Monday, June 08, 2009
Rock of NEXT
There has yet to be an iteration of any exploitive trashtastic reality shitshow at Vh1 called "_____ of Love" that I won't watch. In fact, I'll watch any show involving the word "love" produced by Mark Cronin and Cris Abrego Vh1 cares to air. "Flavor of Love," "Rock of Love," "I Love New York," "Real Chance of Love," "For the Love of Ray J," and of course "I Love Money": I will watch them all. Trust that there's more than one episode of "Daisy of Love" saved on my DVR.
Of these shows, I have had a major love-hate affair with "Rock of Love." I LOVED season one, yawned through season two until finally giving up out of boredom, and started paying attention halfway through season three when I realized they'd abandoned all pretense of Bret Michaels finding love and made no effort to disguise casting a posse of utterly shameless, drunken sluts with careers in the adult film, "glamour modeling," webcam whoring, prostitution, and stripping industries. However, I'm a little sick of Bret Michaels. I'm totally over listening to him whine about his damn diabetes and laud the (WORST TEAM IN THE NFL EVER HATE HATE HATE) Steelers. I wouldn't mind if they traded him in for a newer model of washed-up rock star. Give Nikki Sixx or Richie Sambora a season on the casino tour circuit with a busload of skank-ass hoes because I'm so sick of hearing "don't need NO-THIN...but a GOOD TIME..."
Apparently all the theater queens on Broadway thought so too, because as Bret sang that very song at the (*snicker*) Tony Awards this past weekend, some sort of stage prop "accident" nearly ripped his cheap-ass HairDO by Jessica Simpson QVC clearance bin tracks out from under his bandana.
Bret should take heed the signs and at least take a leave of absence. He should pass the torch before he is too overexposed to keep booking shows at the Emerald Queen casino–AKA "the entertainment capital of the Northwest"–in my charming hometown of Puyallup. Seriously, hang up the decorative cowboy hats and give some other has-been a chance to share pubic lice with the tattoos-and-fishnets set.
Labels: buttrock, Rock of Love, sluts, TV, Vh1
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Confessions of a Teen Idol Domestic Abuser
CorporateCard e-mailed me today this blurb about a new Vh1 reality series entitled "Confessions of a Teen Idol" with the subject heading "super pathetic-watchability debatable." For CorporateCard, who is probably one of the few people who can appreciate the subtle genius of shows like "Real Chance of Love" and the upcoming "Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels," to suggest that this show might be "super pathetic" and to question its "watchability" bodes ill indeed. What could be this horrible show? I read her e-mail:
VH1 will premiere its new eight-episode reality series Confessions of a Teen Idol January 4 at 8p. The series takes a group of former teen idols from the 80s and 90s and under the tutelage of Scott Baio, former child star now producer Jason Hervey and celebrity psychologist Cooper Lawrence, each are given the tools and confidence to make a career comeback. The heartthrobs include Christopher Atkins, David Chokachi, Billy Hufsey, Jeremy Jackson, Eric Nies, Jamie Walters and Adrian Zmed. The series is co-produced by Bischoff Hervey Entertainment and 3 Ball Productions.
I would wager that this show's potentially pathetic unwatchability is inherent in the fact that I don't know who most of these alleged "teen idols" are. I mean, who the fuck is Billy Hufsey? Isn't Christopher Atkins that guy who hates God? Oh wait, that's Christopher HITCHENS...Christopher Atkins is that guy from The Blue Lagoon. Needless to say, Vh1 is scraping the bottom of the barrel even harder than they have for "Celebrity Rehab 2," and considering that show managed to drag Rodney King out of the woodwork, it was really stretching the definition of "celebrity" to begin with. This "Confessions of a Teen Idol" show looks grim indeed, with one notable exception. This name jumped out at me, not only because I recognized it immediately, but because I was unaware that a moody, abusive proto-John Mayer/construction worker qualified as a "teen idol," but Jamie Walters AKA RAY PRUIT from the greatest show in the history of television "Beverly Hills, 90210" is trying to prove otherwise.
In case you're a little rusty on your college-era Bev Niner, Ray Pruit was Donna Martin's boyfriend for entirely too long. Ray was this annoying singer/songwriter who was overall a terrible guy to date. He hated all of Donna's friends, he slept with (totally hot slut) Valerie Malone, he constantly stormed off, and when he got really pissed, he'd verbally abuse Donna with awesome lines like "so typical...you don't get what you want so you turn on the faucets.". During one episode where the gang went to Palm Springs for a KEG House convention, Ray even pushed Donna down a flight of stairs.
In addition to tormenting Donna, Ray also tormented the patrons of the Peach Pit After Dark with a string of atrocious musical performances involving an excessively brooding Ray strumming his acoustic guitar and wailing about his feelings. His onstage skills were entertaining only when they lured his mother LuAnn, a chain-smoking alcoholic who inexplicably speaks with a bad Texas accent despite hailing from Reseda, California, to the After Dark to get wasted on screwdrivers and dance inappropriately with David Silver before tripping over her own hideous rayon floral-print pantsuit.
Unfortunately, his portrayal of Ray Pruit was so defining a role that his next acting job, as the male lead in Aaron Spelling's short-lived show/band "The Heights," promptly tanked despite the show's theme song "How Do You Talk to an Angel?" hitting number one on the Billboard charts. Presumably nobody imagined that conversations with a so-called "angel" involves what Todd "Too $hort" Shaw once called a "five-finger hand plant straight across your face to make sure all you bitches understand it." I have to say, I probably wouldn't be having teen fantasies about a guy after this great moment in televised domestic violence was burned into my memory:
That all said, I'm glad Jamie Walters is still gainfully employed. I look forward to listening to him whine about being typecast as a wife-beater to Scott Baio and the older brother from "The Wonder Years."
Labels: Bev Niner, CorporateCard, TV, Vh1
Monday, July 07, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: "I Love Money"
DOB: July 6, 2008
Occupation: shamelessly trashtastic reality awesomeness
Hometown: Los Angeles, California
Current residence: Sundays on Vh1 at 9 p.m.
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: In the past, I have wholeheartedly enjoyed Vh1's series of shows involving legions of fame-hungry skanks competing for the hearts of William "Flavor Flav" Drayton, Tiffany "New York" Pollard, and Bret Michaels on "Flavor of Love," "I Love New York," and "Rock of Love," respectively. Therefore, when I heard that Vh1 was rounding a bunch of my favorite aspiring rappers, former strippers and stars of the pro/am porn circuit, and assorted rejects from these shows and pitting them against one another for $250,000, I enthusiastically vowed to watch every episode. This show is going to be incredibly trashy, abysmally low class, and utterly exploitive. In other words, it's exactly the kind of thing I will totally love and chatter about constantly.
In case you missed the many (awesome) shows which lent the "stars" of "I Love Money," let me introduce you to the fine people who have traveled to Cancun or wherever to compete in the ultimate debased attention whoring contest. Behold, the incandescent figures who will restore/maintain Vh1's status as the leader in premium skankified reality television:
12 Pack from "I Love New York"
12 Pack was the overmuscled male stripper/bodybuilder/Guido fist pumper extraordinaire from ILNY who, despite his excessive protesting about not being gay despite having obtained work as a peeler for the sausage set, declared him and the latently homoerotic Heat members of an exclusive club called the "Party Boys." When New York booted him, he bragged about how he wasn't upset because he was on his way back to New Jersey to "fuck the shit out of" his ex-girlfriend.
Brandi C. from "Rock of Love"
Brandi C. caught the eye of extension-sporting baldy Bret Michaels when Erin AKA "circus tits" reduced her to tears via disparaging comments about her "meth-scratched face." Apparently, Brandi's facial injuries resulted from a car accident rather than methamphetamine-induced self-mutilation, which she considered "a disability." Much like her competitor of the same first name, Brandi C. fell back on a time-honored RoL profession: semi-pro pornography. You can see her skank skills in action by Googling the term "Brittany Burke." Of her role on the show, Brandi says "this is my life...I NEED to be here." Seemingly the Fates sat down at their cosmic loom and wove "webcam slag turned Vh1 reality whore" into the fabric of Brandi C.'s destiny.
Chance from "I Love New York"
After New York rejected him in the season 1 finale, Chance announced he was "about to go blow a blunt" and stormed off ranting about Tango, the "Ninja Turtle-lookin' motherfucker" that New York chose instead. Chance wound up vindicated when Tango dumped New York on the live reunion show, as even though he was such a character that New York's insane mother offered him $5000 to leave the show, he claimed to have too much class to drop New York on national TV. Chance is also famous for trying to promote his rap group, the Stallionaires (named for his family's horse-rearing business), and coining the term "water dogs" to describe dolphins. Judging by the number of Stallionaires money sign-adorned scarves and hats he dons, Chance definitely loves money, so I'm sure he will make a formidable competitor.
Destiney from "Rock of Love 2"
This bisexual stripper spells her name "Destiney." Enough said. Wait...is she a stripper? I just assume that everyone from RoL has worked in the sex industry at one point or another.
The Entertainer from "I Love New York 2"
Hailing from Queens where he lives with his parents, The Entertainer became notable when he tried to kick ILNY2 winner Tailor Made's ass at family dinner. The Entertainer's mother proceeded to get into a vicious war or words with New York's mother Sister Patterson, and ultimately New York sent him packing. The Entertainer has now stated that, if he wins the $250,000 grand prize, he will spend it on moving out of his mom's house.
Heat from "I Love New York"
Heat was deprived of his chain by New York because he claimed that in the hierarchy of women in his family, she would be entitled to eat last after his mother and his ya-ya. New York didn't take kindly to Heat feeding his familial matriarchs while she "starved," and sent him off. However, Heat didn't sit idly by. Along with his fellow entrepreneur and partner in drunken latent homoeroticism 12 Pack, Heat began touring the Jersey Shore club scene as one half of the "Party Boys." I'm sure he's going to make some smart investments with his winnings, and by "smart investments" I mean he's going to buy out the supply of Jaeger bombs at every 18 and over club in Bridgewater.
Heather from "Rock of Love" AND two awesome standout episodes of "Rock of Love 2"
Heather is the crazy hotness. Not only does she have the world's most refined taste in clothing and is singlehandedly keeping Aqua Net in business, she actually went to far as to tattoo "Bret" on her neck to show her love for the aging Mr. Michaels. Unfortunately, neither the tattoo, her talents at pole dancing, or her willingness to have orgies with whatever other willing skanks happen to be living in the RoL house were enough to win Bret's heart. I'm glad that Heather hasn't let heartbreak interfere with her career in televised drunken sluttery.
Hoopz from "Flavor of Love"
Hoopz beat New York out for Flavor Flav's affection in the original FoL, and then promptly dumped Flav (supposedly for T.I. which is a definitive upgrade in the short rapper department), because he is butt ugly. Unfortunately, Hoopz's triumph in FoL has not resulted in a meaningful celebrity career, and thus she's giving Vh1 another go-round. I suspect Hoopz will be a real contender matched only by the aforementioned elegant and sophisticated Heather.
Megan from "Rock of Love 2"
Since crying over the rejection Bret Michaels gave her, Megan has recovered and gotten "old has-beens" out of her system. She also discovered her calling, which apparently is rescuing retarded Chihuahuas. Given that she said her ambition is to build a house with a glass-ceilinged room so she can "tan even when it's cold out," I'm wondering if she isn't a case of a dog lover selecting a pet with a matching personality.
Midget Mac from "I Love New York 2"
I LOVE Midget Mac. In fact, I was so upset when he was eliminated from ILNY2 that I douchebagged New York. He's like two feet tall, he can't swim, he's some kind of rap video hype man, and his thoughts regarding his prospects are "I only nervous when the condom breaks." This is probably a reasonable concern, as he has two bastard kids and is thus accustomed to receiving what Lil' Wayne calls "that 'I think I'm late' text." He also apparently hates women, and refuses to apologize to Brandi C. for calling her a ho despite Rodeo's reasonable mediating. Unbelievably, Midget Mac got booted last night for his lack of "mental stability." Like the man himself, his tenure on "I Love Money" was apparently short and sweet acrimonious.
Mr. Boston from "I Love New York"
In last night's episode, Mr. Boston introduced himself by admitting that he posts his most recent STD testing results on his bedroom door as extra incentive for visiting ladies to venture in. Brandi C. later described his patented "Boston charm" as "creeptastic creeperson." Nonetheless, based on "mental abilities only," Whiteboy selected Boston for his team, which Boston later attributed to "Jews stick together, especially on shows called 'I Love Money.'" I suspect that it's actually more because of Mr. Boston's inexplicable talents at stripping.
Nibblz from "Flavor of Love 2"
A professional dominatrix when not being rejected by Flavor Flav for working in the sex industry, I can only imagine that Nibblz's gravitas as a mistress in the BDSM-for-hire scene is increased by the fact that she lisps unbelievably around her mouthful of piercings. She seriously says things like, "I'm going to dethtroy thethe bitctheth". I bet hearing her say dominatrix things like "Bow to your mithtress" and "Bend over and thpread 'em, thlave!" makes her clients submit like what.
Pumkin from "Flavor of Love"
Pumkin made New York's career when she spit on her during a fight on "Flavor of Love." New York went berserk, threw herself at Pumkin like a rabid weasel, and literally swore to "cut that bitch in half." Several years later, New York is still threatening to bisect her enemies on yet another Vh1 reality series revolving around her craziness, and Pumkin is still spitting for the camera whenever she gets a chance in the desperate hope of remaining relevant as that middle-aged-looking 20-year-old who spit on New York.
Real from "I Love New York"
Chance's brother and fellow Stallionaire, Real claims to be more centered than his tempestuous younger brother and seemed deeply saddened when New York sent his long-haired Jermaine Dupri-looking ass back to the horse farm in ILNY. I can't wait to see what happens when he competes against his family for 250,000 clams rather than the heart of the woman with the most ridiculous breasts on the planet.
Rodeo from "Rock of Love"
Bret sent Rodeo packing because she wouldn't shut up about her kid, and because he seemed to instinctively know that Rodeo was too mature and grounded to ever succeed as his television-selected girlfriend. However, Rodeo is back to prove Bret wrong about that by joining the skanks in Mexico to prove her love of money and Z-list reality fame.
Toastee from "Flavor of Love 2"
Toastee's brief dalliance with low-rent porn got her booted by Flavor Flav (who, despite his constant "WOOOOWWWW"-ing about women's bodies, is ostensibly a family man too good for dating a homemade porn star. While I think this is patently unfair, I have to admit that Flav probably dodged a bullet. During the intro show, Toastee showed viewers around her house in Pennsylvania, which is filled with disturbing roadkill taxidermy. She also wants to use her financial winnings to attend med school, presumably an offshoot of her interest in dissection and dead animal art. I think she might actually be a budding serial killer.
Whiteboy from "I Love New York"
According to Whiteboy, he's participating because he has "bills to pay and cars to buy, and investments to invest in." Spoken like the true would-be Jewish gangster he has fashioned himself to be. So far, Whiteboy has lived up to his self-styled hip-hop-influenced Meyer Lansky image and won an elusive team captain designation.
The only thing that could make this better is a guest appearance by Angelique (the incomprehensible French porn slag from RoL2), Tiffany (the incomprehensible drunk star of R. Kelly's "Rock Star" video from RoL who was constantly warning people against threatening her with a good time), Hottie (proud owner of the worst weaves–among MANY cheap extensions–appearing on FoL) and Lacey (the most evil roller derby skater in reality TV history from RoL). So, if you are remotely interesting or smart and you don't hate fun, you'll know exactly what you need to do Sundays at 9 p.m.: park your fat ass in front of the TV and switch the channel to Vh1!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Flavor of Love, I Love Money, I Love New York, media whores, Rock of Love, sluts, TV, Vh1
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Hottest Smith alumnae on the planet
It's that time of the quarter again! What time, you ask? Time for the new edition of the Smith Alumnae Quarterly! What do you mean, "I didn't go to Smith, I don't get the Smith Alumnae Quarterly?" You don't have to go to Smith to read the greatest magazine in the world! Who wouldn't want to read articles about subjects like a scrappy band of student activists creatively calling themselves "Coke Off Campus" rallied together on behalf of bottling plant employees in Colombia (seriously, they bottle COKE at sweatshops...in Colombia?) and India to ban Coca-Cola products from the Campus Center, or how some chick got a job at Google thanks to the all-powerful alumnae network (which, I should add, has yet to do shit for me besides give Tej Bindra my home address so she could conspire with her friends to get me raped by an inadvertent pervert on Craigslist)? This shit is more informative than the damn Economist!
Okay, I kid...I don't even get the SAQ anymore since I think they put me on probation after the Tej Offensive, which was started by Tej Bindra '07 calling me an assfuck and suggesting I get some Zoloft to treat my tendency to make fun of dumb SAQ articles about the dorm room she shared with her fellow flatchested Dar Williams aficionado. The last time I got a SAQ, I promptly douchebagged the entire magazine, and I think that was the last straw that broke the cameltoe's back. Presumably they booted me from the subscription list, because I haven't received a SAQ since. Oh well, who needs a SAQ to prove that she's got a "baccalaureum artibus" degree from Smith when she's got a fancy leather bound diploma--with seals and Latin and everything--tucked safely away in her bedside table with her vibrators, condoms, and lube?
Anyway, there's a section in the back of the SAQ that you can send updates to about whatever the fuck you've been up to at Smith. Usually it's along the lines of "some dumb bitch from Talbot House got married" or "some dumb bitch from Chase House just had her second kid" or "some dumb bitch from Northrop House just got another master's degree." Luckily, my friends have JerseyGirl to send in our updates. JerseyGirl is on the board of the Smith College Club of New York, and while she's given up trying to get me to do things like attend Christmas tree lightings on Sundays during NFL season or go to $100-a-head art history lectures, she felt duty bound to report on how our little group of friends has been keeping busy. Unfortunately, she probably had one too many brewdogs before she sent off our update:
Go Pioneers!
Anyway, there's a section in the back of the SAQ that you can send updates to about whatever the fuck you've been up to at Smith. Usually it's along the lines of "some dumb bitch from Talbot House got married" or "some dumb bitch from Chase House just had her second kid" or "some dumb bitch from Northrop House just got another master's degree." Luckily, my friends have JerseyGirl to send in our updates. JerseyGirl is on the board of the Smith College Club of New York, and while she's given up trying to get me to do things like attend Christmas tree lightings on Sundays during NFL season or go to $100-a-head art history lectures, she felt duty bound to report on how our little group of friends has been keeping busy. Unfortunately, she probably had one too many brewdogs before she sent off our update:
JerseyGirl '02 is a television news producer in Manhattan. She was recently elected to the New York Smith club board of directors and organizes events and parties for the club. JerseyGirl hangs out with Razzy '00, FalloniusMonk '01, and Rack '01, during monthly 90210 parties and weekly get-togethers that include cooking and watching the awesomeness that is VH1 reality programming...JerseyGirl regularly sees lots of other Smithies in New York City, most of whom were at the wedding of LL Cool Jew '02 in April '07.This rules so hard. While everyone else was out getting married, procreating, or adding more letters behind their name, JerseyGirl announces that we've all been watching Bev Niner and "I Love New York." She seems embarrassed that she actually bragged to the SAQ that we're into "the awesomeness that is VH1 reality programming" instead of the typical boring Smith alumnae crap. I mean, I have gotten two master's degrees since Smith and by next year I'm going to make every motherfucker I meet call me "Doctor," but who cares about that? I'd certainly rather hear about how we loyally watch DVDs of the greatest show in the history of television and teach JerseyGirl how to make grilled cheese sandwiches during commercial breaks in "Flavor of Love 3" and "The Hills." Smith College must be so proud.
Go Pioneers!
Labels: Bev Niner, correspondence, Dumb Smith bitches, FalloniusMonk, I LOVE IT, I Love New York, intentional buffoonery, JerseyGirl, LL Cool Jew, Rack, The Hills, Vh1
Monday, May 05, 2008
What Bret Michaels missed out on
Those of you who managed to stay awake throughout the entire seemingly interminable "Rock of Love 2" know that there were basically two brief periods when it seemed remotely entertaining: when giant-haired stripper Heather appeared to class things up in honor of Christ's rising this past Easter, and the three episodes that Angelique "I want to have some sex wiz Bret in zis pool" Morgan was grossing everyone out with her grotesquely enhanced physique. Angelique came out of the gate showing her ossified tits, and the story that she's shopping herself around via a "glamour modeling agency" (AKA a porn agent and escort service) broke soon after.
Amazingly, it appears that at least one taker hired Angelique's hardcore services. Another one of my esteemed Razzyphiles shot me this e-mail recently:
Anyway, I hadn't seen the link contained in this particular e-mail. If you click on it (and be advised, it's porn, and while there's no DP-ing, ass-to-mouth, double anal, bondage, enema play, or anything else that would fit in a scene from Belladonna's Fetish Fanatics series, it's still hardcore porn and thus NSFW), prepare to be disgusted. Apparently Angelique is hard up enough for work that she's resorted to doing what appears to be vanilla MILF porn ("COME AND WATCH THIS HOT MOMMA'S DO IT ALL"), although that's a bit of a misnomer. From what I could tell from "Rock of Love 2," Angelique has no children, and I can't imagine that the -ILF part of the acronym applies to anyone who isn't either blind or suffering from severe ergot poisoning. I mean...EWWWWWW.
Hey Razzy, I love your blog. Look I just wanted to shoot you this link in case you haven't seen it yet. Its your favorite rock of love girl working her new job. http://www.hardco-re.com/xyloc1k4d/tgp.htm -so yup, if you've already seen it, my bad. please don't make me a daily douche. peaceAlthough I may give the impression that I'm ruthlessly mean-spirited, I generally make it a policy not to douchebag Razzyphiles simply for sending me e-mail containing links I may have seen before. In fact, I generally don't douchebag Razzyphiles/anyone who starts an e-mail with "I love your blog" at all, unless they exasperate me with ceaseless begging for links to their appalling neo-Nazi websites, and that's only happened once. I love Razzyphiles, especially ones who take the time to e-mail me links on subjects I haven't written about for months. That signifies both loyalty and reading comprehension, and I'm a big fan of both.
Anyway, I hadn't seen the link contained in this particular e-mail. If you click on it (and be advised, it's porn, and while there's no DP-ing, ass-to-mouth, double anal, bondage, enema play, or anything else that would fit in a scene from Belladonna's Fetish Fanatics series, it's still hardcore porn and thus NSFW), prepare to be disgusted. Apparently Angelique is hard up enough for work that she's resorted to doing what appears to be vanilla MILF porn ("COME AND WATCH THIS HOT MOMMA'S DO IT ALL"), although that's a bit of a misnomer. From what I could tell from "Rock of Love 2," Angelique has no children, and I can't imagine that the -ILF part of the acronym applies to anyone who isn't either blind or suffering from severe ergot poisoning. I mean...EWWWWWW.
Briana Banks she is not. I purposely put up a picture that doesn't feature any tits, genitalia, or penetration shots so I'm in the clear in case certain litigious enemies of mine decide to get pissed about being associated with a "pornography" site, but the lack of the elements critical to a hardcore shot doesn't mean that this photo isn't any less vile. Not that Ambre (and yes, that's how she spells it), the chick Bret ultimately chose as the "Rock of Love 2" winner, is much better looking, but at least I don't have to swallow my own vomit seeing pictures of her like this. It appears that Bret dodged a bullet and a severe case of the clap when he sent Angelique packing to the low-budget gonzo MILF porn circuit. Frankly, it's the smartest move he made since reinvigorating his career by whoring himself out to Vh1's Celebreality machine.
Labels: gross, media whores, perversion, porn, Rock of Love, sluts, Vh1
Monday, March 24, 2008
An Easter miracle
Yesterday evening I was very excited to see that "Rock of Love 2" FINALLY had some action worth watching since the departure of the incomparable cartoonish French low-budget gonzo porn slut Angelique. Much like Christ before her, HEATHER returned from the grave with her giant hair, giant silicone boobs, and giant collection of garish sideless spandex stripper dresses from the skank clearance bin at Forever 21. Also unlike Jesus, instead of coming to redeem mankind's sins, Heather is coming to bring the drama in the form of drunken whorishness.
In case you didn't watch the original "Rock of Love," Heather was one of the final two hard-livin' slags competing for the affections of Poison lead singer Bret Michaels. She is a thirty-two year old stripper renowned for her acrobatic polework, revealing that she had engaged in group sex with Bret and the nefarious Lacey by screaming "I watched you suck his dick, bitch!," and getting "Bret" tattooed on the back of her neck. Heather is hard-livin' even as far as hard-livin' slags go.
Last night, Heather announced her arrival on "Rock of Love 2" by shouting, "I hope you brought your extra liver, bitches!" She was there to dig up dirt on the girls to assist with Bret's elimination, and wasted no time getting everyone to take body shots. That was followed by a truth or dare game involving naked cartwheel, inquiries as to whether or not certain girls had been "fucked in the ass," and lots of crying. Unfortunately, one of the girls tried a little too hard to impress Heather with her drinking, and this wound up happening:
All in all, I was pleased to finally see an entertaining episode of "Rock of Love 2." This season is boring and it needs some Heather spice. The producers seem to realize this because thankfully, next week Heather is going to Vegas with Bret and the remaining girls to "party like a rock star." They'll probably watch a lame Bret Michaels concert in the basement lounge of the Hard Rock or wherever, get shitfaced, and either a vicious catfight or a wasted threesome will ensue. They need to keep Heather on for the rest of the show.
Labels: alcoholism, nudity, Rock of Love, sluts, TV, Vh1
Monday, February 18, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Vikki Lizzi
DOB: ???--probably the late 60s/early 70s
Occupation: enabler, drug addict, failed singer
Hometown: San Francisco, California
Current residence: Los Angeles, California
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Anyone who, like me, has succumbed to the trainwreck otherwise known as "Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew" knows that Jeff Conaway, star of Grease, "Taxi," and a previous installment of "Celebrity Fit Club," is a fucking mess. He is severely addicted to opiate painkillers, and when he's not screaming, drooling, seizing, whimpering, or exploding with rage, he's threatening to leave rehab because of some drama with his girlfriend Vikki.
Dr. Drew has already noted that Vikki is bad news for Jeff's tenuous grasp of sobriety, because she is the world's biggest enabler. She's apparently known for slipping him drugs in rehab, and on her first visit brought Norco (Vicodin/Tylenol) into the facility. On her next visit, she pulled a Lohan and brought a squirt bottle filled with vodka, which she encouraged Jeff to drink (he did, and drama ensued). When Dr. Drew sat them both down for a counseling session, she said that the booze was part of a plot conceived by Jeff to get her to show up drunk to visit rehab, so that she could be diagnosed with alcoholism and admitted to the facility to keep him company. She complained that she didn't want to get rid of the booze around her house because she needs it for "migraines." Too bad it doesn't help with the case of the alcoholic/narcotic painkiller face bloat she's suffering something serious. Anyway, Jezebel has a clip of this bitch being a totally ridiculous piece of work from the last episode.
Anyway, in addition to Vikki's determination to thwart Jeff's recovery, she is apparently a Renaissance woman of the theater. She is an actress and singer, and per her IMDB resume, she's a master of the performing arts. She can sing "club/freestyle, hip hop, and tap" dancing, and has mastered Bronx, Cockney, British, and Texan accents. Clearly she is a star force to be reckoned with. Normally, I wouldn't like Vikki because she's scary-looking, and because I don't think that trying to facilitate one's own addiction by sabotaging one's partner's recovery is very admirable. However, that was before I saw video footage of Vikki plying her craft.
Prior to Jeff's addiction taking a turn for the worst but after his legendary appearances haranguing at Harvey the ex-Marine drill sergeant on "Celebrity Fit Club," Jeff and Vikki attended the "Fox Reality Remix Awards." I had no idea such an award show existed, but luckily for the employment prospects of host Kennedy, it apparently does to provide a forum for the reality omega-list to showcase their many talents. In Jeff and Vikki's case, this was to perform a piece entitled "Krazee". Yes, that's their spelling, not mine. They're just "krazee" enough to fuck with conventional spellings. And the performance is indeed krazee. It's like a low-rent version of something Ice-T and CoCo would put together, right down to the end where Jeff rips off Vikki's pants and shows her nana to the assembled celebreality glitterazzi:
I truly can't wait until "Celebrity Rehab 2," because you know Vikki's going to get a turn. This krazee bitch needs her own turn in the Vh1 spotlight. Good times ahead.
Labels: assholes, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, drugs, sluts, TV, Vh1
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Daily Douchebag: "Beverly Hills, 90210" season 3 DVDs
DOB: December 11, 2007 (DVD release--shows originally aired in 1992-1993)
Occupation: keeping me up on a school night
Hometown: wherever the vault of classic Aaron Spelling shows is
Current residence: my and JerseyGirl's bookshelf
Douchebaggery: Normally on Mondays I go over to my friend JerseyGirl's apartment and provide her with culinary instruction. We originally started doing this on Monday nights so we could make dinner and then watch "I Love New York 2" and "The Hills," usually with Senioritis and HillsYes. Although "I Love New York 2" ended with New York embarking on the grossest relationship ever with Tailor Made and "The Hills" is between seasons so Lauren and Whitney can experience "the opportunity of a lifetime" doing their final colossal Teen Vogue intern task in Paris, we've continued our Monday night get-togethers. However, since Monday night TV is lame now that our favorite reality trash isn't on (at least until "Flavor of Love 3" starts up next month) and football season is all but over, we've decided to spend it watching the greatest show in the history of broadcast television: "Beverly Hills, 90210," baby!
Last night, despite our plan to have an "early night," we got sucked into the "Duke's Bad Boy" episode in which Brandon's addiction to betting on basketball games gets him into $1500 worth of trouble with Nat's bookie Duke. In spite of Brandon making some kind of ridiculous bet hinging on the Celtics fortunes with the West Beverly High bookie that supposedly netted him $1500, that unprofessional 17-year-old bookmaker wasn't able to pay Brandon out in time to settle his tab with Duke. Brandon ends up roughing up the high school bookie and has several memorable gambling addiction-related freakouts. The best part is at the end, when Nat pays off the bookie so Brandon doesn't get his legs broken, and sternly lectures Brandon about the dangers of gambling. It's pretty rich for Nat, a guy who once took Brandon and friends to the track so they could play the ponies and who initially introduced Brandon to his leg-breaking bookie, to lecture Brandon about staying away from the sports book. I mean, you're taking bets for your sixteen-year-old employee who CLEARLY has issues despite being repeatedly warned by the eminently wise Steve Sanders that "basketball is a sucker's bet," and then you hook him up with the bookie's number so he can make more irresponsible bets that he can't cover with his megaburger-slinging Peach Pit salary himself? Waiting until Brandon gets $1500 in the hole to get sanctimonious about it doesn't exactly speak to Nat Bussichio's surrogate fathering skills. As an added bonus, this episode features David Silver cutting his first demo tape, singing what may be the cheesiest Gollum-inspired R&B/Chinese pop song of all time, "You're So Precious to Me." I could watch David in the studio with his Casio keyboard set to the preprogrammed "Bossa Nova" beat singing, "You're so precious to me...am I preeeeeeecious to you?" all day. It's not quite as awesome as when David bridges racial tensions with the kids from Shaw High in South Central by treating the assembled students to his rap stylings and hip-hop dance moves, but "You're So Precious to Me" is some vintage David Silver hotness nonetheless.
Anyway, after JerseyGirl and I rocked our faces off with this episode, finished up dinner, and finished our six-pack, it was after midnight, and I still had to come home and finish some patent office work. I didn't turn in until around 2:30, and I'm getting too old to be pulling these kind of hours. Now, I have to present at our floor's virology data club today, and I still have some data to put together. Actually, I still have to make the entire Power Point by 12:30. I'm tired, I'm cranky, and I'm not in any kind of mood to discuss the shitshow that is my thesis project, and it's all Bev Niner's fault. Damn you, Bev Niner, for being so sublimely awesome that I cannot tear myself away at a reasonable hour! DAMN YOU TO HELL!
Wait, what am I saying? I'm sorry, Bev Niner! How can I stay mad at you...?
Labels: Bev Niner, Daily Douchebag, JerseyGirl, TV, Vh1
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Angelique from "Rock of Love 2" AGAIN
DOB: ????
Occupation: suitor of Bret Michaels, reality whore, would-be porn star
Hometown: France?
Current residence: Los Angeles, California
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I must have some great porn star-dar when it comes to figuring out which of Bret Michaels's prospective girlfriends has fucked on camera before. Last season I was all about "Amateur Facial" alumna Brandi M., and now the internets tell me that my current favorite Vh1 trainwreck ho is indeed currently looking for work. Yes, Angelique, the beat down French chick who came out the gate discussing her desire to "have some zex wis Bret in zis pool" and her multiple breast augmentations is in the market for a gig in porn. She's more than happy to do "Hardcore, Boy/Girl, Print, Interracial, Boy/girl/girl, Fetish, Bondage, (No Anal ), Fetish, Solo with Toys, Girl/Girl/Girl, Blow Jobs, Boy/Boy/girl," per her website anyway (and being that this is a porn "talent agency" website, I think it's implicit that the shit is NSFW). What's with the "no anal" clause? I would think that if you're down to get gangbanged, a little garden variety sodomy would be no problem for a slag like Angelique.
And what is with Angelique's insane lips? I think the collagen factory had to put their shit on backorder once she left her surgeon's strip mall storefront, because she cleaned out their entire supply. She looks like she should be jauntily rocking a sailor hat and quacking in rage at Huey, Dewey, and Louie, not marketing her herpetic snatch to the editors of Swank and the omega-list porn webcam circuit. She looks trashy even for a low-rent porn hooker (albeit a classy, front entry-only one).
That said, she is my favorite "Rock of Love" girl. Bret Michaels was smart to keep her around for another week. He should keep her around at least until she can have some zex wis him in zis pool, because that would be interesting, and that's much better for Bret's career than actually finding some boring broad with a couple tattoos and falling in love. Well, by "interesting" I mean gross, but at least in the presumably chlorinated pool Bret would probably have some measure of protection from the vermin representing Phylum Arthropoda that I suspect are crawling all over Angelique's nether regions. It would entertain!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, porn, Rock of Love, sluts, Vh1
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Angelique from "Rock of Love 2"
Name: Angelique
DOB: ???
Occupation: stripping, having discount breast augmentation and lip plumping injections
Hometown: somewhere in France
Current residence: Los Angeles, California
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: In case anyone is not clued into the premise of the masterpiece of "celebreality" known as Vh1's "Rock of Love 2," it's basically an effort to find a girlfriend for Poison's lead singer Bret Michaels from a cadre of washed-up musicians, strippers, and webcam whores. The girl who won the inaugural "Rock of Love," Jes, wound up hating Bret and made it sound like she was forced at gunpoint to participate, and now Vh1 is trying again to find the right girl for Bret and the ridiculous extensions that have replaced his bandana as his baldness amelioration technique of choice. Here's Vh1's unintentionally hilarious description of this show:
If there was ever any doubt about Bret Michaels' status as a Rock God, season one of Rock of Love put all those doubts to rest. The enormous success of the show proved two things: Bret continues to draw in fans by the millions -- and his appeal to women has never waned. The women who competed for Bret's heart in season one made one thing very clear from the very beginning -- they wanted Bret, and they were willing to do whatever they could to win his heart. Now, twenty new women will lay it all on the line for their chance at the ultimate rock-and-roll romance. And this time, it will be bigger and better than ever, because as any rock fan knows -- the best part of any rock-and-roll show is always the encore!In other words, this show is Bret's shot at staying relevant, as well as an excuse to treat the audience to clips of "Unskinny Bop" and "Every Rose Has its Thorn" (the go-to song of choice when Bret is tormented trying to select which slags "will face the cruel sting of elimination"). Naturally, Bret has all the tools necessary to select the beat groupie of his dreams: a fully stocked liquor cabinet, a bodyguard/butler, a pool, and a stripper pole. Too bad Bret doesn't even need to put these hookers through all the ridiculous extreme sports-based challenges, because I've already spotted the woman for him. She is French, and therefore the epitome of class and sophistication:
VH1 and 51 Minds Entertainment will give these twenty sexy, saucy ladies a chance to prove they have what it takes to win Bret's heart. After moving into a super-sized rock star mansion, the women will be put to the test. Each week, they will have to prove to Bret they are worthy of sharing his spotlight. They'll show off their own special talents, and demonstrate their mental and physical ferocity in an effort to win some much-coveted one-on-one time with Bret. Can they go all out in the high-adrenaline activities Bret loves, and still clean up for a sexy nightcap? Can they work together to protect Bret's progeny from a group of crazed super fans? And perhaps most importantly, can they fend off the fierce competition from the other women in the house also vying for Bret's attention and affection?
Girls who are successful in the challenges will reap the rewards afforded to a Rock God's companion: dates, presents and jet-setting trips that will truly embody what it means to "party like a rock star". The unfortunate women who fail to entice Bret will face the cruel sting of elimination. And as the world saw last season, the competition will be intense - because in the end, Bret will choose only one lucky lady to be his "Rock of Love".
Rock On!
Angelique doesn't rest on her laurels and let all her discount surgeon's hard work go to waste. She immediately gets busy demonstrating her talents and impeccably done physical enhancements by making herself right at home:
Okay, sing it with me...you know the words since it's been cued at least five times in this episode so far: Don't need nothin'...but a good time...how can I resist?
As the incomparable Robert Sylvester Kelly once said, "she comin' down the pole, no secret why I'm here...it's cause you keep my donk on swole." If Bret Michaels's donk is anything but "on swole" after such a performance he might want to talk to his doctor about options for managing his ED as well as his male pattern baldness.
Once bitten by the stripping bug, Angelique just can't stop. Later, Bret decides to photograph the girls, and Angelique decides that this is her chance to make a good impression.
Usually I detest all things French (except the food...I love me some cream sauces and steak au poivre), but in Angelique's case, I will make an exception. I expect her to be a beloved television personality on par with Omarosa, Tila Tequila, or even the inimitable Tiffany "New York" Pollard, at least assuming she can continue to "entice" the discriminating Mr. Michaels. Last episode she finished second-to-last, and I'm concerned that Bret's dumb ass might once again make the wrong choice. There is no better woman in this competition than Angelique. She is tres hot and sexy, and Bret would be a fool not to at least have sex wis her in zis pool.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, nudity, ridiculous absurdity, Rock of Love, sluts, Vh1
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Daily Douchebag: arbiter of "BREAKING NEWS" at CNN
DOB: ???
Occupation: deciding what is breaking news over at CNN
Current residence: Atlanta, Georgia
Douchebaggery: I love "I Love New York," and I do indeed have love for New York, but even I have to acknowledge that CNN covering rumors about whether or not she and Tailor Made are still together is out of the realm of "news." I mean, CNN is supposed to be covering bombings in Pakistan and Bill Richardson's exit from the presidential race and other serious shit, not whether New York and Tailor Made are making it work. Besides, I already know they're still together and grossing the world out with their constant public face-sucking. I don't need CNN for that!
Furthermore, besides telling me what I already know, this article reminds me of the sad reality that there are no imminent plans for "I Love New York 3"! Vh1 is going to have to think of some excuse to get New York back on TV, because she and her absurd breasts are the best thing on that channel. I am excited for "Flavor of Love 3" and "Rock of Love 2," but Vh1 just isn't complete without New York mooning her would-be paramours whenever "deep issues" come up.
And I know this is a pretty lame thing to get pissed off about, but frankly my brain isn't really working properly today because I did too much boozing last night. As far as I am concerned right now, Samuel Adams was a brewer, a patriot, and a FUCKING ASSHOLE. You know the kind of hangover where you aren't sick, but your head feels like it was filled up with molten Silly Putty? That's what's going on with me today. So forgive me for being too feeble to get incensed about anything besides CNN covering the status of New York and Tailor Made's storied relationship, and mildly incensed at that. And I fixed it, but I just spelled "incensed" incorrectly and that's when I know I should just resolve to do some more inspired blogging tomorrow. Sorry, Razzyphiles.
Labels: Daily Douchebag, I Love New York, TV, Vh1
Monday, January 07, 2008
Daily Douchebag: New York and Tailor Made
DOB: January 6, 1982 and ????
Occupation: grossing everybody out
Hometown: Utica, New York and Queens, New York
Current residence: wherever there are F-list paparazzi lurking to capture more displays of stomach-turning vulgarity; most recently, Miami Beach and Vh1's sound stage in Los Angeles
Douchebaggery: Last night was the "I Love New York 2" reunion show, and it was a little on the anticlimactic side. I spent half of it being bored out of my mind by what was mostly contrived, predictable dramas and the other half being completely disgusted. I'm glad that New York and Tailor Made--both of whom I have already douchebagged--are putting on a good show of being deeply in love and actually engaged (and congratulations to Tailor Made on finalizing his divorce). However, I wish they weren't putting on such a great show that they felt the need to do this every time a camera gets pointed their way:
Adding to the skeezy factor is the fact that I am calling it now: Tailor Made has a straight up pencil dick. I HATE effing guys with skinny dicks. It's almost worse than fucking a dude with a short dick. At least guys with short dicks know their dicks are short, and thus try to compensate other ways (if they're smart), like by learning how to give decent head. Guys with skinny dicks often think that because their dicks are an adequate length, they have big dicks and are thus Don Juan. I can't tell you how many pencil-dicked morons I've boned who acted like I should thank them for blessing my vagina with their slender and unsatisfying rods. I fucked this guy one time who had delusions of grandeur so serious that he kept instructing me to close my legs so his dick wouldn't go in all the way and "hurt (my) cervix." First of all, EWWWW! Second, how dare you suggest that your cock is just too much man for me to handle?! Trust that I've sat on bigger dicks than your fucking bundle of dry fettuccine, so don't tell me about how to avoid the imaginary damage that's going to do to my internal lady bits, asshole. Needless to say, he didn't get a sequel. Since New York even told Tailor Made that he needed to get a penis implant during a couples' counseling session, I'm betting that she is having the same kind of stupid "close your legs" problems with her man. The last thing anyone needs is them making out all the time reminding us that Tailor Made is going home to pencil-dick the bejesus out of New York and her astonishing basketball breasts.
Anyway, I hope for the sake of my stomach and its general level of distress that this relationship is a sham and they quit playing it up for the media. Besides, if New York and Tailor Made work out, there won't be an "I Love New York 3," which I think everyone can agree would rule. Vh1 needs something from this franchise to air anyway, after "Rock of Love 2" and "Flavor of Love 3" wrap up this spring. So break up, already.
Labels: Daily Douchebag, gross, I Love New York, oh the horror, plastic surgery, TV, Vh1
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The world's most ridiculous boobs
Every Monday, JerseyGirl and I get together to watch (the greatest show in the history of reality television) "I Love New York," sometimes with her neighbor HillsYes. I'm teaching JerseyGirl how to cook (and this bitch doesn't even have a KNIFE...her lack of domestic skills are appalling but partially compensated by her trove of guido-flavored adventure tales about things like getting disqualified in banana-eating contests at Jersey Shore clubs such as "the Trade Winds"), so we make some type of beginner's food (chicken strips, grilled cheese, etc.) and watch our trash TV. The last few weeks, we've been noticing something that becomes more and more obvious every week: New York had another tit job, and it's out of fucking control.
We began to notice that, even by New York's typically over-the-top busty standards, her breasts look like they're about to pop. I don't remember them being so severely overstuffed last season, but this time around, it's like the basketball-sized implants within are about to burst free at any moment.
They're so distracting. It's like her breasts are two medicine balls that have been bolted to her chest. Even more distracting is her choice in dresses, which emphasize that mile of preternatural cleavage between those two silicone saddlebags she's rocking. Her tits are more stuffed than the fucking deer head on my wall. I imagine that if you manage to get a feel of those cans, it's sort of like holding a set of giant, unyielding stress balls.
I swear, New York purchased those tits at Big Lots or something. I've never seen such an appalling breast aug. I'm not the world's biggest fan of fake tits, but I know they can be better than that. One of my friends has fake tits and you would never even know unless you REALLY felt them up. Hers are a reasonable size and she opted for the more natural submuscular implant procedure using the latest model of implants. Obviously, New York had a coupon for a surgeon who last earned CME credits in 1985, because she looks like someone jammed a honeydew melon into each boob and called it a fucking day. Those are the kind of tits I'd expect to see flanking a stripper pole off Washington state route 512 at Foxes in Parkland. Or on a ridiculous, twice-spurned-by-Flavor-Flav woman who responds to criticism with mooning and who thinks church is an appropriate venue for Newport smoking to rock for the second season of her own Vh1 reality show.
I've got mad love for New York, but PLEASE get those jugs deflated just a little. It's hard to pay attention to the silly things New York's absurd bevy of suitors do, like fight each other or suck on her toes, because those cans are so goddamned distracting. She needs to shrink them just enough so that I can clearly read the "Princess" tattoo on her left hooter, and then they'll be the perfect outlandishly fake breasts. If there's a need for "I Love New York 3" (there will be; she lost out on her one chance at true love when she booted the hot piece that was Midget Mac last week), then Vh1 needs to think about adding a budget for a decent surgeon. Last night she booted Wolf for being a "country bumpkin" (who farted on her in the "Nip/Tuck" green room...don't ask) who didn't fit with her "exciting Hollywood lifestyle." Well, New York, live that lifestyle and go see Dr. 90210!
We began to notice that, even by New York's typically over-the-top busty standards, her breasts look like they're about to pop. I don't remember them being so severely overstuffed last season, but this time around, it's like the basketball-sized implants within are about to burst free at any moment.
They're so distracting. It's like her breasts are two medicine balls that have been bolted to her chest. Even more distracting is her choice in dresses, which emphasize that mile of preternatural cleavage between those two silicone saddlebags she's rocking. Her tits are more stuffed than the fucking deer head on my wall. I imagine that if you manage to get a feel of those cans, it's sort of like holding a set of giant, unyielding stress balls.
I swear, New York purchased those tits at Big Lots or something. I've never seen such an appalling breast aug. I'm not the world's biggest fan of fake tits, but I know they can be better than that. One of my friends has fake tits and you would never even know unless you REALLY felt them up. Hers are a reasonable size and she opted for the more natural submuscular implant procedure using the latest model of implants. Obviously, New York had a coupon for a surgeon who last earned CME credits in 1985, because she looks like someone jammed a honeydew melon into each boob and called it a fucking day. Those are the kind of tits I'd expect to see flanking a stripper pole off Washington state route 512 at Foxes in Parkland. Or on a ridiculous, twice-spurned-by-Flavor-Flav woman who responds to criticism with mooning and who thinks church is an appropriate venue for Newport smoking to rock for the second season of her own Vh1 reality show.
I've got mad love for New York, but PLEASE get those jugs deflated just a little. It's hard to pay attention to the silly things New York's absurd bevy of suitors do, like fight each other or suck on her toes, because those cans are so goddamned distracting. She needs to shrink them just enough so that I can clearly read the "Princess" tattoo on her left hooter, and then they'll be the perfect outlandishly fake breasts. If there's a need for "I Love New York 3" (there will be; she lost out on her one chance at true love when she booted the hot piece that was Midget Mac last week), then Vh1 needs to think about adding a budget for a decent surgeon. Last night she booted Wolf for being a "country bumpkin" (who farted on her in the "Nip/Tuck" green room...don't ask) who didn't fit with her "exciting Hollywood lifestyle." Well, New York, live that lifestyle and go see Dr. 90210!
Labels: gross, I Love New York, oh the horror, overcompensation, plastic surgery, sluts, TV, Vh1
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