RockitQueen's Tips on Disaster Preparedness

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


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







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







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







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





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







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






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








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







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








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









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







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










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







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







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







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







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








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







Remember Aqua Net? Man, that shit was toxic!

RoL10: Yer daddy don't rock n' roll

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RoL9: Someone finally pukes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tripping the light shittastic

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

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

• CNN: Britney ripped mercilessly

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

• TMZ: Britney's Career: 1998–2007

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Predictions for this Sunday's VMAs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RoL8: Ripping off the bandaids

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!