinking: "Don't you dare embarrass me—Otis Hatchet! Richest man in all the land!"

Through all this drama, Bret looks like a forest creature with its leg mangled up in a bear trap. He takes his aggressions out on a punching bag with Otis Hatchet's face taped on it, which he rips down as Little Girl Hatchet approaches. Bret says that he is offended that Otis Hatchet assumed that he was a money-grubber and Hatchet somehow twists the conversation around to talking about how ASHeather doesn't respect her parents and how she'll never stop stripping. So, typical Hatchet. But guess what: turns out ASHeather and Jes overheard the entire conversation from the roof! Zing! ASHeather marches up to Hatchet and confronts her and screams loud enough for everyone in the house to hear: "Why don't you tell your dad how many times you've [bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep-ed] Bret's [bleep] since you've been here?" YES!!! How could this possibly get better??

This is how: Hatchet naturally follows ASHeather into the house and weakly retorts that her parents have known her for 30 years, which sends ASHeather into a frenzy and she starts screaming to Otis Hatchet: "Your daughter is a slut!" Being a member of the Hatchet family, Otis's natural response is to go tell on ASHeather to Bret, which is arguably best moment on this show so far this season. Otis approaches Bret, who is working out, and says, "Sorry to bother you, Big Boy, but Heather told me that I need to be concerned about my daughter sucking your dick."

Because it's so good, go ahead and read it again. "Sorry to bother you, Big Boy, but Heather told me that I need to be concerned about my daughter sucking your dick." In fact, you may want to look it up on YouTube or catch the repeat just so you can see the expression on Bret's face. I tried to find a still shot of it to share with you because it's absolutely priceless. It's akin to that earlier allusion I made to him having his foot caught in a bear trap, only this time he's desperately chewing at his own leg to get free so he can run like the wind away on one foot. Bret wonders where Security Goon Big John is when he needs him. He's sleeping, Bret. Snoozing away like a big, dumb animal in an overstuffed chair from Ikea. No one can help you now!

His only hope, Obi-Wan, is elimination. The gals say good-bye to their families and Hatchet promises to call later "with the good news", whatever that means. Is she planning to hoodwink Bret into signing a prenup? Looks like she's going to be shit out of luck, because Jes and ASHeather are chosen to continue rocking Bret's world next week...in CABO!!!! Wooooooo!!!! Which also means that Hatchet Face has been voted out of the Whore House! Ding, dong the bitch is dead! Happy, happy, joy, joy! When she's interviewed after the slaughter she says she is in shock, and wears the same glazed Norman Bates-ish expression she has pretty much at all times. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, Hatchet! No more talking dirty for you!

Next week: it looks as if next week is the final episode, but my guess is "surprise" clip show, so don't get too excited. Yet.

RoL9: Someone finally pukes!

Tonight we have the requisite "on the road" episode, wherein the lucky final four will be whisked away for a weekend somewhere wild n' crazy so Bret can monitor their behavior in public. You'll never believe where the gang is off to...VEGAS! Let me guess: they're staying at The Palms? Hm, maybe not. As Bret and the hobags' bus pulls into town we don't see 50 zillion establishing shots of The Palms, so perhaps they are staying elsewhere. Wow, this episode really is going to be full of surprises!

So the point of this whole trip is that Bret will be appearing in concert and the sluts are all geared up to support their man from the wings and I guess beat up aging, strident bitches who throw their undies at Bret and try to hit up Security Goon Big John (who is featured less and less as the weeks go by) for backstage passes. The bus pulls into town and Bret must immediately go to sound check, leaving the girls to enjoy the afternoon. Ahh, free time in Vegas! What's a girl to do? Hit the casinos? Check out a show? People-watch on the Strip? Fuck that, we're going to go take baths in the hotel room! The champagne starts flowing and the syphillis soup is heating up as Hatchet Face and Aging, Strident Heather slip into some bubbly bathwater together and discuss how it's the two of them against The Other Brandi and Jes. I don't understand the forming of alliances on a reality dating show. What exactly is this supposed to accomplish? Oh, I know...ratings. Stir it up, bitches!

The slags break out the glitter, slather on some frosty pastel makeup and discuss strategy. The Other Brandi thinks the key to winning the Bret Date is to get ASHeather shitfaced. Jes elects to not get too drunk and make an ass out of herself. Surprise number 2 of the evening: we won't be seeing much of Jes tonight.

The show is on and Bret has about 800 batik-print scarves tied to the mike stand. The girls stand off the side of the stage and appropriately groupie out by swaying to the music in that way that chicks seem to think is sexy, but really just makes them look like Nell. They are also being fed booze by the boxload and before you know it, we're looking at Surprise #3: The Other Brandi and Hatchet Face are wrecked. Plastered. Hammered. Sloshed. Smashed. Retarded. They are G-O-N, gone.

Speaking of boobs, I'm sure you'll be shocked to find out that Hatchet goes from being a big meanie to Hitler in 30 seconds flat when drunk. She totters around beligerantly telling everyone to go fuck themselves and then corners The (equally schnockered) Other Brandi to antagonize and pour Jaeger over her head. In this situation, any self-respecting groupie would lash out in retaliation and The Other Brandi is no exception: she immediatly points her ass in Hatchet's direction and emits a loud fart. Hatchet marinates in the stench for a moment and then stumbles and falls on top of ASHeather. Security Goon Big John is clearly used to dealing with this variety of groupie and scoops Hatchet up to carry her to dinner. Suddenly, we are treated to Big Surprise Numero Quatro: the seams in the big ASHeather-Hatchet alliance start to bust when The Other Brandi reveals that Hatchet has drunkenly announced that she doesn't give a #@*$! what she has to %@$#$ do to get Bret and no $(*#&%@%$ &#^%#$@$@# is going to get in her way! ASHeather is shocked at this betrayal. Simply SHOCKED!

This horrifying revelation causes ASHeather to be markedly less amused by Hatchet's drunken antics. As they wait for Bret to arrive for dinner, Hatchet begins clumsily slithering across the bar like a drunken croc, taunting Jes, then hilariously topples over, taking a whole row of glass bottles down with her. No freaking way this chick is a "touring musician" as claimed. No self-respecting rock star would ever knock bottles over and waste precious liquor! What is this, amateur hour? Unfortunately, before things get even crazier, Security Goon Big John shows up AGAIN and carries Hatchet away, her head lolling and slurring insults the entire way.

While all this is going on, ASHeather is slurping away on half-shell oysters, which we all know is the ultimate snack feast for the highly intoxicated. Again, sheer brilliance from the RoL staff. It's like offering someone who just drank four margaritas a nice big bowl of sauerkraut n' mayo. ASHeather makes a big show out of eating them and offers one to The Other Brandi. Then, it happens—Big Surprise #5: The Other Brandi discreetly lifts a napkin to her lips, then not-so-discreetly barfs into it. Her cheeks puff out comically and a water fountain stream of vomit squirts out like a tiny, disgusting geyser. ASHeather recoils slightly, then continues to munch away on seafood and then casually reapply her Wet n' Wild lip gloss. Hatchet, take note. This is how a rock star rolls.

Bret cuddles The Other Brandi as she expunges their fabulous meal into the toilet and she shows her gratitude by announcing to him that she "really fuckin' loves" him. Big Shock #6: Bret likes it. This guy is a weirdo. He's turned on by puking? Motley Crue can't even compete with that. Congrats, Bret! But the love is short-lived; the next day The Other Brandi ignorantly reveals to Hatchet that Bret isn't the guy for her because she simply can't handle this lifestyle. What? She's wild thing! And she just dug her own grave.

Naturally, Hatchet and ASHeather run to Bret and tell him. OK, that's not exactly what happened, but I'm a little bit confused. There's something about individual dates and massages and it looks like all the girls MIGHT have gotten one-on-one time with Bret, but suddenly they are all at dinner and I think I kind of know what's going on now. OK, so then Bret says something about wanting to get ASHeather off the pole and on to his pole and I don't understand why that's a problem. I mean, I think all he really has to do is ask, right? So they start talking about it and suddenly Hatchet interrupts and starts talking about her mental problems. Bret says he don't do manic depressives, so—surprise 7!—Hatchet brings out the dead mom. And that makes Bret take her back to his room to "find out more about her." Holy shit. Turns out Bret does do manic depressives! I think I'm gonna be sick...maybe The Other Brandi and I can take turns holding each other's hair out of our faces. Meet ya in the bathroom, BB!

Anyway, if that wasn't confusing enough, at elimination ASHeather is shown with normal-looking hair and officially declares her alliance with Hatchet over. Wait a minute. You mean you aren't planning on being the final two with Bret choosing BOTH of you as winners anymore? Surely you jest! But that's not the final surprise of the evening: that comes with The Other Brandi's elimination of herself when she honestly tells Bret that she can't let her guard down and that it's time for her to go. Holy shit, The Other Brandi essentially just eliminated Bret! Awesome! Mr. Rock Star tells The Other Brandi to have a nice life and she leaves the Whore House a proud, proud woman. Wow. I'm impressed. CC and his pals are probably cracking up as they watch this. Best episode yet!

...that is until next week when Bret meets the parents!

Tripping the light shittastic

I woke up this morning with a serious case of schadenfreude. I almost had to call off work. Is it wrong that I feel so gleeful over Britney's abject failure at last night's VMAs? It was just all so utterly perfect! The galumphing. The obliviousness. The undulating rolls. The befuddled disorientation. The haggard weave. I loved every painful second! Do you hear that sound? It's the bang, bang, banging of the final nail being driven into the coffin that is Britney Spears' career. And not a moment too soon! Even more invigorating are today's ruthless headlines and merciless critiques—I've culled a few for your enjoyment:

• MSNBC: Britney bombs: Out-of-shape singer looks bleary, unprepared

• CNN: Britney ripped mercilessly

• ABC News: Why Was Britney So Bad? Some Say Spears Hit a New Low

• TMZ: Britney's Career: 1998–2007

• New York Post: Britney a Bust: Lard & Clear Loser at VMAs

• And my personal favorite, from Yahoo!'s front page: Britney Spears, VMAs Fail Miserably

Ready for some bitchy assessments of Brit's "comeback" performance?
-Associated Press: Somewhere, Kevin Federline is laughing. An out-of-shape, out-of-touch Britney Spears delivered what was destined to be the most talked about performance of the MTV Video Music Awards—but for all the wrong reasons. Kicking off the show Sunday night with her new single, "Gimme More," Spears looked bleary and unprepared, much like her recent tabloid exploits on the streets of Los Angeles. She walked through her dance moves with little enthusiasm. It appeared she had forgotten the entire art of lip-synching. And, perhaps most unforgivable given her once-taut frame, she looked embarrassingly out of shape.

-Gossip blogger Perez Hilton: "She blew it," Hilton told Reuters. "Everybody knows Britney lip-syncs, but that's because she dances so much. She barely even danced in this. It was so bad. It was painful. It was embarrassing. And I loved it!"

-New York Post: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? So why was Britney Spears' totally lame, pathetically lip-synched Video Music Awards performance at the Palms Casino last night allowed to be seen by the rest of the world? At the annual MTV ceremony, Spears mounted her big comeback doing "Gimme More" from her upcoming album, but the song about lusting for too much wasn't enough to launch a dinghy, let along relaunch the career of this ditzy disaster. Spears was stuffed into a spangled bra and hot pants and jiggled like Jell-O as she sleepwalked through the song. She didn't seem to care that she danced like she had a pantload, that her lips weren't synched with the song, and that the tune isn't all that great.

So I stand corrected on my VMA prediction that the gossip bloggers would be jacking off over Brit's horrid performance. Even Trent at Pink is the New Blog, one of the last pro-Brit entities standing, was thouroughly disgusted. God, what a fucking fabulous night of TV 9/9/07 was! And I haven't even gotten to Rock of Love yet!

Lip sync more, lip sync lip sync lip sync more!

One word about Britney's VMA performance tonight: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'll have more later. But for now that says it all. IT'S BRITNEY, BITCH!!!!!

My, my, my, I'm so happy, I'm gonna join the band!

Omigod, omigod, omigod!! My face is cracked from smiling...and I seriously just peed my pants!!!

Led Zeppelin frontman Robert Plant has confirmed that the legendary rock band will be reuniting later this year.

A reunion has been strongly rumoured for the last week or so and today (September 5) the singer confirmed it's definitely on.

A fan who met Plant in London today contacted NME.COM explaining that the singer said he was on his way to meet bandmates Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones.

"How did you find out about this?" asked Plant when asked about the prospects of a reunion show by the autograph hunter. "Well we've got a band meeting about it this afternoon about it. There's not a lot to work out as it's only going to be one-off gig."

NME.COM has also learned from a music industry source that the show, possibly to take place in November at the 02 in London, will be a charity gig organised by promoter Harvey Goldsmith.

Predictions for this Sunday's VMAs

I never plan on watching the MTV Video Music Awards, mainly because I don't care and partly because I feel like someone's stern, judgemental parent with my arms crossed and my foot impatiently tapping as I watch. But for some reason I always fall victim to unseen hands that force me to tune in. Maybe it's the hope that some abject disaster will occur, like the time Slash and Duff got on stage wasted. Or the time that Courtney Love threw shit at Madonna. Or when Rose McGowan showed up naked. Big deal.

When it comes down to it, nothing really good ever happens...it's typically just a collection of minor mishaps or "shocking" surprises that the entertainment media flips its shit over. Like omigod, Britney wrapped herself in a giant boa/phallic symbol for her performance! Oops, now she's wearing a flesh-colored unitard and flashing her nips at the audience! Here we go again—she's frenching Madonna! We get it; Brit's a slut. Damn. People act like they've never seen a vag before.

This year's show is taking place in Vegas at—surprise!—the Palms! God, that place is eternally sucking MTV's dick. Or maybe MTV is sucking the Palms's dick. Either way, I'm fucking sick of the Palms. Hey, everyone, the Palms is cool! All the hottest, sexiest people hang out there! If you don't look like Hayden Pantierre or Jesse Metcalfe then FORGET IT! All this talk about how great the fucking Palms is makes me want to avoid it all together and purposely stay at the uncoolest place on the Strip the next time I go. What would that be? Circus Circus? But that was featured in Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas! The Stratosphere? I don't know. I'm sure they've got a Red Roof on the Strip somewhere...

Anyway, since I know I'm going to end up wasting my Sunday night watching this dreck (after RoL, of course), I figured I may as well try to have some fun with it. I'm going to make some VMA predictions and we'll just see how many of them actually happen. Readers, you can join in by leaving your own VMA predictions (that is, if you care, which I wouldn't blame you one bit if you didn't) in the comments section and we'll see who gets the most right! It's a fun game! And I'm going to judge my self-worth by how many responses I get. Don't make me cut! OK, so here we go:

1. There will be some kind of live pseudo-reporting from the Real World Las Vegas suite, most likely with a former RWLV cast member. My guess is that it will be Trashelle and/or Steven.

2. The Palms will be pimped out even more, with an interview room/green room housed in Ghost Bar. Don't forget: the Palms is REALLY, REALLY COOL!

3. There will be tons of pathetic mugging from a Derilique-clad Wentz.

4. Amy Winehouse will cuss on the air and say something bitchy to a reporter on the red carpet.

5. All winning rap/hip-hop videos will include all of the following: bitches, hoes, bling, cham, a hot tub/pool, and spinners.

6. The phrase "Sin City" will be used more than 30 times during the broadcast.

7. Rihanna, Megan Fox and that Nicole Scherzingsteinschwarzenegger chick from the Pussycat Dolls will wear the "most talked-about" (i.e. sluttiest) outfits.

8. There will be all kinds of hype about the release of 50 Cent and Kanye West CDs on the same day (September 11 to be exact) and no one will care except for MTV, 50 Cent and Kanye West.

9.There will be a surprise appearance from Owen Wilson.

10. A lip-syncing Britney will give the shittiest performance of her career and yet all the Hollywood bloggers (I'm looking at you, Trent) will be creaming their jeans the next day about her triumphant "comeback." By the way, have you heard her new song? It's Britney, bitch!

11. Jessica Simpleton will show up with a surprise celebrity date who she will "canoodle" with the entire evening, simply to get her name back in the news.

12. The cast of High School Musical will get the biggest applause/screams from the idiots in the audience.

13. Some young hipster will give a pretentious shout-out to Pavarotti and add that he was an "inspiration."

'Round and 'round she goes and where she stops nobody knows! No matter what happens, we all lose our shirts when we watch the VMAs, but at least no money will be involved. Hey-O! *rim shot* Seriously, I hope Britney falls down or something.

RoL8: Ripping off the bandaids

I've made no secret of my love of groupies on this blog; it's part of the reason why I heart RoL so frigging much. This week's show focuses on Bret's very own special gals—bandaids, if you will—and their opinions of the skeezers that are fighting for the heart of their main man. Do the girls know the name of Poison's drummer? How much do they really love Bret? And more importantly, just how far are they willing to go for him? You have no idea; oh, lord, do you have no idea...

Bret informs the Foxy (not sexy!) Five that this week he is putting them in a hot seat with some OTHER girls in his life. Immediately I think he's actually going to pimp his daughters out and blatantly expose them to HPV, but it turns out the girls in question are Bret's "superfans": Amy, Allison and Ky (who look like The Other Brandi, some Laguna Beach throwback, and porn star Tera Patrick's fat younger sister, respectively). They breeze into the Whore House with the wind machine blasting away in their faces and shoot bitchy looks at the quivering lineup of Aging, Strident Heather, The Other Brandi, Jes, Sam and Hatchet Face. The superfans are on hand to interview the skanks for the coveted job of being Bret's sperm receptacle. They slinkily pose against Bret like he's a pole and they're trying out for the Pussycat Dolls and pout. The skanks tremble. This is going to be good! Oh, and on-screen bios identify the superfans as Poison groupies of 10, 5 and 4 years. Weak! I, RockitQueen, have been a Poison groupie for over 20 years, fools! I guess that disqualifies me from the demographic of young, hot skanks that VH1 wants us to believe even know who Bret Michaels is. I'm getting the Gray Panthers on this immediately.

To set the mood, the skanks are sent outdoors to sit in the rain and wait to be called into the interrogation room. The Other Brandi is the first up and she identifies herself as an exotic dancer who is studying to be an interior designer/architect. One of the superfans snorts, "What are you going to design? Strip clubs?" and The Other Brandi gets steamed. No, seriously. She's steaming. SERIOUSLY. There is smoke pouring off of her head! Holy shit, her hair is seriously on fire! The bright florescent interrogation lamp is frying her already-fried blond wig! The superfans whisper about it, but say nothing to The Other Brandi, who suddenly jumps, howls and pats out the bonfire that's erupted on her head. Suddenly, Smokey the Bear steps out from behind the curtain and intones, "Only you can prevent forest fires, skank." The Other Brandi skulks away, embarrassed and demoralized by Bret's fuckbuddies, and Smokey the Bear gives a devil horns hand gesture and sneaks off upstairs with ASHeather for a quickie.

Up next is sensitive Sam, who immediately becomes rattled by the superfans. She looks so vulnerable with the harsh lighting blasting in her sad little face. When one of the superfans asks her to demonstrate her best fake orgasm, Sam declares that she simply can't—it's too personal. When she leaves the room, she begins sobbing with black mascara tears running down her face. Poor little Sam! Personally, I'm glad she didn't do it to win. Perhaps our girl Sam has a little integrity?

Victim #3 is my girl Jes, who winds up being grace under pressure. Jes reveals that she's had her lips "done" and even smooches Ky upon request. One of the superfans remarks that Jes "obviously" doesn't have a boob job, to which Jes later interviews: "Yeah, like I'd get 'em this fuckin' small!" I'm thinking Jes has it in the bag yet again, until ASHeather appears wearing a tie-front bra top and a pink bandanna over her horrifying crimped hair. She wins over the superfans by telling them she wouldn't doubt if Bret fucked any of them because they are all hot and she'd probably fuck them too, if she were him. Ah, nothing like fake-o lesbianism to win over skanks who are trying to win over rock stars...

Finally, the interview we are waiting for: Hatchet! Per usual, she strides in confidently and voice-overs that she is the queen of intimidation. Yes! History proves that big talk leads to huge smackdowns, and the superfans deliver by making fun of her horrific rendition of "Every Rose" and forcing her to admit she sees a therapist and takes meds. Whoa...say what?? Hatchet is medicated? This is the most shocking thing I've heard since the surprising announcement of Nicole Richie's pregnancy. In other words, no duh—she's the fucking poster child for Xanax! Or maybe lithium. What's more potent than that? Hatchet needs the heavy-duties. Ketamine? Thorazine? Tylenol PM?

Anyway, after the interviews, the superfans join the whores for some food and fun and it turns out the tough interrogations were just an act and these groupies are actually cool. Hatchet pretty much knows she blew it and commences kissing ass immediately by bringing the superfans cutlery and loading them up with drinks. One of the superfans informs Jes that she looks awesome with a flat chest "like Gwen Stefani" and that she shouldn't change a thing. I agree, but it's totally backhanded and easy to say from someone who's cups spilleth over. Whatevs, bitches. While all this "fun" is going on, Sam is once again in her room and contemplating leaving this debaucherous situation because she doesn't feel she can handle it. Come on; we all know it's hit her that she's on a reality show to win the affections of Bret Michaels and she's horrified. And who can blame her?

Bret meets with the superfans to get their opinions on the whores. They say they'll be best friends with Sam and that they want Hatchet's head on a stick. In the end, it comes down to Jes and ASHeather, with ASHeather for the win and the solo Bret Date. She executes a sad cartwheel and Bret instantly whisks her away, still dressed in her slutty top and do-rag. Don't worry; she doesn't seem to have any intention to change anyway.

This is where we get to the part about what the girls are willing to do for Bret. ASHeather announces that she wants to get a tattoo and the limo conveniently pulls up to a parlor that is open and will allow cameras in and also doesn't seem to have any other customers. Hmmm, weird. Anyway, ASHeather professes to Bret that she's going to get his name tattooed on the back of her neck. While the viewing audience recoils in horror and balls across the nation shrink up, Bret says he's all for it and holds her hand while the inker gets busy. Oh, also, this is ASHeather's first tattoo. Ever. Yikes. The best part of the show comes when the brilliant editors make a circle of floating Bret heads fly around ASHeather repeating "For life! For life!" Per usual, getting tattoos is a turn-on according to Bret, so I guess that makes it all worth it in the end.

Back at Casa de Puta, the superfans announce to The Other Brandi and Hatchet that they have deemed them the bottom two and pressure them to make cases for themselves. Believe it or not, Hatchet starts to cry! And by cry, I mean rub at her eyes in an attempt to create some moisture and speak in a quavery voice. Crocodiles could not have done it better. Jes' impression of this sad display is pictured above. At eliminiation, the fakery continues with Hatchet looking her sad-sackiest and sobbing tears of relief when she is chosen over Sam to stay in the house. Sam takes it in stride and proceeds to palm Bret's head like a basketball and practically swallow his noggin whole before exiting the Whore House. She interviews that she wanted to go out "guns a-blazin'", and it looks as if Bret may have been shot through the heart when he looks up to see who remains as the Fabulous Four.

Next week: everyone bathes in booze and puke in Vegas!! Holy god, I can't wait!