13 Dumbest "Therapies"

You know what word I hate? Wellness. I'm sick as a dog right now. I just want to hack up a lung and get it over with if that's going to make me feel better.

Wellness has been haunting me lately. It's everywhere! Once it's in the forefront of your mind, you can't get away from it. You'll see what I mean in the next week or so. And I'll apologize in advance.

This term has become a substitute for the word health, but with a pretentious "holistic" twist. It's thrown about liberally when discussing such crankery as holistic medicine, chiropractic care, and other pseudosciences. Other favorite words of holistic practitioners include energy, chakra, toxins, cleansing, balance, healing, vibrations, purification and all-natural. Typically, we're tantalized with the promise of ancient healing secrets that the Chinese have known about for centuries and laugh and laugh because stupid Western scientists can't figure them out.

There are two types of people who offer these kinds of services: 1.) people who honestly think what they are doing is working as a "complimentary medicine" to actual medical care, and 2.) con artists who take advantage of naive and desperate people who want a cure for the incurable. Take a look at these two, for example: Alex and Rebecca Rogan. After you've stopped laughing at their ridiculous "Endless Love, Endless Lives" potrait and tagline, take a look at their "qualifications" to help you be a healthier, happier spiritual being—certified hypnotherapist, past life therapist, chakra balancing, crystal healing, biofeedback specialist, craniosacral therapist, transpersonal hypnotherapist, clinical herbologist, "Angel healer practicioner," soul-mind therapy, etc., etc., ad nauseum. Oh, and they're also certified California real estate agents! Alex and Becca do it all!

How the fuck do you become certified in past life therapy? Or any of this stuff?
Instructor: OK, Alex, now that you've finished all your bookwork, it's time for hands-on training. Tell me about my past lives.
Alex: Hmmm (thinks). You were a slave to Julias Cesar, a nameless beggar in Bangladesh and Adolf Hitler.
Instructor: Terrible job! No certification!
Alex: You were a soldier during the Roman empire, a wealthy plantation owner and Winston Churchill.
Instructor: Congratulations! You are a certified past-life therapist!

You'll also notice at the bottom of their page is the disclaimer: "Wellness Therapies does not replace orthodox medicine rather integrate and enhance. It is also illness prevention therapy. We do not diagnosis nor prescribe drugs." Wow, from all their certifications and shit I figured they'd be able to reanimate the dead. So does that mean that all these "certifications" are fake?? In that case, I want to make up my own certifications. Can I be a Licensed Rockologist Or a Certified Free Trip to Rome-ist? Hey, I could be both! Dame Dr. RockitQueen, LR, CFTR, Esq.

Just to give you more of an idea of what kind of other bullshit is out there, I've compiled the following list of some of the stupidest "treatments", "therapies" and "healing" methods I've run across. While the methods I've listed here are all essentially harmless (if you don't count the harm it does to your bank account), I'd like to note that there are many more, some of which are very harmful and even deadly. I highly recommend the Quackwatch family of websites to learn more. Don't be a victim of wellness! We're all a bunch of diseased freaks and we need to learn to live with that.

13. Reiki
Reiki is the practice of channeling energy from the universe to make someone, or yourself, feel awesome. All you have to do is put your hands on or anywhere near your victim and look appropriately spiritual. Reiki is also known as "theraputic touch" or "jacking off." If you learn anything about reiki, just know that the key is in the happy ending.

12. Emotional Freedom Technique
Feeling down? Depressed? Full of anxiety? Afraid of heights? Addicted to love? Got post-traumatic stress? Any kind of stress? Then place your fingers just beneath your eyes and tap. Then tap your eyebrows and then your temples. Just tap-tap-tap in the exact sequence your EFT therapist tells you. Then roll your eyes, hum a few bars, think happy thoughts, and...viola! You have "tapped" into wellness! Yaaayyyyy!

11. Craniosacral therapy
You know how when some dudes decide to shave their heads, they don't take into account how lumpy their noggins might be and are suprised to discover that their new hairless pate looks like the surface of Mars? What they also don't know is that those lumps and bumps on their heads are evidence of emotional or physical trauma that is impeding their aching bodies from healing themselves. The solution is to have a therapist rub your head twice a week until the stressful twist your body has gotten itself in can straighten out. For $150 a session.

10. Konoki foot pads
You've probably seen these ads on TV, which feature someone sticking what looks like a regular gauze bandage to the bottom of their feet and then, after a time lapse, ripping them off to reveal disgusting black shit that has allegedly been sucked out of their body. From what I've heard, the foot pads work even better if you've been walking around barefoot, preferably outdoors and in a muddy environment. The claim is that "distilled bamboo vinegar" draws grody toxins out of your body when you wear the foot pads overnight. But since the skin is not permeable, I'm guessing it's something else. Satan maybe? Yes, that's what it is. The dirtier your pads are, the more you've been sinnin'.

9. Iridology
If the eyes are the window to the soul, then surely they are also the window to all your emotional baggage, ingrown toenails and tummyaches. Proponents of this "therapy" claim that you can tell what's physically and emotionally wrong with you based on the colors and patterns in your eyeballs. So if you have a brown spot in one of your irises, that means you have gastrointestial problems or something. What isn't explained is what happens if the patient is blind. Or if they're just nearsighted...will that show up in the eye patterns, too? And do they have to do that puff test to find out? God, I hate that fucking puff test.

8. Laser stop smoking
There's a local commercial that airs here in Cowtown promoting this weirdness. It shows the "doctor" sticking a laser pointer into the ear of her victim. I know what you're thinking: how in god's name is this supposed to help someone stop smoking? By targeting "energy points" on your hands, nose, ears and wrists to release endorphins, of course! Duh! Everyone knows that endorphin release is the key to curing a nicotine addiction. The Columbus program boasts a 55% success rate...and with those odds, who wouldn't want to shell out $400 a session?

7. Ayurvedic therapy
This is one of those quack therapies that claims to be "ancient Chinese secret." I've included it on this list because the explainations on how it works are so drawn out and convaluted that you would probably have to achieve total nirvana just to understand. Everything means something and is connected to some god. Oh, also there's some kind of "cleansing ritual" that involves boiling milk and cow's urine twice. If you can read about this and understand it, then more power to you. Frankly, I think the whole thing just talks in circles until you've spent all your money and suddenly realize that you don't get it either.

6. The Chi Machine
This has nothing to do with the Deftones' bass player. It's actually a little vibrator that you stick your feet on that's supposed to help with "lymphatic drainage" and put your chi back in order or some shit. Some makers will try to have you believe that it's a "passive exerciser", like one of those belts that is supposed to shimmy your fat off that Bugs Bunny uses. Here's what the Chi Machine can do for you:
• Temporarily relieve minor muscle aches, pain and tension caused by fatigue or overexertion
• Temporarily increases local blood circulation
• Relaxes muscles locally
• Relieve vertebra joint pressure
• Promotes a sense of well being
You know what else does this? Vikes. And they're FDA approved.

5. Ear candling/ear coning
So you have a little bit of an earache. Maybe it's waxy buildup, maybe it's an inner ear infection...either way, it's annoying and you just want it to go away. What's a person to do? Forget visiting the doc and getting some eardrops or antibiotics. Let's jam a hollow, lit candle in there and let the heat and dripping wax somehow magically pull the "toxins" out of one of the most delicate and easily damaged areas of the body. Allegedly, when you pull the special little ear-toxin collection cone off the bottom of the candle, it's supposed to be filled with wax. Big shockeroo! It's a fucking candle!

4. Q-Ray bracelets
If you pay a visit to the Q-Ray website, you will learn that this product is worn by people with active lifestyles, features an exclusive design and should not be worn by people allergic to metal. What you won't learn is what this magical bracelet is supposed to do for you because the makers of Q-Ray have been gagged from making medical-related claims that are unfounded. Originally, the manufacturers claimed that the bracelet could cure cancer pain, improve athletic ability and make you feel more energetic. However, a lawsuit alleging false advertising mysteriously caused these awesome attributes to disappear. Poor Q-Ray! It's like the Superman of jewelry—no one ever sees it in the same room with the people it's helped...

3. E-meter
(See picture above): "The oddball apparatus is called an E meter, and Travolta uses it every day. He and fellow Scientologists Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, and Kirstie Alley say the lie-detector-like machine measures mental anguish. The faithful claim it's so sensitive, it can pick up the pain a human feels when pricked by a nail. 'You hold two metal rods in your hands, and an experienced teacher can tell from the movements of the needles on the meter where the problem is in your body and soul,' Travolta told the German magazine STERN. 'I use it every day, at home or in the celebrity center in Hollywood. I also take a machine with me with I'm on location. It's a religious device and I enjoy it. I'm always totally refreshed by it. And, luckily, it doesn't have gaydar!'"

2. Leech therapy
So a few weeks ago, I see the following headline: What's Demi Moore's secret to looking so sexy at age 45? Thank god Us Weekly is on the case because I've been wondering that myself for years. Finally, Us reveals Demi's real, all-natural beauty secret: leech therapy! Demi says that all you have to do is put leeches on your body and let them bite you because they detoxify your blood with enzymes in their little mouths. Demi advises putting the leeches into your belly button for best results. I'm going to try it! Demi always looks so great, especially her knees. She has the best fucking knees ever!

1. Urine therapy
Apparently, there's no need to ever have to buy another product, pill or health supplement after all—you've got your very own natural healing remedy available right now! Did you know your pee has all kinds of health benefits? Let it go on your feet when you're in the shower and bye-bye athlete's foot! Pour it on your arms and legs for sunburn relief! Best of all, you can treat everything from a hangover to heart disease to hepititis by drinking it! That's right: you can turn back the clock, cure what ails ya, prevent future breakouts and turn up the kink in your love life by taking a whizz in a cup and gulping it down. Believe me, I wish I was making this up. So the next time you feel the urge to go, don't let that all that healthful liquid go to waste! Piss in a jar and keep it on hand "just in case." You'll be glad you did! And so will all your friends!

Viva Sambora!

In case you've been waiting with baited breath wondering what happened on the last few eps of RoL because I wasn't here to tell you, Ambre "won." Yes, Bret found love with Three's Company replacement bimbo Jenilee Harrison. I think she might have also been on She's the Sherriff, but I'm not sure.

So that means we can kiss the life-ruining phenomenon that is RoL goodbye, right?

Wrong!

Word on the street is that Rock of Love 3 is in the works with none other than Bon Jovi axeman Richie Sambora as the new rock star bachelor! While it's not so hard to believe that someone who made a sex tape with hep C factory Pam Anderson would go on a VH1 dating reality show, I find it blasphemous that a man once married to foxy Heather Locklear (and not that long ago, I might add) would. Just a year ago he was snorting coke off of Denise Richards' butt on the beach, right? I mean, does this guy really need to stoop to reality TV to find a skank to go out with? Lohan's available!

I had a friend in junior high who was completely obsessed with Richie Sambora. This was around the same time that I was convinced I was someday going to marry Duff McKagan of Guns N' Roses. So basically we spent most of our time trading posters from the Metal Edge Bass Aces and Guitar Greats special issues and setting our VCRs to tape the World Premiere GN'R and Bon Jovi videos on MTV. And I didn't even HAVE MTV. I had to call her up and remind her to tape the GN'R premieres for me. Remember the "Wanted Dead or Alive" video? Oh, and when the "Patience" video came out and it had Axl stomping on that neon light-up phone in it? Man, those were the days! It was such a huge treat when your favorite video would come on—we'd sometimes wait all day just to catch a repeat of it. You think people do that for Fall Out Boy? If so, NOT COOL.

Anyway, this has nothing to do with the item at hand.

Another sign of the times is the pitiful mugshot that Richie produced a few weeks back when he was arrested for DUI. His hair looked like one of the people in the after pictures on those Faces of Meth posters. It's not even fun to make fun of. I mean look at that picture above—how did he go from that to being the husband of Heather Locklear to that fucking mugshot? God!

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think Richie would make a very good candidate for RoL anyway. He seems kind of boring. You never really heard anything sordid about Bon Jovi, either. With Poison, you had all kinds of groupie action and infighting and coke freakouts. With Bon Jovi, all you have is Jon, who has been with his wife for, like, 30 years. The only exciting thing Richie has ever done is make the "wow wow" background sound effects on "Livin' on a Prayer." Big whoop.

If they're looking for drama, the VH1 producers need to look elsewhere. How about David Lee Roth? Now that would be some good, motherfuckin' crazy-ass TV! Or how about Rick Allen of Def Leppard? He's got one arm and he's a drummer AND he beats up his girlfriends.

Frankly, the dream candidate would be Axl. If they got Axl to be the next rock bachelor, the ratings would beat out the Super Bowl, Roots, the final episode of M*A*S*H, and the OJ verdict combined. With that special kind of crazy that only Axl can bring, I can just imagine the "challenges" that would go down on that series. Each and every decision would have to be first run by Axl's psychic. The girls would have to write new racist lyrics to "One in a Million." The penalty for entering Axl's bedroom without an invitation would be death. He'd bring in Erin Everly on the "exes" episode. The "winner" would be the girl that drove him to frightening, destructive tantrums the least.

The show would also be the perfect tie-in vehicle for Axl to release the long-awaited Chinese Democracy album. I actually heard it...I'm not kidding. GN'R released it for 30 minutes on some website and a friend of mine managed to download all of the songs but two. Everything I heard was beyond badass, too. An album 13 years in the making has disaster written all over it, but if he would just suck it up and release the songs that I heard, it would blow people away. People might even forgive him for the cornrows.

I just remembered another junior high story: once in my English class we had to write an essay on the thing we want most in the world and why and then read it in front of the class. Everyone was saying things like Fort Knox or a four-wheeler or for school to only be one day a week. Then Tina Smith got up and said three words: "Jon Bon Jovi" and sat back down. No explaination. It was awesome and Tina Smith instantly became my hero. You know each and every person in that class wished they had to balls to say Jon Bon Jovi. And you know they all wanted to!

Time to turn that frown upside down!

I've been a little blue this week for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the final episode of RoL. I'm utterly depressed over all the time and energy I've put into obsessively blathering about this show. Any normal person would say, "Fuck posting synopses of the rest of the episodes. I have other things to do and need to move on to other projects." But not me. I'm like a mental patient.

Here's more proof. I can't stop giggling because I thought I'd entertain myself by making fun of Immortal a little bit. Somehow I got the idea in my head that it would be hilarious if there was a Tiger Beat or Bop or Tutti Frutti some other teen mag special issue dedicated to black metal. I don't have Photoshop, so you'll just have to imagine a collage of super-sexxy black metal babes in full makeup, spiked shinplates and Horgh-style leather gutguards next to teaser lines like:

Awesome 6-page Snap-Out Scrapbook!
Sizzling Super-Centerfolds!
Abbath Answers Your Most Intimate Questions!
BM's New Hot Hunks!
Horgh's Date Do-and-Don't Secrets...Shh! Don't Tell!

What would one of those articles be like?

7 Things You Didn't Know About Horgh!
OK, here's whatcha DON'T know about frizzy-haired, crazy-eyed cutie Horgh! He's 37 years old. He lives in Norway. He has black hair. And he rilly, RILLY hopes you like the new Immortal album Damned in Black! That's the kind of guy Horgh is...the kind that cares what YOU think. Got it? Now here are 7 things you DON'T know about Horgh!
1. Horgh's middle name is Dorcas!
2. Off the stage, he's into billiards...and bowling!
3. His showbiz friends include Infernus, Destructhor, Nocturno Culto and Amy Winehouse!
4. He was secretly embarrassed of the "Call of the Wintermoon" video!
5. Horgh's favorite shows are World's Wildest Police Chases, Survivor and Everybody Loves Raymond!
6. Horgh changes the message on his voice mail every day!
7. He reads all the fan letters you write him!

I can't help picking on Horgh, because he's the fat one. And, OMG, his b-day is totally the same day as mine!! Killer!

Frankly, it's getting a little boring making fun of black metal. I need more inspiration. Where is Until the Light Takes Us?, the black metal documetary that was allegedly coming out in "late 2007"? According to their official page (which is, of course, a Myspace page) "Peter Travis" of Rolling Stone has reviewed the movie, calling it "a nonstop roller-coaster ride of adrenaline fueled action!" Hmm, suspicious. I've never heard of this Peter Travis, great and powerful reviewist from formerly cool rock mag. Perhaps they mean Peter TRAVERS? Strike one.

The filmmakers have also released another hellishly boring clip from the movie, this time of Darkthrone member Fenriz talking on the phone. Big fucking whoop. First we get a jailhouse interview with the fucking Count, and it turns out to a snoozefest. How can anyone possibly interview the Count and not come out with anything good? The guy wore Swiss Miss pigtails to his murder trial. Strike two. Directors of Until the Light Takes Us, I have little faith.

We don't need anymore wuss directors taking on these projects that they can't follow through on. Here's another example.

This documentary features black metal vocalist Gaahl, who is a big huge meanie. His home in Espedal, Norway, looks like Appalachia only far more depressing. It's a place where it can rain for 70+ days straight. He went to school with only one other student his whole life, a student that committed suicide at 18. Everyone in town is afraid of him and refuses to comment on him, and only one journalist will make a statement, but under the condition that his face is blurred out. He obviously fancies himself some sort of Count Dracula-like master of the dark who swoops through the town and sucks the blood out of children and defiles innocent virgins as they sleep.

So the subject matter is ripe. But this film crew blows it. Or more accurately, they blow Gaahl. A good five minutes of the doc are wasted on too-long shots of Gaahl trying to look creepy and intellectual and focusing on the filmmakers whining about the "project" being in "jeopardy" because Gaahl makes them climb a mountain to see the shack where his grandparents lived. It's worse than Celebrity Fit Club. Quit your whining and give the people what they want: freaks saying freaky things. Well, maybe that's now what all the people want.

Anyway, if it's what YOU want: check out the doc here:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

Come on, jackoffs. Ask the right questions and stop the whining. We want to know what Gaahl's favorite color is and hear him describe his perfect date!

Sorry for all the confusion re: BabyRockit!

Just to clarify, I'm not literally an Auntie! But I do have a namesake. My fabulous childhood pal has spawned and since we practically sisters, I am Auntie RockitQueen. Someday, I'm going to teach the baby all about the history of Norwegian black metal. Maybe we can dress her up as Abbath or Horgh for Halloween! How precious!

And as a follow up to my last post...guess who was one of the first 100 people to order!!!!!

Interrupting 'round-the-clock RoL coverage to bring you an important Eric Avery announcement!!

Not only did I become an Auntie today, but Eric Avery's first solo album Help Wanted has also unleashed at last! My copy is en route (and the first 100 people who ordered are supposed to get an autographed copy, so cross your fingers for me!) and the two songs I have heard from it so far are BADASS. Buy it now!

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming, which is not in progress but will be soon enough.

RoL2.9: The positively true adventures of an aging, strident stripper spy

Guess who's back...back again. Shady's back, tell a friend.

And Shady = our favorite aging, strident stripper and last season's love loser ASHeather! This oughta be good.

So the show kicks off with Bret continuing his role as Ed Hardy's personal hand jobbist. Did Bret buy the whole fucking store or what? But he's not there to pontificate on douchey rock fashion, he wants to introduce the skanks to some very special guests—their EXES! In walks Destiney's surprisingly preppy ex-hubby, J-Simp and Megan's fratish former bfs, Ambre's somewhat nerdy friend and...Nikki Sixx, but not quite! Who knew he and Alexis Arquette had been an item? And who knew he was so emo? I don't care for it, but I am looking forward to possible hair metal fisticuffs between him and Bret.

Also, too bad Kristy Joe didn't stick around for this! Especially after she just dumped her husband over the phone for Bret! Ah, what could have been...

Anyway, Bret also announces that one of his "exes" is also there...and big shockeroo, it's ASHeather. To my delight, Bret explains that he's going to hang with the guys to get dirt on the skanks while ASHeather beats deep, dark secrets out of the hos. For a second I think that Bret is going to add ASHeather back into the competition, a la New York on Flavor of Love. But it looks as if she's simply there to act bitchy and intimidate people. Which is good enough for me!

ASHeather gets the party off predictably. Within seconds the Whore House is alive with the sound of floosies. The gals start doing body shots, ripping their tops off, making out, etc., ad nauseum. Jesus, just pull out the double dongs already.

The boys' gathering is far less sordid...and far, far less interesting. Bret awkwardly starts quizzing the guys about their former sweeties and the "juicy tidbits" they reveal are more like juiceless statements that could be made about anyone. I'm completely fascinated that this stodgy dude that looks like he should be named Wilhelm J. Buffington III and wearing an ascot was married to a wild n' trashy hobag like Destiney. Also, Nikki Sevven is wearing a freaking porkpie hat that looks like it says "Ed Grimley" or something on it.

This is boring, so let's get back to the good stuff. Back at Whore Mansion, ASHeather is urging the skanks to tell her who they hate most and then oh-so-casually mentions that Megan looks familiar. Bomb drop! Megan was a contestant on Beauty and the Geek! What's a girl to do upon hearing news like this? Why, play truth or dare in the hot tub, of course! At least, that's what ASHeather would do...Destiney would just do a naked cartwheel. I wonder if she ever did that for Thurstin Howell Astin Martin man.

Then, out of nowhere Alexis starts having some kind of motor skill malfunction. She is blubbering and crying and doing these weird rapper-ish hand gestures. What could be the problem, Alexis? Either she's drunk or she's upset because she hasn't been entirely truthful with Bret. Come now, Alexis, sit on Auntie ASHeather's lap and tell her what's the matter. I know it's gotta be hard to tell Bret that you have a penis. Anyway, she starts lamenting to Heather about Nikki Sevven and their relationship and blah, blah, blah. And, oh, she reveals that she still lives with her ex. In a one bedroom apartment. But they haven't "done anything" in two years. Hold the phone, Slutterella! Now we're talking with some juice! Meanwhile, ASHeather looks exactly like the Texas cheerleader murdering mom. Actually, she looks more like Verna Heath, the Texas cheerleader murdering mom's intended victim. But she is so totally the Wanda Holloway in this made-for-TV drama.

Elsewhere in the house, our little J-Simp seems to have had a bit too much to drink. Actually, she's wandering around the house in a gold bikini completely smashed out of her gourd. She screams and cries and hugs people and stuffs food in her face and then...YES! We finally have vomit! The other girls carry J-Simp up to bed and she limply falls into the sack, then suddenly and jumps up and tackles ASHeather in a particularly violent drunk hug. When Bret arrives, she accosts him and pushes her smeared, mascara-stained face into his and blows puke breath all over him. So it's just a regular night for Bret.

Bret grabs ASHeather to find out the results of her super-sleuthing. Megan may be a big media ho, but at least she's got a great rack, she says. And J-Simp is so young. And Destiney seems to be a total rock cock groupie. And she's not so sure about Alexis because she's still getting regular Dutch ovens from Nikki Sevven. Record-scratching sound! Bret voiceovers that he was blindsighted by that revelation. When he confronts them about it, Sevven assures Bret that they are not together and he is totally fine with him sticking his dick in Alexis. Great! Glad that's all settled.

Out by the pool, Megan is in tears and tells Ambre that she's hurt because her ex showed up wearing a t-shirt with the name of his bar on it and told her he only came on the show to get free advertising. How could he do this to her? And how stupid can she be to tell Ambre this? Because naturally she runs directly to Bret and squeals. Bret "tries" to ask Megan if she still has feelings for her ex, but it instead devolves into a repeat of last week when Meg just palms his head and they start tongue wrestling. Zzzzzzzz.

Thank god it's time for elimination. Amber interviews that she's feeling pretty confident because she didn't throw up, she's not a stripper and she doesn't live with her ex-boyfriend. Of course, she makes it through, as does Alexis, Destiney and J-Simp. That means Megan's out! She awkwardly stands staring at Bret and slowly shaking her head. Dude, it's not the fucking Kennedy assasination. I'm sure it's not the last time we'll see this chick on reality TV, mark my words.

Next week: Vegas, baby! With ASHeather! And bitchfights! And bitchslapping! And drinks thrown in people's faces!

RoL2.8: Sad trees and crazy mountains

Sorry, everyone. I'm fully aware that I completely suck. I would go on and on about how work has been hectic and how I just haven't been inspired to blog, but no one cares about all that. All you people want is RoL and I'm going to follow through with what I've started and bring that to you.

OK, maybe you don't care about that either. But whatevs, I'm still going to attempt to get in all of this season, too, because I'm totally anal retentive.

Anyway, let's have at it. It's workout time in the Whore House and Destiney is shown weakly pummeling a bag. But while some of the hoes are exercising, one is exercising her right to freedom. That's right: Kristy Joe calls up her hubby and tells him she wants to go through with a divorce. Over the phone. I would say that's quite the fuck you to this guy, but surely he knew she was coming on to this show and that no woman is impervious to the musky charms of Bret Michaels. Duh, what did he expect?

Next we see Bret wearing a tank top (musky!) and standing next to a bed displaying a cornocopia of slutty props and a rack of slutty Halloween costumes. Let's see: there's slutty schoolgirl, slutty nurse, slutty cowgirl, slutty nun, slutty linebacker, slutty prostitute. Let me guess...the girls are going to film a porno?

Close: they're going to be making music videos! The songs they are to animate are Bret's own, of course—"Go That Far" and "Fallen" ("Fallin'"?). I wonder if these songs are from either of his hit albums Broken Road or When Love Dances With the Devil? The skanks are introduced to Dean Karr, a music video director who has worked with Ozzy, Tool and Marilyn Manson and who will be giving them helpful guidance on the right angles to writhe at or something. He turns out to do pretty much nothing except paw at Alexis Arquette while she tries to film.

The gals are divided into two groups and Kristy Joe, Ambre and Megan are assigned the power ballad. Amber directs and KJ stars as a heartbroken Playmate who seems to have lost love or something. It's all stupid and involves a lot of forelorn looks and bad acting from KJ and Megan. But at least this group tries to create something resembling a storyline. The other team's original idea is to dress innocent-looking J-Simp in the slutty schoolgirl outfit and lure her into a seedy strip club where Destiney and Alexis Arquette turn her into a bad girl. Boobs fly everywhere and the stripper pole is greased appropriately. As a final innovation, they throw in a lesbo makeout scene for good measure.

So who do you think wins? Surprise! It's the creative team of Ambre, Megan and KJ! Ambre, as creative director, gets a very special solo Bret Date that he promises will be "very cool, very vibe-y", while the other two get their own little fantasy date the next day.

Now we come to my favorite part of this episode. The "cool, vibe-y" date that Bret alluded to is in his bedroom. Just when you think Ambre is in for some back-of-the-bus action, Bret introduces Satish Dhalakia, and "Eastern master healer" and oh my god, that's no random guy...Doug Henning's ghost has inhabited Yanni's body and is running around passing himself off as some kind of reiki guru!

Doug Yanni starts reading Ambre and Bret's tea leaves or something and tells them they have known each other for centuries. He tells them they need to become hollow bamboos so god can blow through them and I'll bet Bret's thinking he should have just taken her to Don Pablo's for margatini happy hour.

Also of note during this scene is that Ambre claims to be 32. She better be careful—if she lies while god is blowing through her bamboo then 30 disabled orphans will die.

Next we have what may amount to one of the dumbest moves ever made by a skank on this show (and we all know that's saying a lot). KJ gets the bright idea that she needs to tell Bret she's getting divorced RIGHT NOW and starts pounding on his door during his date with Ambre. Bret says that unless it's god or Security Goon Big John with a beer then he's not going to be happy. When he sees it's KJ, he looks pretty annoyed and then exacts the best revenge ever. Bret tells Doug Yanni that someone in this house needs their chakra cleaned up and that she is a "soul in turmoil" then pushes his Eastern healing off on KJ! Brilliant!

Doug Yanni makes KJ sit cross-legged on the floor and says, "Have you ever seen a sad tree? A frustrated ocean? A crazy mountain?" I swear, I'm not making this up. As all this is going on, Bret is making out with Ambre in his rock star love nest without a worry of another interruption from Kristy Joe.

But then something unexplainable happens. After all that effort to get rid of KJ, Bret calls her back to his room to "talk." Daisy, J-Simp and Destiney gather on the stairs outside Bret's room crying like they're at the gates of Graceland. There, there, girls. We know how much you all want to fuck Kristy Joe...

Speaking of which, the next day Bret takes KJ and Megan on a date at a super-fancy hotel restaurant and Megan decides to use the opportunity to show KJ—and the rest of the innocent patrons at the restaurant—that she's not a contender to take lightly. In full view of everyone, Meg climbs right over the lobster bisque and selection of cheeses and dates, straddles Bret and attempts to swallow him whole. Bret "gives in" and accepts her demon tongue into his gullet. Ever the party-pooper, KJ leaves the table and hangs out in the lounge until Megan is done consuming Bret's innards.

Back at the Whore House it's elimination time and KJ thinks she's going to get the ol' heave-ho because everyone thinks she's nuts. But tonight there is a twist, my friends. Indeed, it comes down to KJ and (surprisingly) Megan, who is still picking Bret's weave hairs from her teeth, but in a totally unexpected turn of events, Bret gives KJ the choice to stay or go. And holy shit, she chooses to GO, bitches! For the first time since RoL has been poisoning our airwaves, Bret Michaels gets the big ol' diss and actually looks defeated. He walks KJ out, kisses her goodbye, half-heartedly tells Megan she can stay and then retreats to his room without the usual Bret Beer toast! Holy SHIT, Bret's got a broken heart!

Damn, guess it wasn't just the girls that wanted to fuck KJ.

Next week: it's another blast from the past kids! Here's a hint: this one's got big hair, big boobs and an aging, strident attitude...

RoL2.7: I hate you, snow

Remind me why I live in Cowtown again? Oh right, so I get snowed in and have nothing better to do than write about RoL. Which I'd probably be doing anyway.

So let's get to it. Once again, it's morning at the Whore House and Bret refers to the "innocence of morning," including the sweet sounds of belching frogs. And speaking of belching frogs, here comes the Hulk! Oh wait, it's just Inna. Sorry.

Inna the Tank is bummed out because she thinks she and Bret are losing their "connection" and all I have to say is that I can't believe Bret didn't vote her off when she sat on his lap and said, "My father wasn't around and I just want someone to love me" on the first episode. Wow, that's so hot.

The hoes are asked to gather in the living room to learn about the day's challenge and Bret is waiting for them along with two silver foxes wearing leotards. We learn that the oldsters are Shirley Claire and Joan Arlene, two USO performers for the last 50 years. The girls find out that they are going to develop variety show acts and perform in front of a group of veterans. How cute! Ambre makes a stunning blow job face to signify her surprise. She kind of reminds me of Andre from Project Runway 2...remember how he always made this "Oh my god, shut! UP!" face whenever they found out what they would be doing?

Megan and Jessica Simpson decide that they are going to recite the preamble to the Constitution...while hula hooping. You'd think that was "challenging" enough, until you see Megan trying to read. She's like a plant. She actually says she doesn't understand the preamble and adds, "I was learning new words!" Like and and the! I hope she also learned that the Constitution grants her the freedom to be a skank. If we didn't have the Constitution, Megan wouldn't exist.

Tank and Destiney decide they are going to dance and Tank has made the unfortunate choice of wearing a mesh crop top that accentuates her flabby gut. They are also completely pitiful and barely able to do simple dance steps. How can they be expected to dance where there is no pole involved? Anyway, during rehearsals they still can't get it and Tank starts telling off Joan. What?? Telling off a silver fox is a pretty low blow, Tank. But then again, Tank doesn't know what love is and she's just putting up walls, I'm sure.

Alexis Arquette says she'll jump through fire if she has to, but she settles for singing "The Star Spangled Banner," and Kristy Joe and Ambre decide to do a tap routine.

The gang gathers at a vets hall set and the show begins. Ambre and and Kristy Joe go first and Ambre is cute as can be with her little tap routine, but Kristy Joe looks like Michigan J. Frog with legs flailing and akimbo arms thrashing and Bret describes her as a monkey on crack. Boring.

Next, Megan and J-Simp come out, strip off their nurse uniform and start hula hooping. The camera cuts to some of the vets in the audience and they look like they are either confused or drooling and then Bret makes a crack about "the general salutes you." Again boring.

Now we have Destiney and Tank dancing and as expected they are horrible and they seem to know it because suddenly they start stripping and showing their fat thong-clad asses to the crowd. Joan just about dies on the spot and I'm with her because I can't think of two chicks these guys would rather see nude less. Bret comments that these vets have seen some pretty horrific things, but nothing quite as horrific as this. Which is probably the most insightful thing Bret has said all season.

Finally, Alexis Arquette comes out wearing a sailor suit for some reason and starts sexily crooning our national anthem. Some of the vets don't even stand up right away because they aren't sure what they are hearing and because Alexis looks like she's about to fellate the microphone. J-Simp says that not only is she tone deaf, but she doesn't know the words even though she's holding a sheet with the words on it. By the way, I read this week that she's the niece of Oscar de la Hoya, which is kinda weird...did you guys know this?

So, anyway, the madness is mercifully over and based on applause from the vets, the hula hoopers win the competition and a super-sexxxy Bret Date.

Upon returning to Casa de Puta, Bret "whips up" a dinner for everyone with plenty of vino and prompts the girls to say catty things about each other and pontificate on who is there for the "wrong reasons." At first, the skanks are unwilling to rat on everyone, but then Ambre calls out Kristy Joe as someone who "puts on a facade" and how she "talks about exes with passion." Suddenly, Destiney jumps in and starts throwing a tantrum that even Britney's kids would find impressive about how KJ "doesn't have to explain herself to anybody." Frankly, it makes no sense. KJ jumps up and the two practically start pissing on the table. Instead of finding it a hot turn-on, Bret acts like he thinks it's an ugly scene and leaves the table.

But of course, later Bret goes to find KJ to see if she's "OK" (translation: Bret has a hard-on) and finds her packing her bags. Bret gives her a hug and her head is right in his crotch. He comments that he doesn't know KJ at all...what?? Didn't she spend the night in his room on the last ep? Well, I guess that means they didn't necessarily talk, so what do I know?

The next day, Megan and J-Simp get all skanked up for their date with Bret and he takes them to Ed Hardy to buy overpriced tees and trucker hats and have some pierced dude do a "couture custom cutting" on the shirts for them. Megan interviews that J-Simp is overwhelmed and excited and calls her pathetic. I guess being excited about shopping isn't nearly as pathetic as being unable to memorize one sentence for a hula hooping act. At lunch (which wasn't set up in the store!) Bret again encourages the girls to slag on each other and it's revealed that Tank threw her weight around (hee hee!) with Golden Girl Joan. Bret is pissed about that and I think we can see where elimination is going tonight.

And thank god it's time for elimination. Bret is wearing that godforsaken "American Outlaw" airbrushed cowboy hat again from last season. He starts handing out passes and votes off...The Rock? Hey, when did he show up?? Oh wait, that's just Inna. Sorry. Bye, Inna.

So KJ stays around for another week and at this point it's obvious that Bret has a major bonor for her. Destiney says, "I wish that skank would leave." (Translation: I wish that skank would play doctor with me.)

Next week: the girls become oiled-up video hoes, and Amber starts cockfighting Destiney for KJ.

Motel hell

A few years ago I went to Miami with a couple friends and we reserved a room in one of those art deco-style hotels that are all over the place there that was a block from the beach. If the lobby of this place was the mouth to hell, our room was literally Beelzebub's anus. All the mirrors were broken, the floor was layered with dust, dirt and suspicious-looking hairs, the mattresses were wrapped in plastic and oozing what looked liked creamed piss. Not only that, but there was music blasting, people screaming and fighting and shady activity in the hallway and in the alley outside our window. It was like being at Lohan's house.

After a battle royale with the Nurse Ratchet-esque desk clerk, we got our money back and, thankfully, got upgraded to a sweet resort hotel with a private beach for our troubles. (In case you're wondering, the hellhole in question is the Parisian/Geneva Hotel—the Geneva is literally the back of a Thrifty Car Rental place. Seriously.)

The moral of this story is: never book on hotels.com. And always check TripAdvisor.com before you go.

I was reminded of this sordid experience when an esteemed colleague sent me a link to TripAdvisor.com's 2008 10 Dirtiest Hotels List. Frankly, I was a little surprised that the Parisian/Geneva didn't make the cut, but from the looks of this year's "winners" there are some places out there that are just as bad, if not worse. I mean, at least we didn't actually see cockroaches, although I'm sure they were lying in wait for the right moment to descend and kill. And lucky for us we didn't actually sleep in the beds, which were probably swimming with bedbugs, crabs, nits and probably worse.

While you're pretty much guaranteed to gag at some point while reading some of these reviews, they are also wildly entertaining at the same time. Some of the horrific experiences are beyond crazy, and some of the descriptions are hilarious. The best part is that this gives the poor travelers an outlet to not only warn others about the unsanitary shitholes some hoteliers are "running", but it also gives them a chance to collectively humilate the proprieters in public.

So if you've ever had a Parisian/Geneva experience, don't just share that sordid tale with your friends. Write a review on TripAdvisor so no one else has to bathe in rat turds and roach juice. For your enjoyment (and revulsion) here are some of the choicier comments and stories from this year's "winners."

A transfer to Guantanamo Bay would have been preferable to a stay in this hell hole. Liked—The view in the rear view mirror as we left.

I wished for the first time in my life that I had a handgun license, as the first thought that struck me as I entered the creaky gates of Hades (from here on out to be referred to as Room 34) was 'Oh good God, how do I survive the night?!' This place is an absolute disgrace, a miserable den for who knows what illicit activity.

Upon arrival at the hotel there was a CSI team in front of the hotel investigating a triple shooting at the hotel the night before.

The woman who checked out in front of us was lucky enough to have used hypodermic needles in her room as a bonus.(Note: this one's from Lancaster, PA, aka Amish country, and don't get me started on the Amish...)

If you have a choice between the Bates Motel and the Eden Roc, choose the Bates. At least Norman was pleasant and gave you a nice sandwich with a glass of milk before you realized what a terrible mistake you've made. Mother.

I started to check in when I noticed what looked like a pimp and two whores. If you and your frat boys are looking for a place to have a kegger and trash with no remorse then this is it. You don't have to worry about damaging much here. Don't bring your wife or girlfriend here for a romantic getaway unless you are trying to get rid of her.

I got LICE staying at this location. I couldn't believe it! I'm 32 years old! with Lice Bugs!

We chose the facility because of location, price and shuttle service. We didn't realize it was the "Hotel California" or the next thing to hell.

He fumbled with the key and the door, but nothing happened. Guess what he did to get in the door? He got down on his back and kicked the entire AC unit inside the room. YES KICKED IT IN!!!!! He then crawled through the hole to unlock the door. My three year old son thought it was the coolest way to enter a room, he wanted to try it too.

The air conditioner sounds like a Boeing 727 coming at you all night long.

Disliked—The Hungarian beast-woman in the resteraunt

The location suckered us in but it's not worth the whole family going home infected with scabies.

The room was haunted. The first night the lights were flickering on and off and the shower was turned on when I got there. The TV was the same as the TV in poltergeist. Other then that, I loved the location —originally an old indian burial ground. But is close to Times Square.

The whole place smelled like a dollar hooker parlor. I wouldn't let Satan stay here. Actually he probably owns the place.

When we got into the room, the smell was awful, a cross between smoke from cigarettes and drugs, foul sex and vomit. There were syringes in the trash can, and someone had taken a dump and the toilet was not flushed. My wife complained, but came back with what I knew would be no help. Apparently when she commented on the dump in the toilet she was told that it was "complementary Steam Boat Dumplings on the house!" Not only did it not make much sense, it was gross and the people at the front desk laguhed at it.

We awoke in the middle of the night to find a possum in the room! It scared us half to death.

The overall vibe of the place edgy and threatening. I should have left when I was asked to sign the waiver for theft or 'any personal injury' on the premises. Half a star to the cheery shuttle driver who brought me from the airport, singing Temptations songs all the way—deducted for not warning me what I was getting into.

RoL2.6: Pigs and pokes

Fuck the Oscars...I have nothing to say about that boring shit (except that John Travolta needs to be put to sleep immediately). I may have even fallen asleep, but I don't remember it was just one big blur of blather.

So on with my usual 'round the clock Rock of Love coverage.

When we left off last week, Bret kept all the skanks around for another week to give them all a chance to prove themselves to him again and win Bret Dates. Bret wakes all the girls up the next morning and informs them that he "needs a girl who can ride in the wild." If that's what he wants, he should take a look at Kristy Joe without makeup on. Girlfriend looks like she just stumbled off a rough week of moneymakin' in Bangkok.

It turns out the wild that Bret's talking about is actually the burbs and the gang is limoed out to a farm. Bret greets them then announces a special guest as "a woman of stature and insanity." It's none other than Rodeo! She charges up on a horse cackling manically the whole way. Oh, how I missed Rodeo! The new crop of skanks have nothing on Rodeo and crew.

Anyway, Rodeo announces that the gals will be participating in a "rodeo relay" and her explanation of the game is really confusing but it has something to do with riding horses, roping a bale of hay and grabbing bandannas off of greased pigs. Catherine, who looks cute as pie in her pigtails and cowgirl boots, is stoked because she's an experienced rider who has barrel raced her whole life. Finally, Catherine thinks she's finally going to get a date with Bret (foreshadowing!).

Catherine lucks out because Hulk Hogan shows up and she chooses him to be on her team! Oh wait, that's just Inna. Sorry. Bitchy Megan is chosen last and chalks it up to the girls being jealous. "They don't know what it's like going through life hot," she opines. When men are intimidated by you and women hate you, it's a lonely, lonely life. Too bad Megan had to leave her lucrative modeling career behind and resort to reality television to find a man. As Nazareth once said, "Some fools fool themselves I guess."

The competition is close and it all comes down to the final challenge of greased pig wrestling. Alexis Arquette interviews, "These pigs went to college because they are a lot smarter than they look." I don't know, Lexi, they look pretty smart to me. Comparitively, of course. The little piggies are also very cute and they race around their pen, giving the brain surgeons a run for their money. At the last minute, Jessica (who?) grabs the final bandanna and wins it all for Ambre's team. Catherine is devestated. She says she feels like she's on death row and is inconsolable. Get over it, Cath...you're a total MILF. Bret can't deal with people his own age, so get out while you can.

After making a series of horrible greased pig jokes, Bret announces that Jessica is the MVP and will get a solo date the following evening. But first, he's taking Ambre, Destiney and Kristy Joe out to dinner. In the dark! This restaurant, called Opaque, features dining in complete darkness. Even the servers are blind. Oh my god, I saw this on CSI! It actually looks like something I wouldn't mind trying out with the RockitKing, if you know what I'm sayin'.

First we get to see what the gang is experiencing with a blank screen and the sound of Ambre yakking away endlessy. Then, thanks to a Buffalo Bill night vision view, we get to see what Bret is experiencing, which is a total porno makeout session with Kristy Joe. She's sucking on his finger, she's gnawing on his neck, she's karate chopping his peepee. Once again, I wonder what happened to the germ phobia she was so vehement about on the first ep.

To further the spread of germs, when Kristy Joe and Destiney go to the bathroom, Ambre scooches right over and starts making out with Bret herself. Yucky! To make it worse, she says, "All I'm thinking is, 'I hope this is Bret I'm kissing!'" Tee hee! Good timing, dumbass. A minute sooner and you would have realized what was happening while you were telling your life story. Come to think of it, a bitch fight in the dark would have been hilarious. Bret's assessment of the whole thing is that he "got to meet the girls a much different levels."

When we return to Skank Manor we get to see Michael Clarke Duncan wearing a bikini—what the fuck?? Oh wait, that's Inna. Sorry. The mood is tense around the house when Bret takes Kristy Joe to his room and locks the door. He interviews that Kristy Joe is crazy and it turns him on. What is up with Bret's thing for crazy chicks? They should have just sent Bret to a women's mental institution and let him have at it. KJ finally leaves around 4:30 a.m. looking a bit disheveled if you know what I mean.

The next morning, Catherine signs her own death warrant by deciding to make her own date with Bret. She whips up some breakfast, dons a fetching leopard minidress and lipstick and takes a tray to Bret's room. Megan says Catherine is like "an old horse that you have to shoot or something"—what is she, four? Catherine pounds on Bret's door and of course Bret is snoozing away. She wakes him up and you think he's going to be pissed, but he actually seems to appreciate it and Catherine gets to make out with Bret a little bit. God, I think I'm starting to develop a germ phobia watching all this spit swapping...

In the meantime, Jessica is all ready for her solo date and she totally reminds me of Jessica Simpson, complete with the virgin/whore persona and vacant expression. She and Bret are driven to a paintball park and as they are target practicing, Bret's gun jams. Jess says, "I know what will work" and surprises him with some tongue action. I have to admit, it was a pretty smooth move and of course, Bret loves it.

The pair plays against Security Goon Big John, who we find out was a Marine who served in Somolia and Desert Storm, and then have lunch in the middle of the paintball field. Nothing really exciting happens, but I'm once again fascinated by the romantic lunch/dinner tables that always are always set up in the middle of fields or on race tracks or in lingerie stores. Jess says, "There's nothing quite like making out in a field full of paint and guns and sweat" and then tells Bret she wants him to "throw me on the bed and ravish me." Bret is giddy that Jessica's sweet exterior is melting away to expose her inner tramp.

Back at Bret's Brothel, Megan and Alexis Arquette grab lawn chairs and camp out at Bret's door wearing bikinis. Alexis says she hopes Bret hasn't forgotten about her, and of course he hasn't...she's the one with the Adam's apple. Bret returns and it's mercifully time for the elimination ceremony. Hurley from Lost is standing in the lineup wearing nude lipstick and black paint on his eyelids. Oh wait, that's just Inna. Sorry. Bret calls her his "Ukranian love tank" and I'm sure she took that as a compliment, but I'll bet he keeps passing her through because he's afraid she'll squeeze his head like a zit until it pops.

Kristy Joe also makes it through again, which is no surprise, and Destiney interviews that KJ is stealing all her time with Bret and "I want to see her die." Aww, someone has a girl crush!

In another not-at-all-surprising move, Bret lets Catherine and Peyton go. I'm sorry, but Catherine is a total babe. If she did something about the feathered bangs she'd be the hottest chick in the house. Peyton may have been kinda cool, but I couldn't get the Amy Madigan thing out of my head, so I'm sort of glad to see her go. Youth reigns once again.

Next week: the gals strip for veterans and Destiney's lesbo crush on Kristy Joe hits a fever pitch.

Leap!

Happy Leap Day, mofos!

I'm only posting because I want to see if the blog will let me post on 2/29.

RoL2.5: Dirty slutty things

It completely sucks to be without a computer. Not only that, but I'm two eps behind on RoL recaps, I missed Norwegian Black Metal Day (but hopefully you celebrated anyway), and I am marinating in a cesspool of food wrappers and cat puke. What can I say? I'm lazy.

But now my 'puter is back in my arms and good as new! So there's one thing fixed, I guess.

Anyhoo, here's my synopsis of the latest RoL, but don't think I'm going to forget about the other two eps I missed. One of these days there will be a marathon and I'll be caught up at last. It's a challenge to myself...I have goals and dreams, you see.

So the show starts off with a huge shock...Security Goon Big John is hatless! And he has hair! I was convinced he was balder than Bret under that filthy baseball cap/bandanna combo he always wears. Not so—he's got quite the mop going. The next test is to see if he ever goes hatless around Bret. Sort of like how Nicole Kidman was never allowed to wear heels when she was married to Tom Cruise.

Anyway, since we're down to the Fine Nine, it's Mud Bowl time! Remember last season's Mud Bowl? I don't really either. But I do remember that the skanks were divided onto teams based on if they were good or bad. This year, the Sweethearts team consists of Catherine, Ambre, Jessica (who's that?) and Peyton and the Fallen Angels bad girls are Alexis Arquette, Kristy Joe, Destiney and Fatass Inna. Megan sits out and therefore forfeits her chance for a super-sexxxy Bret Date.

The twist to this Mud Bowl is that Bret is in control of some kind of weather machine that spits out rain, wind and snow at his command. Because of this, he announces that he is "a god" today and who does he think he is paraphrasing the great and mighty Plant?

Anyway, the game begins and Ambre immediately scores two touchdowns. It's torturous to watch the hoes trying to be sexy while they are getting body slammed into a cesspool of mud and (hopefully) shit. They may be playing slip n' slide in the dirt, but god forbid if their bellies aren't bared appropriately. Alexis Arquette is the go-to gal for the Fallen Angels team and she keeps trying to shout orders through her mouthguard. Wow, even with something shoved in her maw, she keeps on talking. Maybe she IS the right girl for Bret!

Kristy Joe puts the Fallen Angels on the board and the game goes into sudden death. Ambre fumbles and the Fallen Angels win when Refrigerator Perry shows up, picks up the fumble and scores a touchdown! Hey, when did he get in the game? Oh wait, that's just Inna. Sorry. The champion team moons the losers and Alexis Arquette is named MVP because it takes some true skill to play a rough game of padless, tackle football with a tuck.

So Alexis Arquette gets ready for her night out with "god" and this has got to be the weirdest Bret Date we've seen yet. The limo pulls up to a place called Foreplay which sells all manner of trashy lingerie. Basically, Frederick's of Hollywood would deem this stuff too tacky to sell. The "date" consists of Bret picking out the most tramptastic outfits he can find and giving them to Alexis Arquette to model for him. First she's a slutty schoolgirl, then she's a slutty gangster's moll, then she's wearing some kind of boob slingshot. And then she and Bret sit down to a romantical dinner. In the middle of the skanky lingerie store. Weird.

Once again, we get to see what a marathon talker Alexis Arquette is, as she blabbers on and on and asks questions and tells stupid stories, and of course Bret gets bored. A flashback suggests that Alexis Arquette should just shut it and put on a slutty Bo Peep outfit. All I can say is that I hope Bret's into hummers.

Back at Maison de Putain Peyton and Catherine are lamenting the fact that they haven't had solo dates with Bret. Peyton, who I just realized reminds me of Amy Madigan in Uncle Buck, decides to be proactive and tape a note to Bret's door that says she urgently needs to talk to him. It just so happens that at exactly the same time in a totally not-at-all contrived scene, Megan is also writing Bret a note on a little piece of heart-shaped construction paper, which she wants to leave on his door. Megan interviews that she goes to put her "very cute nice note on my boyfriend's door and then I see a gross note," which she immediately removes from the door and replaces with her own.

Then, in another completely random moment Peyton decides to make sure her note doesn't sound crazy and returns to Bret's door to find it gone. So she writes another one and this time slides it under the door. But then Megan returns and fishes around in the door crack and manages to retrieve Peyton's note. OK, Megan is creepy. She talks really slowly and has the sociopathic "who, little ol' me?" presentation of Norman Bates. Also, she's really, really stupid. Unfortunately, this completely unplanned incident comes back at elimination.

At this point, Bret and Alexis Arquette return from their hot lingerie store date and Catherine makes her move to spend some alone time with Bret. Instead of talking, they just French for about an hour. Alexis Arquette interviews that Catherine reminds her of Peggy Bundy and then tries to butt in on their makeout session. Catherine calls her a bitch and then Bret goes to bed.

The next day, Bret takes the other girls from the winning team to a racetrack to speed around in a yellow Penis Compensation Vehicle. The actual driving is really boring, except when the mom from What's Eating Gilbert Grape? shows up wearing a skin-tight racing jumpsuit and announces she can't drive stick. Oh, wait, that's Inna. Sorry.

Bret sits down with the three gals for lunch and once again starts gossiping like a woman about the other girls, and Kristy Joe drops the bomb that she has not one, but TWO restraining orders on not one, but TWO ex-husbands. Bret looks horrified and I'm wondering if she has terrible taste in guys or if she's just really, really dramatic. And I'm also wondering what happened to her crippling germ phobia from episode one. Maybe she issues restraining orders against people who don't take three showers a day.

Back at the house, Bret meets privately with Peyton and she immediately starts sobbing. Here's a little secret that PeyPey doesn't know yet—Bret didn't see her note because Megan stole it! How embarrassing! But not as embarrassing as when Bret responds to her question of "Are you attracted to me?" with "Don't take this the wrong way..." and then proceeds to tell her that he doesn't want to play the "friendship rock-out buddy card where we become friends who occasionally fuck." Ouch. Who needs dignity when we could be vying to be more than a fuck buddy to Bret Michaels?

Mercifully, it's elimination time and Megan says, "Me and Bret have a mental, like, Superman...like, psychological connection." It should be noted that Megan says this while wearing a silk lingerie bra top and Daisy Dukes. So I'm sure that's exactly what the big connection is, Lois Lane.

Bret shows up at the ceremony wearing more eyeliner than any of the girls and starts handing out passes. When he gets to Megan, he says in a free-flowing, not-at-all cut-and-pasted sentence, "She was the [cut] only girl [cut] to [cut] put a letter [cut] on [cut] my door." Peyton looks pissed and mentions ripping someone a new asshole and Megan voiceovers that Bret "wants to date [her], not my grandma" and Megan, I knew Hatchet Face and you, madam, are no Hatchet Face.

So it comes down to Peyton and—surprise!—Alexis Arquette! After Bret slutted her up and pretended to be interested in her baby babble she ends up in the bottom two! Bret is a total dick! Alexis makes a sad face that makes her look like her face is melting off and Bret calls her to come over to him. In a totally unexpected surprise twist, Bret announces he's saved the best for last and that he wants to keep ALL the girls around this week! Oh, noble god Bret! Maybe you really DO care about their hearts and minds and not just their boobs and deep throating abilities!

As the episode fades out, the gang cracks open beers and we hear Bret say, "Oops, did you get it in the face?" Ah, that's more like it. Bret stays just as we like him: crude, rude and in the mood!

Next week: since Bret was being nice this week, TWO bitches are being sent home! Step it up, skanks.

Back in black

So I've been sans computer for a week-ish and am finally back in the game. And thank god...I've been positively dying to comment on Rock of Love, Celebrity Rehab and sundry other important topics.

Stay tuned...I have a three-day weekend ahead of me and I'm going gangbusters on posts!

I'M SOMEBODY!!!

It's official: this blog is going places. Don't worry, I'll remember all of you when I get super-famous—I promise.

What am I getting all bent out of shape over?

Well, folks, it's because probably the LAST person I ever would have imagined not only read my blog but left me a message!

Who would that be, you ask?

Why none other than DEREK FUCKING GILBERT OF P.I.D. RADIO!!!!

Not only that, but the note was good-natured about what was essentially a really mean post, which is quite cool. Anyway, check out Derek's comment for yourself. He's an impeccable speller.

(And speaking of The Jerk, now I kind of feel like one.)

RoL2.2: Peepshow, creepshow

It's the morning after the first elimination at the Whore House and the only sounds to be heard are snoring, gurgling and some unidentified sucking sounds. And there's Courtney, who you may remember as the girl who got drunk off her ass last week and missed elimination.

When Peyton informs her that her tour has ended, Courtney actually can't believe it and says, "Ooh, that sucks. I'm going home because I'm a dumbass." No, it's probably because you're fat and ugly and some girl with Botox was wearing the same outfit as you! As she dejectedly drags her suitcase down the stairs someone shouts, "Stay off the sauce!" Poor Courtney, but now it's time for her therapist to deal with it.

Meanwhile, as the other hoes are spackling on makeup and flatironing their bleach-scorched locks, a bomb is dropped. Sara reveals she came on the show as a dare and she lied to her parents and said she was just going to visit friends in LA. Inna the fat stripper is practically drooling with this little tidbit. Her strategy is to tell blabbermouth Alexis Arquette who immediately runs to Bret. Bret is tossing a football with Security Goon Big John and AA is all, "Let me try!" then throws it over the fence. As Security Goon Big John runs to fetch it, AA tattles on Sarah. Bret seems to be thinking like real media whore now because he instantly assumes this is some kind of weird strategy.

So the skanks get a note about their next challenge, and it's a talent show. I have to say at this moment that Angelique/Frenchie has got to be the most horrifying creature I have ever seen. She is the very definition of someone who has been rode hard and put away wet—an unfortunate-looking chick who lets guys put their dicks anywhere they want to get attention. I can't help but feel a little bit bad for her because she has "HELP ME" written all over her giant fake boobs. But then again, I don't want to get too close. Crabs are contagious.

Anyway, the bitches prance around the house preparing their "talents." Destiney works on some kung fu routine. Niki writes a poem in the big bubble letters of a fifth grader. Frenchie says this (according to the subtitles): "I'm going to show heem I can get nekkid un be sexy but I can alzo be a, like, good, you know houzewife." She's in the kitchen wearing a hot pink bandeau top and making something chocolate. I think you can see where this is going.

It's time for the talent show! But in true RoL fashion, the twist is that the skanks have to perform their routines in a Peep Show booth for 30 seconds. If Bret likes what he sees, he inserts a coin for the curtain to raise again and the performance can continue for 15 more seconds. The sign in front of the booth says LIVE SHOWS: CLASSY GIRLS, which is the most blatant example of false advertising I've seen in a while.

The first performer is Alexis Arquette, who plays the drums and totally sucks. Destiney does her Hong Kong Phooey routine and, naturally, it turns Bret on. Niki and Katherine both read horrible poems. Megan does a magic trick where she puts red, white and blue thongs in a bag and—tada!—pulls out an American flag! Bret says something about how the flag can make him stand at attention and Roxy says, "Thongs in a bag? Way to think outside the box, Megan." Korie appears in the booth with an easel and you think she's going to draw, but she turns the pad around to reveal the words MERRY ME. Jesus. Bret notes the misspelling and says its "not good." At least the man appreciates literacy. To a certain extent.

Then we have Kristy Joe, the Playboy model. She irons. Seriously. And says he needs someone who can take care of him. Of course, this also turns Bret on. Eleanor Roosevelt spins in her grave as Bret puts in another coin and as a reward, KJ rips her top off. Don't forget: this peep show only features classy girls, so she goes back to her ironing in her bra and panties. Frenchie screams "stop ironing and start streeping!"

There are a couple other stupid excuses for "talents", including tying a cherry stem in a knot with the tongue, belly dancing, singing in skanky outfits and giftwrapping. Peyton plays guitar and sings and is actually quite good and I decide that I like her now. Then Frenchie takes to the stage. She tears her clothes off and desperately pushes her boobs against the window. And then the chocolate dessert she claims to have worked all day on comes into play, put VH1 kindly censors the scene. We can only imagine what went on under that black bar, but Bret calls it "spiritual."

The winners of the challenge, based on talent and sexiness (of course), are Peyton, Daisy and Ambre. It's been a busy day, but Bret commands the girls to stay up because he's ready to party. However, the VIPs are tired and crawl into bed for the night, which seriously pisses Bret off, and he interviews that Bret's book of rock n' roll rules is that you never go to bed early. The girls who stayed up are treated to an acoustic rendition of "Every Rose" and they all stare at him twirling their hair and fluttering their eyelashes like he's young Elvis or something. Bret says as penance, he's forcing everyone to participate in a dance contest the next evening.

The next day, Bret takes the talent show winners on their date and even though their note references "all-terrain" the girls still can't figure out what they are doing until they are standing right in front of a trio of ATVs. Daisy gets confused about how to operate the vehicle and says, "I'm focusing 'cause I don't want to like, die, or like, lose a leg 'cause that would be, like, bad." The gang does a few laps on a dirt trail and eats lunch and then Bret pulls Ambre aside for some alone time. She rambles on and on and then they make out and Bret says of her kissing style, "I got movement, heavy, heavy movement" whatever that means and he must seriously have a thing for Jenilee Harrison because Ambre looks JUST LIKE HER. Also, Daisy has dirt on her face that makes her look like she has a Hitler moustache and no one tells her.

Meanwhile, back at Skank Mansion the VIPs feel bad that Bret is mad at them so they deside to make him a card with Sharpies and glitter. They complete their art project, put on their sluttiest outfits and go downstairs and wait by the door for Bret to come home. Jessica then makes the understatement of the show: "We are the most amazing trio. Of brains." Einstein couldn't have said it better.

Inna and Frenchie don't agree that these three are the smartest, bestest ever, so they put together a stage for the evening's dance-off then put on bras, panties and stripper shoes and move chairs right in front of the door, in front of the VIPs. Destiney expresses annoyance that "they're copying us!" and guesses "some people can't come up with their own ideas" and suddenly I feel like I'm in the seventh grade locker room at my old junior high. When Bret comes through the door, Frenchie immediately sticks her butt out at him and voiceovers "I'm dressed super-sexy like a streeper, like a slut" and I wonder at what age daddy started touching her because that girl's got serious problems.

The others come downstairs and the dance-off gets underway. Destiney is wearing a bra, panties with hose underneath and a belt. It's pretty stupid overall—to give you an idea of the level of competion, Megan walks backwards screetching "WHOOOOO!" and it's supposed to be the moonwalk. The winners are Roxy (funky chicken), Daisy (pony) and Destiney (running man) and the girls get VIP passes that they can "use any time", meaning if Bret is talking to someone they can interrupt and pull him away. Wow, that was worth it.

Mercifully, it's elimintion time and Inna shows up with zinc smeared all over her lips. Bret arrives with Security Goon Big John and announces that he has a concern and asks Sara to explain all this dare business. Sara sputters that she was taken out of context and Inna starts calling her out. Bret tells Sara she's done and Sara calls Inna a "big fucking whale" in an interview. I know I called her a fat stripper earlier, but I'm starting to get more of a GLOW wrestling vibe from Inna. She also seems to think she's the new Hatchet Face.

So Niki and her stupid poems and Korie and her bad spelling are also out, but Frenchie is in and she's so excited that she crams her tongue down Bret's throat and Bret says it's "large and fighting to get in my mouth, like a serpent" and then makes it even grosser by saying her tongue "made it into my belly and tasted last night's supper." Oh my god. What new disease was just created in that culture? Cathouse Fever? Sunset Strip Staph Infection? Club Floor Fungus? Stripper Pox?

Last night's supper just came up at the thought...

Nexxxt week: It's the return of Hatchet Face!

PS On a side note, every time I see the commercial for that movie where Jessica Alba is blind, her outfit and acting reminds me of the scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphie imagines going blind after being made to put Lifebuoy soap in his mouth. I mean, she's wearing the exact same outfit and she's practically feeling her way around like she's about to whack a pinata.

RoL2.1: Give us somethin' to believe in

All the sad reality dating show break-ups we've been hearing about makes it very hard to believe in love, doesn't it? Really makes you lose your faith. More than ever, we need somethin' to believe in.

And that somethin' is Bret Michaels.

Kids, Rock of Love is back! And better than ever? Don't know about that, especially when Bret refers to his "bitch goddess rock n' roll"...again. This isn't a good sign. Are we destined for a word-for-word repeat of last season, followed by a Jes-esque freakout on the reunion special? We shall see...

In the meantime, there's Security Goon Big John! How I missed Security Goon Big John! He's preparing the petri dish for the impending syringe squirt of microbes. He carts in a load of beer in a wheelbarrow and actually tests out the stripper pole...for what? Stability? I'm thinking there are far more destructive elements hanging around that pole that can't be seen by the human eye, Security Goon Big John. But you get a gold star for effort anyway. Lord knows you deserve it.

Next we see the man of the hour, Bret, cruising down the street in a red Penis Compensation Vehicle, wearing his Penis Compensation Burberry Sunglasses. He pulls up in front of the house to greet the screeching hoarde of skanks. The first three quotes we hear from the girls are as follows:
1. “I am drawn to Bret like a nun to a convent.”
2. “I wanna fuck Bret first, and then I’ll make love to him.”
3. “I am bisexual. I love making out with hot, sexy women. If I’m not getting it from Bret, then I’m gonna go find some hot girl to make out with."

Yikes. That's the perfect introduction to the likes we're going to be dealing with in the Whore House this season. Among the trash heap are:
• Missi, who has bad teeth and, it appears, a touch of FAS
• Megan, who I'm told was a winner on Beauty and the Geek, which makes her a ho in more ways than one
• Something called "Peyton," that might have spawned from Jocelyn Wildenstein
• Ambre (yes, I spelled that right), who is a dead ringer for Jenilee Harrison
• Catherine, who for some reason reminds me of Naomi on Mama's Family and has a hairdo like this chick who's worked at the Drug Mart in my hometown for the last, like, 20 years
• Aubry (yes, I spelled that right, too), who seems to think that the key to Bret's heart is looking just like him
• Alexis Arquette! What's he doing there? Oh, sorry...that's just Daisy. Too bad she couldn't get all the post-op done before coming on the show.
• Angelique, aka "Frenchie", who DID get the post-op done before coming on the show.

We also have chicks named Inna, Destiney (the aforementioned bisexual chick), Jackye, Roxy, and Kristy Joe. How many juice bars are losing their Wednesday night main stagers because of this show?

My first impression is that I've never seen so much bad hair in my life. These aren't even weaves. It's like they all slathered a handful of LA Looks into wet hair, crimped and then knotted it all up with a multitude of sparkly Goody Ouchless hair accessories. To everyone's horror, Bret immediately chooses four girls out of the crowd and then disappears. Just when you think these are the poor saps that are getting sent home for not being blonde enough (like last season), Security Goon Big John announces that these four are the "VIPs" and they all get private time with Bret later. WHOOOOOOOO!!!!

But first up, PAAARRTTYYYY!! Booze is flying through the air, as are boobs, and Frenchie L'Homme announces, "I vant to have some sex wis Bret in zis pool!" Bret takes porno pics of the girls as a way to "connect" with their boobs, I mean them, again. We are treated to splits, girl-on-girl makeouts and lapdances aplenty.

Next Bret meets each of the VIPs for some alone time by the pool and the overwhelming atmosphere is best described as creepy. Megan, wearing the shortest skirt ever, says, "I love Bret Michaels! Me n' him forever!" Destiney gives Bret a bedazzled bandanna she made and cackles maniacally, causing Bret to question whether she will "make love to me or kill me." Daisy is just completely horrifying-looking and I don't want to talk about it. The final VIP, Erin, tells Bret that MySpace changed her life. I mean, she actually says, "Like, there’s so many things going on in the world and a lot of them I’ve learned about through MySpace, like."

Jesus. We are really in for it this season.

The rest of the tramps have one hour to fellowship with Bret before eliminiation. Catherine reveals that she's 45, which means that she'll be kept on for a couple eps to prove Bret isn't ageist and then kicked out on her old, wrinkled ass. Next, a thick stripper perches on Bret's lap, pushes her breasts in his face and says "My father was never there and I just want someone to love me." Holy fuck.

Next we meet Kristy Joe, who is an interesting character, as she is a Playboy Bunny with a crippling fear of germs. She actually wipes Bret's mouth off like a parent wiping pureed carrots off an infant. She has a total stick up her ass, which I'm sure is a big turn-on to Bret. Oh, also, she likes horses.

And then there's Courtney, who is stumbling around the pool, five sheets to the wind. She's one of those dreaded crying drunks and keeps saying things like, "I'm fat and ugly and some girl with Botox is wearing the same thing I am!", "I'm the fattest girl here!", "Everyone else is prettier than me!" Thankfully, she passes out in a stupor on a leopard-print couch, oblivious to Security Goon Big John's commands to wake up because it's eliminiation time.

Ah, the eliminiation ceremony. The place where dreams are made and egos are crushed. And this, the first of the season, is the harshest of all, as Bret must send five fillies home. Courtney loses by default. She doesn't even show up and we are shown why—she's passed out on her bed and rolls off onto the floor with a flat thud. Bret requests that when she comes to someone should tell her that "her tour ends here."

Pretty much all the blondes make it through the first round and all the VIPs except for the one that learned about life through MySpace. The bug-eyed FAS chick is also out and asks the camera if "Nikki Sixx is available." The last girl called is Jackye, an Italian whose face is smooshed up in a way that makes her look like she is constantly smelling shit. But—SURPRISE!—Jackye tells Bret that she doesn't really want to stay because she's got anxiety issues. In her place, Bret asks Ambre/Jenilee to stay, which makes her so happy she starts drooling.

So we're off and running! This season: bras, roller derbies, pigs, mud football, cowboy hats, crying, weird lips, dirt bikes, chick fights, gang-ups, poker, slapping, puking, loads of stripping and skankiality, and cameos from Rodeo, ASHeather and HATCHET FACE! I believe, Bret, I believe!

Astonishing panorama of the end times

The holidays are over, but in celebration of today's post, I've included a picture of Krampus. Just because it seemed fitting.

So I mentioned a while back that I sometimes listen to this conspiracy kook podcast called Peering Into Darkness. I do this purely for shits and giggles. The podcast is hosted by this intensely creepy couple named Derek and Sharon Gilbert, who somehow manage to function enough through their smothering paranoia to be both published authors and legitimate radio show hosts. In their spare time, they produce this little show from their home (or, as they refer to it, "The Bunker").

The topics of the day are those typical conspiracy tidbits—everything, no matter how small, means something. Favorite topics include prophecy, high-level government conspiracies, the apocalypse, the number 33, and "suspicious gas." Did you know the little white lines of smoke you see following jets in the sky are actually trails of chemicals that are slowly poisoning us into submission? Did you know that a gargoyle in the shape of Darth Vader sits on a wall of the Washington National Cathedral? (And do you know what that is supposed to suggest? Because I don't.) And most importantly, did you know that the U.S. government has placed brainwashed killbots all around the country who are poised and ready to blow our heads off on command?

Matthew Murray, Seung-Hui Cho and Robert Hawkins are just some recent examples of people Der and Shar postulate are "cult multiples," meaning they were kidnapped by the feds, made into Manchurian Candidates and then released back into the wild. Their subsequent shooting rampages were triggered by the push of a button to divert attention from larger, more nefarious goings-on in the world.

Every time some kind of violent tragedy hits the news, you can bet these two are on it. They just love to smugly announce how they're not surprised and how everyone is going to be sorry they weren't paying attention and how the Bilderberg Group is behind it and how cancer researchers are actually trying to GIVE people cancer and how the weather is being controlled and how we're totally on course for the apocalypse. One wonders how they manage to make it through a day, let alone hold down regular jobs. With all that on your mind, how can you possibly function?

Here's a picture of Derek and Sharon, because I'm sure you're dying to know what they look like. What, pray tell, is wrong with this image? Doesn't it look totally fake? First of all, Sharon is obviously Photoshopped into the picture. Secondly, she's colorized! And is it just me or is that beard the work of MacPaint? This picture seems to suggest that Derek and Sharon are not even real, but IMAGINITIVE FIGMENTS created by the government to infiltrate and destroy the Christian right! Unfortunately, reality is not nearly that sexy, and neither are Der and Shar...

Not that I care that much, but I'm sort of morbidly curious about how these two managed to find each other. I mean, could you imagine the first date convo?
Sharon:So what do you like to do for fun?
Derek: Hide in my basement and record myself babbling endlessly about large-scale government conspiracies.
Sharon: ME TOO!!!!!!

Feeding the paranoia and adding some of the most hilarious/crazed commentary is frequent guest Russ Dizdar. Russ runs a "spiritual warfare" ministry and is a freelance exorcist. That's right—when the devil's spinning your head around and causing you to coat the room with green pea soup, who ya gonna call? Russ!

What I love about Russ is that he's obviously suffering from delusional disorder, but Derek and Sharon hang on his every word as if he were God himself. He thinks everyone is out to get him personally and there is an underlying subculture of people hell-bent on putting a stop to his good works. Check out his website for more evidence (but only if you're not epileptic because all that shit on his page is enough to cause a seizure)—yowza. If anything, he's definitely wordy.

The recent Halloween episode of Peering Into Darkness featured Russ as a guest and it's especially hilarious. We get to learn all about the simple magic satanists can perform to fuck shit up. See, objects can be "charged" with good or bad energy and when you touch something that's been fused with bad energy, then the "lucifarians" get stronger and you will probably become possessed. Or something.

Bottom line: it's fucking absurd. But it sure is fun to listen to! Among other awesomeness in the Halloween ep, we learn:
• Every once in a while Derek and Sharon get something in the mail that they don't expect which they automatically assume is a demonized object meant to make them sick, corrupt or confused.
• There's no question that rituals work.
• Demons can come out of your mouth and they look like insects.
• Candy and trick-or-treating is a part of a large-scale stunt to get kids interested in Halloween and then lure them over to the dark side.
• Paganism is not cool.
• The earth knows it is subject to bondage (yeah, I didn't get it either).
• The more fake blood spilled in a movie, the more "highly charged" the movie is.
• Marilyn Manson manifested into a demon right before Russ's very eyes. Manson was also wearing a thong and Russ didn't want to touch him. Hm, methinks he doth protest too much....

Part of me wants to send Derek and Sharon some "ritualistic" object just to fuck with them. Or just any object, because obviously they think everything is loaded with nazi powers. How about a Gordon Little People figurine? Can you imagine what they would do if they opened a package and there was nothing in it but Gordon? One second Gordon's playfully swinging on the little tire swing of his Fisher Price™ Sesame Street® Clubhouse Playset...the next second he's telekinetically taking down humanity.

As for good and bad energy and charged objects and all that crap, why can't I keep my iPod charged? Does that mean the battery is shot? I wish someone would charge that. I can't be expected to go to the gym if I can't listen to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" on the elliptical.

Seriously, I'm not so naive as to believe that the U.S. government isn't hiding shit, but a worldwide bot conspiracy? Think about it: people can't even organize a birthday party or a fucking potluck without it spiraling into chaos. Who knows. Maybe they're right and I'll have to someday pay for making fun of them. But if I'm going to burn hell for this, at least let me get that stupid iPod charged so I can bring it along. I really want to listen to WHAM.