RoL7: Sexy. Sexy, sexy. Sexy? Sexy! Sexy...

If there's one thing RoL teaches us, it's that Bret Michaels has some weird-ass turn-ons. Aging, strident strippers, drunk slobs, mental patients, Hatchet Face...everything and everyone is sexy in Bret's world. How about we play a little game in today's wrap-up? Let's count how many times the word "sexy" is mentioned in this episode, 'K? Change things up a bit...

It's down to the Sexy Six (1!) and the competition is getting stiff, as is Bret, and of course, he's devised another challenge that gives the girls an opportunity to whore it up to their hearts' (and his dick's) content. This time, they are asked to shoot a trampy cover for Bret's rockin' new solo album. The girls will be in teams of three, with two playing model and one serving as creative director. Sam is all jazzed up because she "models for [her] friends" sometimes. I knew it—Sam is a Suicide Girl! Which would also explain the pink eye shadow, the prison tattoos and the crippling depression. One mystery solved!
("Sexy" total: 3)

The hos arrive at the photo studio and immediately Hatchet Face starts in on her usual trip of announcing how she's going to pick the girls off one by one, and how "[she's] the musician of the group so [she] know[s] album covers!" This can only mean one thing; foreshadowing of an embarrassing and crushing defeat at the hands of whichever girl she decides to target this week. Since she failed at getting Sam kicked off last week, she's moved on to Mia, who still hasn't "proven herself" to Bret. Luckily, Mia is practically serving herself up on a platter by volunteering to be the creative director for her team of Aging, Strident Heather and The Other Brandi.

Hatchet acquiesces to Jes for control of the shoot on the other team, but continues to blurt out helpful suggestions, such as "We should have a dominatrix!" and "Let's have a dominatrix and a pin-up!" Ah, now I'm starting to see why Bret keeps this nutbag around. Anyway, the team settles on the super-creative, never-been-done-before album cover theme of Good Vs. Evil. The other team, however, is taking the totally overused route of...dressing a chick up as a dude. That's right: for some reason The Other Brandi decides to dress as a man complete with fake gray hair stuck in "his" armpits and a stuffed crotch. She gets wayyyyyyy too into it, too—swilling beer, puffing obnoxiously on a cig and adopting a kind of frat-boy-cum-Harvey-Fierstein tone of voice. Per usual, Aging, Strident Heather looks like a drag stripper and announces that as her contribution to the shoot, she's going to do something sexy with a wrench. I'm leaving that one alone.
("Sexy" total: 7)

Jes comes up with the super-hella-80s album title When Love Dances With the Devil, and I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Bret reveals later that this actually IS the title of his bitchin' solo album. The cover concept features Sam dressed in light pink and pearls and wearing a wide-eyed Precious Moments expression as Hatchet creepily straddles her and looks, well, like she usually looks. Again, Hatchet starts taking over with the art direction and I can't stop cracking up because she looks just like Bert McCracken in a red sequined bikini. I mean, she is just hideous! Any guy in his right mind would run and hide because she has "I'm going to bite the tip off" written all over her in huge block letters.

If you thought that photo session was bad, we then get to see Aging, Strident Heather trying to act like Tawny Kitaen in that Whitesnake video by rubbing her big, fake boobs and aging, strident crotch all over the hood of a car, while The Other Brandi hams it up in her horrific Man Costume. It's just so fucking awful that you actually start to try to use mind control to make it stop. Think hard! Nope...still not working...but at least the scene is over mercifully fast.
("Sexy" total: 10)

Speaking of boobs, back at the Whore House, Hatchet is bitching to ASHeather that all the good ideas were hers and all the bad ideas were Jes's and it's not fair if they win because Jes, as creative director, will get a solo Bret Date and Hatchet will have to go on a group date with Bret and Sam. Her schtick is getting really obvious. It's like, if you go on a reality show with the intention of being the villian, at least have some variety in your evil ploy-ing. She does the same stupid shit every week... "blah, blah, I'm targeting X...blah, blah, I'm going to rock this challenge...blah, blah, I lost and it's not fair..." It's even more obvious when the groups meet again to develop presentations for their covers and Hatchet actually instructs Jes to "speak slowly" as she's presenting to Bret. Somebody, please, smack this bitch! And please let it be Security Goon Big John!

As it turns out, Hatchet isn't the only one that is deflecting blame for any wrongdoing in the challenge. The Other Brandi and ASHeather know their cover is shitty and, while they both congratulate themselves for taking charge during the photo shoot, declare that if they fail, it's creative director Mia's fault. Hatchet continues to antagonize by telling Jes "if we were on The Apprentice right now, you'd be fired." Eureka! Hatchet wants to be the new Omarosa! She's envisioned a future of inexplicable red carpet photo ops, Best Week Ever appearances, and hopefully a stint on The Surreal Life!

Finally, it's presentation time! Mia's team goes first and, upon unveiling the album cover, Bret is speechless. In fact, he stutters. He looks like he might need a little touch-up between the eyebrows. Bret says that he didn't realize that the "man" in the picture was The Other Brandi at first, and that he didn't find the cross-dressing very sexy. Holy shit! We've discovered the one thing that doesn't give Bret a woody. When Love Dances With the Devil floats his boat by default, but he dumbly predicts that this racy cover might not sell in the Bible Belt. Stupid Bret! He may not be Mr. Marketing, but he knows a winner when he sees one, and Jes's team takes the prize. Predictably, Hatchet still isn't happy that Jes gets the solo date because she feels she contributed more in the creation of the winning cover (even though she volunteered to be a model), so she pulls Bret aside and starts tattling on everyone again. As she's squawking about everyone's incompetence, it hits me who Hatchet is a dead ringer for: Aphex Twin! Stick a red wig on this picture and tell me I'm wrong. When she says, "I promise I'm not really crazy!" I totally thought of this album cover. Come on, it's perfect!! Good lord, I'm a genius...
("Sexy" total: 23)

The Train of Unfairness has apparently pulled into the Whore House Station, because at the same time, The Other Brandi and ASHeather (who by the way is poolside and topless AGAIN) decide that they didn't get the proper opportunity to sex it up for Bret. To make up for it, they don their flooziest lingerie and start taking Polaroids of each other in various porny poses. ASHeather models with a strategically-placed guitar. The Other Brandi poses topless with a mike wire hanging from her mouth. It's all so '80s metal skank I can hardly stand it. This is the kind of behavior I would expect from Bulletboys fans...but from Poison groupies? Offer nothing less than what Motley Crue would get, ladies. Once you offer up a shot of yourselves shitting in a litter box, then we're talking.
("Sexy" total: 41)

The winning models get to go to a seaside surf n' turf restaurant with Bret where Hatchet continues her campaign to bash her teammates. When she hits the potty, Sam confronts Bret about why he is keeping Hatchet around and naturally he has no explaination. Bret finds the whole afternoon a bit of a buzzkill and says that the date "wasn't as sexy as I'd hoped it would be." What did he expect? Sam and Hatchet to push the hush puppies aside and start pouring cocktail sauce all over each other? Get real, Bret. That sort of thing only happens at Rick James's house. His solo beach date with Jes seems to go a little better—they spot some dolphins and then swap some spit.
("Sexy" total: 57)

When he returns to the Whore House, Bret has a surprise waiting for him: the results of ASHeather and The Other Brandi's photo shoot plastered all over his bedroom door. His tongue practically unfolds out of his mouth and rolls out cartoonishly like a red carpet. Hatchet actually says something funny: "I guess that's what happens when you leave two strippers home together."
("Sexy" total: 834)

Before eliminiation, the gang gets together for dinner (wait, didn't they just eat?) and Hatchet proceeds to ruin the meal by prattling on and on about PETA and animal testing and how when you eat hot dogs you're eating pig butts, etc., etc. ad nauseum. The Other Brandi has finally had it, and she throws down her napkin and parades out of the room. When Bret follows her to find out what's wrong, she tearfully admits that she is afraid she's going to attack Hatchet. Come on! She had a fork and knife in her hand only moments before. There is simply too much talk and not enough action in the Whore House. I want action tonight, bitches! Give me something to believe in already. Unfortuantely, all the warnings were not enough for Bret to give Hatchet the boot—Mia (who I thought was the prettiest of the bunch) is sent home and Hatchet is chosen as one of the final five, as is ASHeather and her gravity-defiant hair and boobs. Bret thinks Hatchet is passionate and likes that she "fights for her man." Let me guess, Bret. Passion and fighting are both really sexy. We'll see how sexy it all is when Hatchet is holding a corkscrew to your manhood and accusing you of fucking some stripper in Peoria!
("Sexy" total: 574,193)

Bitchslapping romantic comedies

So I was in the video store yesterday looking for a good gorefest to watch (don't, I repeat, don't fall for Disturbia—it completely sucks and isn't even good for a few pity laughs) and, good freaking god, there are a lot of romantic comedies out! Catch and Release, Music & Lyrics, Because I Said So, The Holiday, not to mention the ones that are in theaters now, including The Nanny Diaries, No Reservations and that terrifying-looking one where Robin Williams plays a wacky priest.

I really, honestly can't think of anything worse than a romantic comedy. Seriously. I'd rather have sharp sticks driven under my nails than watch Something's Got To Give. One of my least favorite movies of all time is As Good As It Gets. So scholocky and condescending. Aw, someone cares about the verbally-abusive old codger. Aw, someone cares about the hard-working single mom. Aw, someone cares about the token gay (but no one skimps on the token gay jokes). Horrible, offensive and proof that the Academy sent out peyote in the gift baskets that year.

The thing that gets me the most about romantic comedies, besides the completely unrealistic plotlines (public enemy number one: Pretty Woman), is that they are always hits even though they follow the same stupid, archaic formula to a T every single time. There are no surprises! There's always a happy ending! What's the point of even watching a movie if you're not going to be surprised? In fact, why don't we just write our own romantic comedy, since it doesn't seem to take much? All you have to do is simply follow The Rules (which is essentially the book version of the romantic comedy), hire Richard Gere and Renee Zellweger, and you'll be rich, bitch!

THE ROMANTIC COMEDY RULES
1. Love is blind!
She's a pious Mennonite with a corn-husk doll collection and a love of Little House on the Prairie. He's a schizophrenic child killer with a with a human head collection and a love of beastiality porn. When these two lonely souls meet, it's explosive and they soon discover that they can't live without each other.
(Pretty Woman, Along Came Polly, When Harry Met Sally)

2. They can't fight it!
The woman is always a frigid, detail-obsessed harpy. The man is always a lackadasial slob who has a beloved hobby that involves dirt, mud and/or extreme sports. But unlike in Rule #1, these opposites DON'T attract until they accidentally share a kiss one day and then they realize that some kind of mad scientist chemistry has made them soul mates. Or they keep running into each other totally by coincidence until they just HAVE to talk...and then they talk for hours. (You've Got Mail, When Harry Met Sally, Seredipity)

3. The protagonist's best friend is always sassy and always more focused on the protagonist's life than their own!
Cheer up, sad, lonely lead actor/actress! You can always turn to your loyal best friend/wisecracker/sounding board Joan Cusack for some hearty laughs and heartwarming heart-to-hearts. Or if you're a guy, check in with your horndog work buddy Jon Faverau for some beers and cliche-filled convo about women and sex. And if they aren't available, try Donal Logue, Wanda Sykes, Jeremy Piven, Sandra Oh, and/or Carrie Fisher. (Notting Hill, When Harry Met Sally, The Break-Up)

4. There's never a bad time to break out into dance/song for no reason!
There's always a wedding/party/reunion/mixer to attend (where you'll get wasted and make a total ass out of yourself)! Or if there's not, there will be a totally contrived group gathering involving an embarrassing game of charades, truth or dare or karaoke. (My Best Friend's Wedding, The Family Stone)

5. When it comes to casting, think "Jennifer or Julia"!
Jennifer Garner, Jennifer Lopez, Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Julia Roberts, Julia Stiles, Julia Ormond...

6. You help everyone else find love but can't/don't have time to find love yourself!
(Or you're a dynamic, Type-A woman with your own job and your own money, but it doesn't mean anything unless you have love in your life!) (The Wedding Planner, Sweet Home Alabama, 13 Going On 30)

7. The shy/large/homely girl always finds a handsome/popular/wealthy guy that loves her for her inner beauty! (My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Bridget Jones's Diary, She's All That)

8. The womanizer always changes his ways, thanks to the love of a good woman! (What Women Want, Hitch, Boomerang)

9. There's always an old perv in the family!
Why is this?? You know what I'm talking about.

Of course, the king and queen of dreck are Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. The prince and princess are Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant/Colin Firth (because who can tell them apart?), and the queen mother is Diane Keaton. Duke and Dutchess are Aniston and John Cusack (sadly) and the viscount and viscountess are Mark Ruffalo and Julia Stiles. So chances are, if any of these people star in the movie, it is a romantic comedy. Another good rule of thumb is to avoid anything written by Richard Curtis. He's the guy responsible for Love, Actually, the Bridget Jones travesties, Notting Hill, Four Weddings & A Funeral and the Mr. Bean movie. Just remember that and you should be pretty good to go.

Footnote: While I hate mush pablum, I must add that I am totally behind DARK romantic comedies. My favorite movies include The Graduate, Harold & Maude and Spanking the Monkey (does that qualify)? Note that not one of these movies follow the above rules. And I do like the '80s teen ones, like Sixteen Candles and Some Kind of Wonderful. However, I always thought Andie should have ended up with Duckie. That one always pissed me off.

RoL6: Hold me

Ah, morning at the Whore House. Nothing but the sounds of snoring, gurgling and The Other Brandi's farts. But suddenly, the peaceful early-morning quiet is rudely interrupted by Security Goon Big John rousing the sleeping skanks by bellowing, "Wake up! This ain't rock n' sleep!" Uggg...is there anything worse than being abruptly awoken at 6 a.m. by an 800-pound gorilla? Take my word for it; there isn't.

Apparently, life on the road involves a lot of early mornings and unbrushed teeth, and today's challenge is to gauge how well the girls can handle rambling around the country in a cramped tour bus, eating at 7-11 and grabbing quickies in truck-stop bathrooms. Well, when I say "the country", what I really mean is a large parking lot with signs that say "New York", "Nashville" and "Los Angeles." It's a virtual country! And "in" each "city", the "girls" will have to "compete" in a road-themed "challenge." Security Goon Big John chooses a name out of a hat and that skank picks another skank to compete against. First up is my girlfriend Jes versus Magdalena. These two have to race to see who can pack a suitcase the fastest. Big whoop. It's just as exciting as it sounds; Mags pulls off a win and lil' Jes is left on a bench in "New York".

Next up we have Mags against Sam, and Security Goon Big John announces that while Bret's girl has to deal with less-than conditions on the road, she still must look hot. This means the girls have to change into crotchless unitards, bustiers, minis and stripper shoes...in a Porta-Pot. I can't decide if this is more or less skanky than when Flav had his contestants strip behind a screen for him. As an added bonus, the camera crew toilet-papered the inside of the Portas and expelled last night's Don Pablo's El Presidente Platter into the bowls. Sam wins by default because she ties her shoes correctly. Sorry, Mags, no soup for you!

The next stop is "Detroit" and, appropriately, the slags must dig through a garbage Dumpster to find Bret's guitar pick. At first I thought they were going to have to dig through to find CC, but I guess the challenge had to be a little bit tougher and a little less risky. Hatchet Face chooses Sam as her competitor and, as the two dive in and start digging around, one wonders which is grosser: the trash heap or Sam's crotchless leggings. In a totally unexpected twist, Hatchet blabbers that she's definitely going to win this, and then loses miserably to Sam.

Up next we have Mia and Aging, Strident Heather who must hook a guitar up to an amp and then tune it. "This oughta be good!" you think...and it is. Both girls wrestle comically with the guitar cords, unable to deduct why no sound is coming out. Security Goon Big John finally has to clue them in that the amps are not plugged in. Duh, dingbats! It's rule numero uno in rock...make sure everything is plugged in! These two have just learned a valuable lesson. Mia is a little less slow and, thus, Heather is left to wallow on the bench.

The next-to-last challenge involves a puzzle...uh oh. Big John announces that sometimes Bret gets drunk and forgets the words to his hit songs that he's sang 50,000 times before, so Mia and The Other Brandi must compile the correct chorus to "Every Rose" using a giant magnetic poetry set. Mia fucks up, leaving The Other Brandi and Sam to compete in a dance-off to determine the winner. Just kidding...they have to run an obstacle course that consists of three velvet ropes and a football tackling dummy. Even though Sam is running it in the Porta-Pot skankwear outfit and Uggs, and her mini hikes up practically around her neck as she jumps, exposing her ass, The Other Brandi blows her away. Meaning she gets to blow Bret!

Back at the Whore House, Hatchet and Aging, Strident Heather begin conniving again, and this time their target is Sam, whom they deem "too sensitive." And what better night to get started on this diabolical plan than on this one? It's Bret's birthday! The skanks plan a party with streamers, balloons, a flat-looking cake and plenty of booze! WOOOOO! That stripper pole is getting greased tonight! As the hoes prepare to party, Magdalena takes a hit of helium from a balloon and her voice hilariously sounds like a completely normal girl voice. It's sort of what you imagine James Earl Jones might sound like if you kick him in the junk.

Bret shows up and the party starts. Operation Eradicate Sam spins into motion. ASHeather and Hatchet grind provocatively on Bret and desperately lick his face. The scheme works! Even though Sam delights Bret with an impromptu humping of the stripper pole, she then shies away from all the skanktastic fun to sulk in her room. The next morning, Sam snaps at Hatchet and Hatchet immediately runs to Bret to express concern that Sam is "losing it." They are so totally keeping Hatchet around for drama; no way would a get-around guy like Bret keep this Captain Bringdown around in a real-life situation. She's not even hot and I'll bet she doesn't even have implants! Anyway, Bret approaches Sam and she shares her fears about falling in love on national television. Wait a minute, was that rational thought I just heard?? Hmmm, we ARE talking about the lead singer of Poison here..so no, no it's not. But we may have been close.

Speaking of boobs, Bret escorts The Other Brandi on their big date, which is to a hockey game where they have dinner in a loge and get some face time on the Jumbotron. And on each others' faces. Whatever...the REAL excitement is going on back at Casa de Puta where all the leftover girls have been asked to compile a list of reasons why each girl should be sent home. Tension!! While Sam, Mia, Jes and Mags express discomfort with this activity, Hatchet practically pees her pants with excitement at the chance to be bitchy. The other girls basically inform Hatchet that they all hate her and Mags utters the quote of the show: “Lacey’s a fucking dirty, sneaky bitch. She looks like a man. She looks like she’s possessed by devils. She’s just a freak.” The possession theory is confirmed when The Other Brandi returns home, and Hatchet immediately swoops in to tell her that the others sold her out in the note to Bret. Serpent-tongued beast! The Other Brandi doesn't believe her for a second, proving she may be smarter than we all originally thought.

Bret pays another visit to Sam who announces that she feels out of place in the house and may just be too sensitive for the rock n' roll shennanigans. Bret proceeds to comfort her with the second-best quote of the evening: "Hold me." That's right; Mr. Sensitive needs affection, just like everyone else. Oh, wait, I mean FROM everyone else. I think Sam is onto something.

Finally, it's elimination time, and how do we know this? Because Heather did her bangs, that's how! Bret, for his part, is wearing a red vinyl jacket from Wet Seal and yet another airbrushed cowboy hat (how many does he need, anyway?). The final two are Mags and Sam, who whimpers that she thinks she's going to pass out. Mags is called up...and sent home! Shocker! Way to mess with Sam's already-unstable emotions, Bret. Sam lets out a sigh of relief and skips away to spend yet another day (or two-ish?) in the house o' intense uncomfortable-ness. Cheers!

RoL5: A bunch of broken bitches

So here's something I've been meaning to address: the lyrics to the RoL theme song, sung (and written?) by Mr. Bret Michaels himself: "I'll show you things you've never seen/touch my backstage pass/ride my limousine/let me be your rock of love." Short, sweet and full of innuendo. Just like Bret! OK, I admit that I have no idea if he sweet and I'm just assuming that he is short, because most rock guys are. I'm thinking more along the lines of Axl short rather than Dio short, but what do I know? I CAN say definitively, though, that Bret is bursting at his spandex seams with innuendo.

Of course, it just wouldn't be Rock of Love with out two important elements: drinking and plotting. And this ep kicks off with plenty of both. Hatchet Face and the aging, strident stripper Heather are conniving a diabolical new plan to "target" Erin, whom you may remember as Miss Hooters of Illinois. It's kind of like tying Bambi down and aiming an Uzi directly at his forehead...and how will PETA feel about that, Hatchet?? Anyway, while these two are holding the Hooker Potsdam Conference, The Other Brandi is taking care of the other activity we are coming to know and love these girls for—boozing. She slugs back Andre by the bottle and wakes up in a puddle of her own drool with a killer hangover. Let's hope that the day's challenge doesn't involve anything too physical, because The Other Brandi doesn't think she can handle it. And I bet you won't see what's coming next from two hundered miles away.

The hoes are Hummer limo-ed out to a field where Bret greets them with the news that they will be playing football today...in the mud! Now there's a hangover-friendly activity! Plus, I have to add that I totally called it, clear back when I made speculations about what would happen on this show. It's not exactly mud wrestling, but it's close enough for me! Because he likes girls who can "go long" (hardy-har-har, Mr. Innuendo!), he wants a girl who will watch men in tight pants wrestle each other to the ground and exchange spanks with him. The slags are divided into two groups: the Fallen Angel bad girls and the Sweetheart buzzkills. Hatchet, naturally, immediately starts flapping her gums about how she's going to take everyone down, then...surprise! Jes divebombs her, causing her to bust up her ankle and instantly taking her out of the game. To even the teams up, The Other Brandi opts to take to the bench and nurse her hangover, and the game continues with Jes and Heather as top candidates for MVP...and the coveted Bret Date! When the game ends with each team scoring two touchdowns, a suspenseful tiebreaker is held and Jes scores the winning points. Also, Heather's pants get pulled down. Which is not news.

What IS news is that Jes wins the big date with Bret and straightens her pink hair for the occassion. Holy crap, Jes is a total babe! Seriously! I think I have a girl crush on her. What is she doing on this show? The other nitwits I can understand, but Jes actually seems kind of normal. Anyway, Security Goon Big John escourts Jes to a restaurant where Bret appears on a stage to woo her with some guitar ballads (no "Every Rose", though). They have what seems like a fun date and, of course, suck face.

Back at the Whore House, the scheming has reached a fever pitch. Hatchet and Heather JUST SO HAPPEN to overhear Erin speaking to her boss on the phone and exclaim with disappointment that she will miss a visit from Justin Timberlake to her club the following evening. Score! Hatchet temples her fingers C. Montgomery Burns-style and cackles with glee at the opportunity to tattle on Erin for daring to insinuate that she'd rather hang out with JT than Bret! You know who's bringing sexyback? Not Hatchet! But she's going to make sure that Erin doesn't miss her precious opportunity to meet Timberlake.

Speaking of boobs, Heather also decides to throw in her bitchy two cents in the form of a note that "exposes" all the girls in the house. Exposing what, exactly? They are all strippers, porn stars and Hooters waitresses! Nothing she can cook up should surprise Bret. So if this note doesn't do it, what's next? Are they going to short sheet Erin's bed? Push her out of the locker room naked? Draw a mean picture of her? Oh, wait, they already DID! (By the way, anyone have any idea how old these two hapless skanks are?) Turns out, they won't have to worry, because when Bret finds and reads Heather's note, he promptly drags her into his room, flops down on the bed, props his chin in his hands and proceeds to gossip like a woman with her about the other girls. What the fuck?? Bret says he thinks Erin still has a boyfriend and, of course, this is the perfect opportunity to bring up Justin Timberlake! Wow, that really chaps Bret's ass. I wonder how he would have reacted if it was Vince Neil? Now that would have been funny...

Anyway, the gabfest continues the next day when he takes the rest of the winning football team—The Other Brandi, Mia and Magdalena—to a shooting range for their group date. It's at the post-shoot brunch that a bombshell is dropped: Aging Strident Heather appeared on The Surreal Life Fame Games and tried to bone Vanilla Ice. HELL-O! Forget Vince Neil—this may be the choice piece of information that sends Bret over the edge. Yes! He retaliates by telling the girls about Heather's note, and later in the evening they confront her about it. Delicious! Heather sputters and looks sheepish and chews on her gel nails and then claims that the note was all about her and included an apology to Bret for being naked all the time. Oh. My. God! Could this show get any better??

The answer is YES.

Elimination is tense and it comes down to (predictably) Heather and Erin. Can I take this moment to comment on Heather's hair during the eliminiations? Slap a Jessica McClintock for Gunne Sax dress on her and she could have been plucked directly from the homecoming court page in my high school yearbook. At least we know there's still a market for Aqua Net Extra Super Hold. Anyway, Heather and her hair are kept around for another week and Erin is sent back to Illinois to mingle with the pop elite. She smirks at the camera after eliminiation and cheekily asides that "[she's] had bigger and better stars than Bret Michaels." Zing! But, has she had bigger and better stars than JT? Something tells me we're talking more along the lines of Chip Z'Nuff here...

Thus, we end another week, and now there are seven skanks left (make that six skanks AND my beloved Jes!), including the scare pair Hatchet and Heather, who can still touch Bret's backstage pass. Next week: whoring it up on the tour bus! See? I told you it could get better!

PS Can't get enough RoL? Of course you can't! Be sure to visit the excellent VH1 blog for more fun recaps and interviews. Rich Juzwiak is my blogger hero. He also writes the wonderfully witty, superbly snarky FourFour blog, which I list among my Kickass Links. He also snaps the brill screencaps that I use to illustrate my own RoL synopses. Just a little shout-out.

"No real than you are"

For today's WTF news item, we travel to Amster-Amster-Dam-Dam-Dam to discover an elusive mystery of the deep...the sea, that is. And no, it's not the colossal squid, Atlantis, or Olivia Newton John's boyfriend. It's something far more sinister, with clippy yellow hands, a glazed expression and a very mysterious message on his t-shirt. It's a giant, foam Lego Man that apparently floated from the direction of England and is now displayed in front of "the drinks stall" for curious beachgoers to marvel at...and obey.

AMSTERDAM, Aug 7 - A giant, smiling Lego man was fished out of the sea in the Dutch resort of Zandvoort on Tuesday.

Workers at a drinks stall rescued the 2.5-metre (8-foot) tall model with a yellow head and blue torso.

"We saw something bobbing about in the sea and we decided to take it out of the water," said a stall worker. "It was a life-sized Lego toy."

A woman nearby added: "I saw the Lego toy floating towards the beach from the direction of England."

The toy was later placed in front of the drinks stall.

RoL4: Unskanky bop

So this episode starts out exactly where we left off last week, with Brandi C. mourning the loss of her bestest friend in the whole wide world, Kristia, by pickling herself with all the booze she can get her callused little mitts on. It's rather funny. She slowly turns into Barney Gumble right before our eyes, complete with goggly eyes and slurred, incomprehensible speech. She stompily demands to see Bret and is shot down by Security Goon Big John. It's kind of reminiscent of college...clown college, but still college.

As this unfolds, another transformation is happening across the room—Rodeo is morphing into the Hulk! Veins bulge from her forehead and neck to the point that I start to fear an aneurysm and her face crumples into one of the ugliest cries you've ever seen. Her beef? She misses her son. Hulk smash! Bitchbot Hatchet Face sees this as an opportunity for Bret to see how weak Rodeo is and goes to get our fair prince, who promptly comforts the sobbing Lou Ferrigno. Wait a minute, when did Rodeo put on ripped purple pants? Weird...

After all this sadness, comes light, in the form of Bret, wearing a "More Cowbell" t-shirt, and summoning the girls with a harmonica. It's challenge time! This week, the tramps will be paired up to write new lyrics to a song from Bret's solo album. A bitchy British radio show host is brought in to help judge, and of course, teams are chosen for maximum personality clash fun.

Hatchet Face is teamed with Erin and her boobs, and as usual starts squawking about how she's got this one in the bag because SHE'S a real, live musician (even though her singing sounds exactly like Shannon Doherty's in that awesome made-for-TV psycho drama Friends 'til the End). Naturally, the only creativity Erin can offer is the variety in which she positions her boobs in tray-like bustiers, bras, tanks and like skankwear. In fact, she can't even tap a tambourine in time with Hatchet's screechy counting. Hatchet kindly offers to "dumb it back down for you" and it looks like Erin is the kid in choir who has to ping a triangle at the very end of the song because she can't do anything else.

Meanwhile, Jes and The Other Brandi drink, smoke and theorize that their devil-may-care attitudes are more rock n' roll than actual work. Mia is trapped in Rodeo's obsessive web of children and rainbows and the beach and all the other subjects she wants to include in their song, and Magdalena and Heather struggle to figure out what rhymes with "love." Seriously. Speaking of boobs, we then pay a visit to Sam, who is lucky enough to be giving Brandi C. a singing lesson. Her voice is that of a five-year-old singing "Jesus Loves Me" and her outfit makes her look like the rear admiral on the USS Assjacker. Wow, she's really got that whole porno thing down.

After two hours of hard, laborious work, the competition begins. Mia and Rodeo look into each other's eyes like they're karaoking "Almost Paradise", and Hatchet and Erin are predictably just as bad, with Hatchet once again all talk and no delivery and Erin looking like she's caught in the path of an oncoming train holding only a tambourine and a drumstick. The Other Brandi and Jes cutely rock out and scream "fuck" about 237 times, while Magdalena and Heather sound like the warm-up act at a RuPaul concert. Finally, Brandi C. tries to distract the judges from her Betty Boop-ish harmonizing with a raccoon mask of blue eye shadow and Amy Winehouse-lite rat's nest hair.

In the first shocking twist of the evening, Bret announces that they have a tie between Teams Mags/Heather and Sam/Brandi C. Rodeo immediately undergoes the Hulk transformation again, mumbling something bizarre about how kids love her and her cowboy hat. Brandi C. remarks she knows how it feels to miss a family member because she totally misses her cat. Aw, blow-up dolls have feelings, too? Who knew?

Anyway, that night Bret treats Mags/Heather to a sushi dinner and gives them each a guitar as a prize. Heather is mad that Mags continually brings up the fact that she's a stripper, however when they drunkenly stumble back in the house, she immediately rips off her top and starts giving everyone lap dances. It's totally too bad she's not an accountant or something because it would make a way better story in the long run. But methinks she won't lose her gig at the Eager Beaver for slutting it up on national television, so what does she care? Oh, and speaking of slutting up, Heather, Hatchet and Brandi C. manage to get Bret behind a closed door and thank god the cameras weren't there to catch the debauchery because I'm not sure my eyes can take another bleaching after last week's Hatchet Fest. The Other Brandi gawks at the scene from her precarious perch at the bar, where she is hunched over, drunkenly swaying in her seat, and looking like Crazy Guggenheim with implants. Her face says it all: no one knows what the fuck is going on, just in general.

The next morning, some of the girls are appalled by Bret's shocking display of alpha male-ism. How can Bret Michaels treat potential dates this way? Sam is especially disgusted and shares her opinion with Bret on their horseback-riding date. She's pretty much a goner, in my opinion, but Bret sucks her face off anyway. The other half of this winning team, Brandi C. is utterly stupefied by the horseback riding experience and exclaims that she loves how the horses smell, except when they are shitting, and even smells the guitar that Bret bestows on her at a post-ride picnic. Brandi C.: always utilizing all senses to get the full experience! Get it? Heh heh, ah, porn humor...it's just too easy.

Back at the house, everyone readies themselves to find out who gets VIP passes and who gets thrown off the stage. In the second shocking twist of the evening, Bret calls Rodeo down and eliminates her first so she can "go home to [her] little boy". He gives her his hat and then tearfully escorts her to the door. Dammit, now I feel bad for making fun. Bret cried! I need to toughen up if that's all it takes for me to have a heart. It shouldn't be much of a problem when he keeps Hatchet Face around week after week, even though she's all kinds of crazy and has a face like a meat pie. Sadly, the second elimination is our little girl-child Brandi C. Holy shit! What the hell is going on? Small-breasted good girls Sam, Mia and Jes are all part of the lucky final eight, along with enhanced baddies Heather, Erin, The Other Brandi, Mags and Hatchet. Hmmm, perhaps Bret really is looking for love and not just pussy? Time, and ratings, will tell.

In related news, Flavor of Love 3 is currently casting and VH1 has another season of Charm School in the works that will feature the RoL bitches. Please, god, let them mix these hos with some of the Flavor of Love girls. I demand a New York-Hatchet Face smackdown!

All the news that's fit to print (that's not about Blohan)

Breaking news in the world of Shit That Is Unimportant In The Grand Scheme Of Things But Reverse The Earth On Its Axis In RockitQueen's World. And none of it has anything to do with Bret Michaels! So here we have three news items and a rant:

• The goddamn Duggers are at it again. And by "it", I mean they just can't stop humping. The Arkansas power couple Jim Bob and Michelle, who you may remember as the winners of the 2006 Most Morbidly Fascinating Stupie, delivered their 17th child. Ha, ha...delivered! The kid probably just fell out as she was walking to the car! And then I'm sure as soon as the umbilical cord was snipped, Jim Bob jumped her right on the gurney to get started on #18. And then immediately after that, they called the Discovery Health channel to get the film crews out and shoot yet another documentary about them and their buddy-system lifestyle and Michelle's Treet, Tots n' Mayo Bake recipe. The special they SHOULD do is obvious: the four oldest kids are now 19, 17 (twins) and 16. We need to see them interacting with potential mates. Chaperoned, of course.

• Good news for one of my fave people ever: Dog the Bounty Hunter is free! The charges that were brought against him, Tim and Leland for bounty hunting in Mexico have been dropped. Hurray! There is still a chance that an appeal can be filed, but what's the point? Anyway, the thought of Leland under arrest is totally hot.

• So a horrifying report came out this week that Tool King Pete Wentz has signed with something called "One[M]" as a model. I thought that this place must be one of those sketchy kiosks you see in the middle of every dying mall in the Midwest that boasts the homecoming queen from your high school as their top client, but it turns out it's simply a branch from his band's management agency. I would say thank god, except that this place seems to be kind of legitimate and represents some well-known mannequins, including Iman, Angela Lindvall and Helena Christensen. The only explaination is that there was some kind of clause Pete's manager snuck into Fall Out Boy's contract to ensure there wouldn't be another suicide attempt until the band bombs. OK, that was mean. But come on, the guy looks like some unholy mixture of Jeremy Piven, Jay Leno, and a lowland gorilla that's been punched in the face. I just don't get it.

• For the record, I don't smoke. In fact, I hate smoking. Ohio recently implemented a smoking ban in public buildings and I love it. I may come home from the bars shitfaced and puking my guts out, but at least I don't smell like an ashtray! With that said, I hate those obnoxious "Truth" ads more than I hate smoking. I would go as far as to say that I would rather smoke a case of Kools with no break than spend any amount of time with the douchebag pictured at left. You know who he is: the bespectacled jerk that puts unsuspecting interviewees on the spot with smug, loaded questions about Big Tobacco. To a gun store employee: "Do you sell any bullets that are 38 lights?" To a dairy farmer: "Is milk more dangerous than second-hand smoke?" To a drug counselor: "Do you treat jogging addictions?" Yeah, don't ask. It's meant to be funny, but it's all so convaluted that annoying that I want to smoke a cigarette just to piss them off. They have now implemented the "hip", "edgy" catchtag of WHUDAFXUP, as in "WHUDAFXUP with sweet smokes?" Ug! I want to send him a smoking monkey. That's WHUDAFXUP!

Whew, that was cathartic! Now I can get back to my 'round-the-clock skank coverage guilt-free!

RoL3: Dropping the Hatchet

I'll start today's post off with a sincere apology. I'm really sorry this blog has turned into All Rock of Love All The Time, but I can't help it. It's giving me a new lease on blogging. For a while I was a bit uninspired, but thanks to this beautiful disaster, I've gotten my groove back. And while I love making fun of Stank Ho Spears, Blohan and their ilk, I'm actually completely sick of their jackassery of late and prefer to focus on LOVE. What better way to achieve that vision than through RoL?

Before we begin, a related story. In the most surprising news of last week, gossipmongers have uncovered Brandi C.'s shocking porno past! I know, I couldn't believe it either. Check out the tantalizing teaser at the Pulitzer Prize-winning site Baby Got Boobs, which makes some pretty tall promises of its' two stars: "These two cock addicted [sic] whores got pounded really hard and in the end they both [sic] got their share of cum in their mouths and tits." (in more shocking news, that link is NSFW). Like, gross! But I guess it's good that Brandi isn't banking on being dialed into Bret's vast fortune and has something to fall back on (or onto, as it were). Sisters are doin' it for themselves! And everyone else!

Speaking of boobs, the great divide between the mean girls and the boring girls flourishes when Bret announces that they will be taking part in a four-team motocross race. The reasoning behind this is that Bret loves bikes and wants a chick who "can hang." Whatever. I say VH1 totally missed the opportunity to combine this challenge with last week's phone sex competition. They could have rigged up the helmets with little mikes and forced the girls to talk dirty to Bret while they drag race around a tretcherous dirt course. Come on, it's pure genius!

The skanks suit up and Magdalena pees herself when a helmet is pushed down on her head; she declares it the most embarrassing moment of her life. Aside from appearing on this show and competing for the love of Bret Michaels, of course. After a quick crash course (pun intended!) from two lesbians, everyone putters around the dirt path and it's obvious that some are going to fail this mission miserably. The race begins and, as usual, the wheel that talked the most shit (Hatchet Face) goes flat on the first lap. The others either fly around the course like junkie bats out of hell or casually putter about like they're on Jazzy mobility scooters at Disneyland or something. Then, finally, we have a serious accident when Dallas comically flies out of control and catapults off of the cycle, limbs flailing, and slams to the ground! Bret thinks she's dead; Hatchet Face giggles with glee. Foreshadowing! This bitch is seriously nuts, which we'll get to, and her wrath is ignited when her team loses. The four lucky winners—Sam, Magdalena, Rodeo and The Other Brandi—are rewarded with super-awesome Bret dates. The risk was worth it!

Back at the Whore House, the hags embark on an instigation bender, led by Dallas and Hatchet Face. See, Hatchet belongs to PETA (Pestering Everyone but Terroristic Anarchists) and takes offense to Dallas' fur love, however completely ignores any of the leather-n-fur fashion travesties that Bret commits on a daily basis, including the use of a shetland pony pelt on his head. But that doesn't matter right now because it's on! Dallas hilariously outfits herself in as much leather and (fake) fur skankwear as she can manage and parades around the house, while Hatchet puts on a PETA tee and gears up for one of the craziest displays of baiting I've seen since the third-grade playground. Hatchet creepily slithers around Dallas asking to see her cool leather clothes and voiceovers that she is trying to get Dallas to hit her. She corners Dallas on the stairs, which prompts Rodeo to fabulously closeline her and declare "I may be a Southern lady, but I manhandled that bitch." And I declare that the quote of the week! Try to use it in a sentence at some point tomorrow.

Date night starts up and Bret brings the romance by escourting the girls poolside and showing them a movie...about him. Later, he'll give the girls Poison CDs and maybe even let them give him a blow job. While Bret woos Sam and Magda, the idiocy inside Casa de Sífilis continues. Remember on Mork & Mindy when Jonathan Winters hatched out of an egg and was Mork and Mindy's giant baby? If I remember correctly, the explaination was that Orkians are born as full-grown adults who regress to infant-size seniors. Well, two eggs just hatched in the forms of Hatchet and Heather. These two continue their nogoodnik-ry back at the house by drawing mean pictures of the girls they don't like. The "Wall of Shame" includes depictions of Jes' sticky-out clavicle (spelled "clavical" by the brainiacs), and Brandi C. and Kristia as a two-headed, four-boobed slutasaurus. Wait, I thought these two were on the Mean Girls team? Did I miss something? And isn't this a blatant jab at Brandi's "handicap"? Why isn't anyone flying into a rage? So many questions that I really don't care about the answers to.

After a mind-expanding one-on-one between Bret and Kristia, it's elimination time. In a surprise twist, Kristia is eliminated! As the doctors congregate for high-risk Siamese twin separation surgery, Brandi C. simpers like a little girl that just accidentally let go of her balloon at the loss of her BFF. As fat tears drip down her cheeks on to her cum-soaked tits (they glow under blacklight!), Bret says that Hatchet's crazy is (surprise, surprise) a turn-on and Dallas is also given her walking papers. She responds with a two-gun flip-off salute—BAM! BAM!—and floats cooly out of the house. Bret bitches that he's pissed that she didn't thank him, and I'm not sure what he expects after she just jammed two middle fingers in his face. Hatchet Face, on the other hand, is positively giddy, and vows for the 716th time that she's going to continue "picking off these girls one by one until they're all gone." It then hits me that Hatchet is this season's New York. I sense a Hatchet dating show in our future. Maybe Flav can be one of the contestents.

RoL2: Don't need nothin' but the threat of a good time

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An Ode To Appetite

Warning: I'm going to really date myself with this one, but it must be done in order to convey the full impact one monumental slice of metal history had on teenage me, so much so that even my moniker is a tribute. When I was a punk-ass little seventh-grader with braces and a Joan Jett haircut, my whole cynical worldview was changed from that of feeling alone and angry at nothing in particular to that of a cynical worldview and feeling angry at everything, but trudging through the jungle alongside at least five other people. All it took was an echo-effect Gibson and the primal scream of a small-town white boy to get me even more pissed off, but with a sneer for knowing that I wasn't alone.

Today, we celebrate 20 years of Appetite for Destruction, arguably the greatest heavy metal album ever. Believe it or not, but exactly two decades ago on this very date, that wicked, wicked slice of vinyl brilliance entered the public domain. It was bloody, sexy, dirty, passionate, intense, brutal, and weirdly enough, sweet. It had the best beginning ("Welcome to the Jungle" screams) and ending ("Rocket Queen" reprise) on an album ever. Girls and guys alike both loved and feared Guns N' Roses. With that one album, my little small-town Midwesterner mind cultivated a vision of Hollywood as an exciting cesspool of booze- and vomit-soaked bars teeming with leather and teased blonde hair and pulsating with animalistic drum beats and wailing guitars. I knew I would get eaten alive there, an urchin living under the streets, but I would love it.

Normally, I hate it when writers build up album releases to life-changing events, but it's a little bit different when you're talking about something that occurred when you were 13. Everything is so monumental then, and you're vulnerable and under constant assessment from your peers and parents. You realize life isn't going to be playgrounds and toys and mud pies from now on. No matter how hard you try to forget, the things that happen to you at 13 will stay with you forever. For a kid at that age, the discovery of an album like Appetite can inspire them to get it all out...scream, yell, punch your pillow, play air guitar until you collapse. These guys had armadillos in their trousers and dared you to be afraid. Plus, your parents HATED IT and it's so much fun to piss them off.

This is also a record that stands the test of time. It's still shocking to hear the commands of an abusive Axl growling to the sister in a Sunday dress, "Turn around, bitch, I've got a use for you. Besides, you ain't got nothing better to do, and I'm bored." Booze and heroin aren't romanticized on tracks like "Night Train" and "Mr. Brownstone" and sex is thrown in your face with the gruesome insert art that graced the original cover and was banned in the US, and in songs like "Anything Goes" and "Rocket Queen" (which features the sounds of Axl actually fucking a stripper in the studio during the break). Then once you are sufficiently ready to kick some ass, the boys show you their vulnerable sides, seranading a girlfriend by comparing her hair to a warm, safe place for a child to hide in "Sweet Child O' Mine", and remembering good times with a lady love in "Think About You." You don't have to be mad all the time to be a rock god.

I hope this doesn't sound too much like something Chuck Klosterman would puke up, but Appetite continues to be one of my top five favorite albums of all time and I felt like being nice for once. Give it a listen over the weekend and see if you still feel the same way about it that you did when it came out. And be glad that the jungle of your teen years has given away to the paradise city of adult life. OK, that was really bad, but I just couldn't help myself. Must be all that night train...

The funniest picture ever

It's Nessie! In a Victorian tuxedo!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't you just love America??

A lower level of consciousness

So I got another piece of hate mail! I'm so excited! Actually, it's less hate mail and more "You're wrong and you're an idiot and here's why" mail. The best part is that it is in regards to my snarky assessment of DNA activation from way back in March. I knew that would get the new-agers riled up! For people that are allegedly so enlightened and connected with the universe, they sure are testy.

I actually received this a while ago and posted it right away (as double-dog dared by the author), but didn't really get around to commenting on it until now. I had originally planned to reply to each of "Jake's" points with the appropriate spelling corrections, wry assessment, and basic scientific theory, but decided instead to just post it for all to enjoy and to draw your own conclusions. Here it is in its entirety (note: I added line breaks for easier reading 'cause I love you):

It is ammusing but also sad to see how disconnected to the true reality we live in most people are. Their is much information now out on DNA activation, higher dimensional and sensory awareness, and higher vibrational states.

Take the wave length of infrared, x-ray or gamma ray for instance: these exist in higher frequency, science tells us they do exist, yet we can not see them. Do you ever stop to wonder WHY we do not see them? Have you not considered that our perceptions are restricted to 3 dimensions of awareness because we only have 2.5 - 3.5 strands of the corresponding DNA strands active at present? Or have you just accepted that we can not see these things because we can not see them? If this is indeed the case, and we are restricted to this level of awareness, then it is understandable why there would be such sceptisism yet that does not mean we can not grasp the concept and look into it further.

Take a look around with even one of your eyes and you will see how much bullshit there is in the world. And people accept it, because they are not aware of anything greater. If you opened up to and set your intent to receiving higher dimensional awareness, you would then give yourself the chance to realise something else and gain an outline of what is really going on with our planet right now.

You would then also start to understand and have the deepest respect for people like Toby Alexander, the modern day heros who despite the ignorant criticisms, stand strong and do the work that they are here for. Only a fool comments on someting they know nothing about. I would challenge you to leave this feedback so other readers have something else to consider.
With love and respect. Jake

It's tempting for me to accuse "Jake" of actually being Fake Doctor Toby Alexander himself, especially considering they very suspiciously spell "sceptic" the same way. But that's catty and I want this guy to know that I'm honestly touched that he took the time to tell me off. And I thought you all would like to read what he had to say, in case you missed the original posting of this note in the comments section. What can I say? My aura's tarnished and I totally deserve it!

BREAKING: Mayhem's US Tour Canceled—Rock Trauma Blamed!

Bad news, Bears. There will be no Mayhem on US soil this summer! Disappointed? Wait until you hear the reason; it might be the most metal thing I've ever heard. Drummer Hellhammer (real name: Jan Axel von Blomberg) lived up to his name at Italy's Gods of Metal Fest when he went so hardcore ape shit on the skins that he actually broke his fucking arm!!!! Not only that, but he wasn't even playing with Mayhem. Turns out this guy is literally in like 18 other bands. Hellhammer: God of Metal. I'm sorry that this awesomeness didn't happen here because as a surprise to all five of you I had invited a pal much braver than I who had planned to attend the New York show to guest blog a full first-hand report on the havoc.

An official statement was released by the band that included this message: "The power of MAYHEM must come at full force and without Hellhammer, it is impossible for us to accomplish this feat. We deeply regret having to cancel the tour but we feel that there truly was no other option. We shall however return stronger than ever to deconsecrate your shores as soon as humanly possible!" You better, assholes! Here's wishing Hellhammer a speedy recovery so we can hear some good stories. It's all about us! I'm inclined to demand he suck it up; if the drummer from Def Leppard can do it, surely this guy can. But then again, I'm guessing playing "Impious Devious Leper Lord" isn't quite the same as playing "Let's Get Rocked."

Bizarro World Pete n' Kate

This is my very favorite picture of Amy Winehouse. Doesn't she look like such a wonderful junked-out truck stop waitress here? And what exactly is she doing? She's balancing a Barq's root beer on a styrofoam food container while at the same time poised like she's Michigan J. Frog and she's about to launch into some kind of meth-fueled tap routine to "Hello My Baby". A totally gay reference, to be sure, but it's so appropriate for the mystery wrapped in an enigma that is Amy Winehouse. Every time I see a picture of her and her gigantic rat's nest of hair I grow more and more confused. Do I love her? Do I fear her? Do I care or not? I guess I do, because why can't I look away?

Well, it's hard to miss that and those GG Allin-lite prison tattoos. And the missing tooth. And the anorexia. And the manic depression. The physical assaults. The batwing eyeliner. The Ronettes copping. I love her! No, wait...she's terrifying. I'm scared! And fascinated...I think I need to make a list to sort out my feelings once and for all.

Reasons I Love Amy Winehouse:
• She heckled Bono, screaming "'Shut up! I don't give a fuck!" while he made a presumably pretentious acceptance speech at an awards show. Hells yeah! Shut your pie hole, Bono!
• She punched her husband and a fan in a drunken rage.
• She often seems to be in a drunken rage.
• The headline: Winehouse In Vomit Shocker.
• She said, “I drink a LOT and sometimes I forget to eat.”
• She pushed her husband into a hedge.

Reasons I Fear Amy Winehouse:
• She weighs 90 pounds and she could probably snap me in half.
• She's friends with Kelly Osborne and they call themselves "Team Evil" when they hang out.

My Favorite Thing About Amy Winehouse:
• Her relationship with "Blake Fielder-Civil". Not only does Blake have the chaviest name in the whole world, he's always wearing filthy tank tops, fedoras and scars and bruises from Amy kicking his ass. They are the Bizarro World Pete and Kate! He's the Kate and she's the Pete. Black is white, up is down, Lohan is adopting orphans and Angelina's got her face on the toilet.

Amy allegedly started carving "I Love Blake" into her belly during an interview with Spin Magazine. Blake F-C then said to the writer, "Tell the guy who looks like he has leukemia I'm going to slit his throat." It's official: I love them! Allegedly, they don't get along with Pete and Kate, and I hope they make an effort to bury the hatchet and start hanging out. Imagine the fun! It doesn't make any sense to battle when they could be double-dipping into each other's supplies. That's not what I mean, perv! I meant drugs...DRUGS! They can share crack. And Amy can also give that fatass Kate some much-needed weightloss tips.

No one cures the summertime blues like Bret Michaels!

No-lifers like myself get very depressed over incredibly stupid things. For example, the conclusion of Celebrity Fit Club. Not only is the fact that it's over bringing me down, but the fact that no one beat the snot out of Dustin Diamond is furthering my disappointment. Dude has totally resurrected his career, though. Instead of simply grossing everyone out with his totally-not-at-all-purposely-leaked sex tape, and doing whatever he can to get the word out about his (allegedly) huge ween, he's gone the rather shrewd route of making himself over into a reality TV villian. It's actually pretty impressive.

I love Celebrity Fit Club anyway because it makes me think very seriously about getting up off the couch, putting away the Funyons and taking a little walk (and in my world, thinking seriously = doing), but the added bonus of some crazy makes the show just that much more enjoyable. Usually, there's a pain pill addict or two and a couple other celebs making lame excuses for not reaching their target weight loss, and at least one or two good screamfests from Harvey the Drill Sergeant or a lecture from Dr. Ian. But this season took the cake on weirdness and drama, thanks to Screetch. The elementary fight-picking, the blatant fat ingesting, the bizarre "theories"...we knew Screetch was an annoying jerkoff, but who knew he was a complete sociopath, capable of eating a live baby to get a reaction?

Now that it's over, what do I have to live for? Well, a couple upcoming "Celebriality" vehicles look promising. First off, we have Scott Baio is 45 & Single, which is all kinds of genius based on Baio's involvement alone. But I'm thinking this could go either way. If Baio is a big diva, it might be pretty good. And if they reunite him with former Charles in Charge castmate-turned-Biblethumper Willie Ames it could be pure gold. Bibleman was good for a few stompy fits on Fit Club, so maybe he could show up to give Scotty some morality lectures and force him to see that he can't love another until he loves himself. Valuable lesson-learning abounds. Yawn. Who am I kidding? There's no way this shit is gonna be good.

Now, the one I'm really looking forward to is Rock of Love, where Bret Michaels of Poison tries to find a bitch to love, Flav-style. If the needy skanks on the commercials, or Bret's never-ending parade of cowboy hats with hair attached aren't enough to convince you, check this out: "Each week, Bret will design challenges to test the girls' ability to adapt to the true rock 'n roll life. Not always red carpets and award shows, who will best adapt to life in a cramped, grungy tour bus with Bret and his roadie buddies? Who can handle the competition from outrageous, and sometimes hotter groupies? Who can keep her cool around his famous friends? Who can best contribute to his music? Who's not afraid to get down and dirty with him in one of his extreme sports competitions. And perhaps most vital, who will always look smokin' hot doing it?"

I think we found a winner! Let's predict what will happen, just for fun:
-Lots of bump n' grind and "Woooo!" on the first ep
-Bret weeds out some ladies he believes are not in it for "the right reasons"
-Bret gets drunk and acts like an asshole and kicks some chick out for getting drunk and acting like an asshole on the same episode
-A visit from Rikki, Bobby and CC within the first three eps
-Mud wrestling
-Someone says that she's wanted to be a groupie ever since she was a little girl and WILL DO ANYTHING TO WIN
-Steven Adler cameo
-Vince Neil cameo
-The final two are the Sweet One and the Bitchy Skank and Sweetie is the "surprise" winner

So maybe I'm not being too creative here. Give me a break. I have just had a weekend that involved rock, lemon shake-ups, too much booze and food poisoning. My brain is fried. Not like any of this will help, but it will at least keep me occupied until Dustin Diamond shows up on The Surreal Life. You know it's coming!

The reign of terror continues

CRABB Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 2
Due to recent events, we here at the Committee to Rescue Britney's Boys (CRABB) are once again reaching a point of critical concern, and we have recently called an emergency meeting to discuss Britney Spears' mental status and, thus, the safety and well-being of Sean Preston and Jayden James.

In the last few weeks, Britty has:
• exposed her crotch, ass, and/or nipple at least five times.
• appeared in public with her dress on backwards and tags hanging off of her bra, like a skank Minnie Pearl.
• claimed she didn't know she was paying for expensive dinners.
• posted the following crackhead message on her offical website:
Britney is asking her most die-hard fans for some assistance in order to name her upcoming album.
Possible Album Titles:
1. Omg is Like Lindsay Lohan Like Okay Like
2. What if the Joke is on You
3. Down boy
4. Integrity
5. Dignity

Yikes. Yeah, you can see why a SWAT team might be necessary. All week I was waiting to hear that some evil genius with too much time on his/her hands hacked into Britney's shitty website and posted these title ideas as a joke. If you can comprehend that they are all too real, you can understand the magnitude of plant-like logic and reason we are dealing with.

So what can we do? Let's look to the Department of Homeland Security for Guidence. While a Britney Preparedness Kit is kind of pushing it, we felt that a Terror Alert Chart would be a good way for our members to keep track of Brit-Brit's potential to crack. Thus, we can proceed with the suggested courses of action to protect the two innocent victims trapped in the claws of abject stupidity. Please print, cut out and post on the fridge:

Britney Terror Alert Chart

LOW

Locked away safely from the rest of humanity. Sean Preston and Jayden James living happy, normal-ish life.

GUARDED

General stupidity, such as bad outfits and dumbass quotes; prolonged beach trips. SP and JJ experience limited contact with mom, still somewhat safe in care of nanny.

ELEVATED

Significant risk of crotch exposure, threats of a comeback that include actual trips to dance and/or recording studio, new tattoos, hair color change and/or shitty extensions, shopping with random skank cousin. SP and JJ must be constantly supervised by multiple nannies.

HIGH

Rambling message to "fans" on official website, poetry, promises for "my side of the story," elevated nightclub presence, Vegas. SP and JJ safer with Federline.

SEVERE

Jesus Christ, she's got the scissors! Severe risk of meltdown, arrest, OD and/or intervention. Approve adoption of SP and JJ by Angelina Jolie.

Sort of akin to speculation that Suri Cruise is a Scientology-funded, Manchurian Candidate-style killbot, we think something's up with little JJ and that is why we never see him out and about like we do SP. Our theory is that JJ has fetal alcohol syndrome. Think about it. We here at CRABB can't honestly believe that Brit could possibly stop crunking during pregnancy. She lucked out with SP, who displays no outward appearance of "issues", so she figured she could continue being a big girl who does whatever she wants while pregs with JJ. Oopsie! While we certainly hope this isn't the case, it's quite likely, but slightly less likely than the possibility that Brit simply likes SP better. Maybe he is less needy or something. Who knows? All we can say for sure is that the truth is out there and one of these days we're going to read about it in a kick-ass tell-all.

Per Brit's request we've also developed some title ideas for her "upcoming" "album". We kindly ask her to consider the following:
• OMG Like I'm Stupid Beyond Comprehension Like
• Spend Your Allowance on Me and the Joke's On You
• Down Boy, Mommy's Trying to Light Her Lucky
• Into Gritty, Y'all
• Fuck Dignity, Here's a Birds-Eye View of My Cooch

Please, everyone, be on the alert. Brit is on the verge of a breakdown of Jacko-by-way-of-Jan-Michael-Vincent size proportions. Keep your eye on the prize and lets get the Peanuts out of there!

Ethnic cleansing is funny!

OK, no it's not, but just bear with me.

First of all, though, I have to say that I'm a little worried about the Pope. I usually am when he takes the Popemobile without the bulletproof glass bubble on it. Luckily, the rogue lunger seems to have only been seeking attention and not Benny's head on a stick. Another crisis averted. But Benny needs to be more careful. Obviously, he can't rely on the Swiss guards, who simply stand around looking pretty all the time.

One thing we can rely on is Bob From Accounting to bring the funny. (Aside: Yes, that may have been my worst segue ever, but I just didn't feel right about doing a Pope-to-genocide transition because I have a soft spot for anything Rome-related. And because it's really just kind of wrong in general. Ow, my heart just started bleeding...) Anyway, this list comes to my attention courtesy my fun, fab girl Lola: presenting the 2006 Ethnic Cleansing Awards for the worst and most annoying newsmakers of the year! You might think it's quite harsh to wish such a serious fate on someone just because they play poker on television, and Bob explains "more realistically we want them vanquished, banished and never heard from again", which I think is reasonable.

There are 20 losers on the list, all accompanied by appropriately snarky commentary and ridicule, which I know you all will appreciate. Here are just a few that I particularly agreed with. Go ahead and have your say, too, and don't feel bad about it. Eradication is sometimes completely necessary.

People still making Brokeback Mountain jokes/People still quoting Napoleon Dynamite
While we can be sure that "I wish I could quit you" will go down as one of the most legendary movie quotes of the last few years, it certainly will not rise to the status of "Tomorrow is another day" or "Here's lookin' at you kid" or even "No more yanky my wanky; the Donger needs food." Same goes for Napoleon. I liked the movie, I thought it was funny, but good lord am I sick of seeing Pedro everywhere. He was on Top Model for god sakes! He's the new Haley Joel Osmet.

Plagerists, hack writers and the people who pay them
I probably fit into this category, so I completely understand the irony, but the entry notes James Frey, OJ, and chick-lit whore Kaavya Viswanathan as figurehead offenders. If these douches can get book deals, surely I can expand on my black metal research and Britney views and score a New York Times bestseller. Where's Oprah? Stupid & Contagious is inspirational! The blog itself is a random act of kindness! I'll even get in my pajamas and eat Baked Lays with her, Gayle and the audience while we dish about the Count! It will be a ratings bonanza!

The cast and crew of "To Catch A Predator"
Yes! I've been meaning to write about this one for a while. This is one of the best shows on television. Nothing beats seeing a middle-aged perv show up at a house for sex with a 13-year-old only to get grilled by Chris Hansen and then tackled by a cop disguised as a bush. I love the tarty little actress they get to impersonate the teen: (high-pitched flirtatious voice) "I made some frozen lemonade! It's yummy! So do you have any ideas for tonight?" and I love that Hansen is changing up his repitoire with funny quotes: (mockingly) "Can I have a hug? Why don't you have a seat right there." The reason this gem made the list is that the "internet watchdog" group that trolls for the deviants talks a pretty good game to lure people over to their trap house. They're pervs, too! They talk dirty and send nude pics like pros. Sure, it's a total bait-and-switch, but if it means we get to see creepy pedos exposed, lectured by Chris Hansen and then dive-bombed by a SWAT team, I'm all for it.

Conspiracy theorists
Lately I've been kind of "into" this morbidly fascinating subgenre of humanity and my favorite examples are Derek and Sharon Gilbert of the Peering Into Darkness podcast. Seriously, you've got to listen to these two. Did you know that everything is connected? Nothing happens by chance! People are being brainwashed by the government to take over and destroy innocent churchgoers at the flick of a switch. The FDA is controlling our food and vitamin intake. The Bible prophesized 9/11. The media hides or supresses news stories about aliens so we won't know what's really going on. Those little clouds you see coming from the back of jets that streak the sky? Chem trails. It's POISON and THEY are trying to kill us all! As usual, who "they" are isn't exactly clear: the government, the Catholic church, the Bilderberg Group, Satan worshippers performing ritual sacrifice (their favorite target, which is so '89). It's pretty much everyone, and Derek and Sharon say that if you don't believe you're simply naive and not paying attention. Hilarious! If it's all true, I'd love to know how it's being pulled off. People can't even organize a PTA potluck without it spiraling into chaos. Anyway, I'm going to save this topic for another post because it's really just too funny.

So there you have it: a tantalizing teaser list of the 20 people that really need to die. My only disappointment: no Wentz. I recently read that he opened some stupid emo bar in Chicago and provocatively announced that sex in the restrooms will be allowed under his watch. Klassy. If he and Ashlee Simpson are mucking up the stalls, he better have a hazmat team on staff to immediately clean that shit up. I'm thinking maybe we should call the health department, or a bio lab to do some testing for newly created STDs. Or an exorcist.

Bringing the crazy straight to us

Memorial Day may have come and gone without incident (well, nothing we immediately need to be concerned about, at least), but as usual we can't be letting our guards down quite yet. Homeland Security should be one this one, kids: freaking Mayhem is coming to America! That's right: Attila, Blasphemer, Necrobutcher and Hellhammer will be darkening the doorsteps of six cities for what is allegedly their last U.S. tour. An evening with the boys is surprisingly cheap: $25 will get you all the kickass shredding action and live cutting you can handle. You may even get beaned in the head with goat entrails! That, along with a fractured skull, would be the ultimate souvinier!

Sadly, the little Mayhem bio on the Ticketmaster website is riddled with inaccuracies. For instance: "Mayhem was the first death metal band from Norway to make much of an impact in their homeland, which in the early '90s developed a burgeoning underground scene rife with violent, sometimes anti-Christian activity—as evidenced by Mayhem's non-musical history." Non-musical history? Obviously, Ticketmaster is unfamiliar with Pure Fucking Armageddon and "Chainsaw Gutsfuck"! What is the matter with you people?? And duh, Mayhem is BLACK metal, not DEATH metal, dingbats. There IS a difference! The bio also reveals, "When police arrested Grishnackh, they found over 150 kg of stolen dynamite in his house, complete with a plan to blow up a large church on a religious holiday", which is news to me, and frankly, smacks of gossip. OK, I just wanted to say "smacks of gossip". Of course it's true!

So the big question is: am I going? The tour includes shows in New York (12 hour drive), Chicago (6 hour drive) and Springfield, VA (6.5 hour drive), which are all within reasonable proximity of Cowtown. The truth is that I think I'm too afraid. My mom thinks the Count is going to come and get me when he gets out of the can and I really don't want to start anything else up. However, the prospect of writing possibly the blog entry of my career is disturbingly tantilizing. I'll tell you one thing: if Mayhem was touring with Immortal, I'd be in the front row. Why in the world didn't they call up Abbath and Horgh and try to glomb on to some of their tour dates? That is a show that Satan himself wouldn't miss.

You know what would be the absolute best ever? If Immortal and Mayhem toured and then they got into a fight onstage. Imagine the sweet, creative cheap shots that would take place in that deathmatch! The flying shinguards alone would be worth it to see that one!

While we're on the subject, a documentary on Norwegian black metal called "Until the Light Takes Us" is currently in production and is slated to feature some profound interviews with such prominent black metallers as Abbath, members of Emperor and Mr. Awesome himself the Count! The film naturally has it own Myspace page, which features some screenshots and promises to "truly shed light on a movement that has heretofore been shrouded in darkness and rumor and obscured by inaccurate and shallow depictions...featuring exclusive interviews and verité with the musicians, a wealth of rare, seldom seen footage from the "Black Circle"s earliest days."

I am practically wetting myself over this! The release date is scheduled for "sometime" in '07. Rest assured that I will keep you all well-informed on the progress of this highly-anticipated film event. When I get more concrete dates on the unveiling, I'll start getting my tent and camping equipment ready to stake out for this one.

For a little slightly-off-topic fun, I dug up some more stupid death metal band names. Read 'em and weep:
Fuck...I'm Dead
122 Stab Wounds
Agoraphobic Nosebleed
Corpsefucking Art
Pungent Stench
Ribspreader
Goatwhore
Hate Plow
Sadistik Exekution
Circle of Dead Children
Drawn and Quartered

I knew someone was going to steal my ideas. Who are these fuckers and how are they all reading my mind?