First of all let me tell you that this whole sordid affair began in one of my weaker moments. I was exhausted and all my mental faculties had been pushed to their breaking point after having spent the night babysitting all five of the kidlings.
It was really quite late on a Saturday night, or perhaps early on a Sunday morning. I was in Sister #3’s basement and she was telling me about the high Sisterclub drama plaguing the club this summer (it is, without fail, always something). But then we stopped with the drama and became mesmerized by the TV.
When we were growing up Sister #3 was totally enamoured with Bret Michaels. Really. Poison was her favorite band and she decorated her walls with their posters. I think in her 6th or 7th grade school picture she is wearing a Poison t-shirt.
So you can see how when Rock of Love came on, she was immediately drawn to it. Because she stopped talking, I had to watch it too.
Oh cruel fate. If only I had left before the show started. But I didn’t, and now I am in love.
It is probably the worst thing to ever hit the boob tube. It’s awful. Basically the premise is that Bret’s looking for love and 25 girls want to be that love. All but one of the girls have huge fake boobs and an IQ that puts them right around functionally retarded. They are the worst skanky skanks, and often make me ashamed to be a woman. I don’t know how Mr. Michaels can be so turned on by them, but then he is. I wouldn’t put my keys in any of those girls much less something that is attached to my body.
And really, any show where Bret Michaels is the smartest person cannot be anything but very very bad. Bret has roughly three phrases in his vocabulary these include “turned on,” “awesome,” and “rock.” And yet, he’s still the smart one.
The show is so bad, and yet I can’t look away. I know there are about 9 million things I could do that would be a better use of my time, but I just cannot resist. I am weak.