Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Ozzfist!


(image via E!Online)

Sharon Osbourne
might be in a spot of trouble with the law after allegedly physically attacking the least charming (and that is saying a lot) Charm School-er Megan H.,whose "job" is being a professional reality show contestant (she is a former winner of Beauty and The Geek and former loser on Bret Michael's Rock of Love 2 and I Love Money).

Apparently, during the filming of the recent Charm School reunion special, Megan said some insulting, possibly true, things about Sharon--that she is only famous for managing her husband Ozzy's career, and that he is a "brain-dead rock star." So Sharon went nuts and scratched Megan's face and pulled her hair, as one would totally expect Sharon to do in this situation. Megan can say what she wants about Dallas, Heather, Crystal, or Leilene, but when she maligns Ozzy, she is crusin' for a bruisin'!

All I can say is, brava! Sharon Osbourne! Brava! Megan has been so consistently hateful and horrible and bitchy and mean on all these shows, in a way that I think transforms her hot bod and pretty (for reality tv) face into a hideous Medusa-like visage of pure ugliness, that I'm really glad someone finally scratched her stupid eyes out.

Oh, and Megan is supposed to have her own spin-off reality show soon, called Trophy Wife. Or MILF Island. Or Dog Swap. I'm not sure which.

FREE SHARON!

Monday, December 08, 2008

Frightening Celeb Photo of The Day

I must admit that as much as I didn't want to, I did manage to fall into the k-hole that was Bravo's reality series The Rachel Zoe Project, which just got picked up for a second season. I couldn't help it! Zoe's incredibly odd, incredibly California voice and accent and speech patterns (pretend you are Scarlett Johanson after a long nap and say "That dress is bananas, shut up" in a flat monotone while zonked out on Xanax just after a Botox injection to the facial muscles and you are getting close to the abyss that is Rachel Zoe's affectless-bordering-on-vegetative persona), her insanely bitchy assistant, her adorably spiffy assistant-to-the-assistant, and her lonely, floppy-haired ambiguously gay husband all SUCKED ME IN against my will, like the Death Star.

Speaking of death, Ms. Zoe, who is famous for being a celebrity stylist and for rumors that she got Mexican horse pills as diet aids for her clients, is allegedly 37 years old. Behold her recent personal appearance at the opening of a door:


(images via just jared)



You could cut a pork chop with that clavicle! Does potato salad come with those ribs?

I do feel sorta bad making fun, because she recently announced she is fighting a valiant battle against a terrible illness: Gwyneth Paltrow Fried Egg Sagging Boob Syndrome, also known as "Flapjackitis." She is one brave, saggy lady. Swing low, sweet chariot, as Creed Bratton would say...

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Caught Between The Moon And New Crap City



Hmmm. I don't like the sound of this one bit. Apparently taking a cue from the geniuses who completely ruined The Bad News Bears, The Parent Trap, Freaky Friday, and seemingly every other beloved movie of my childhood (not to mention that monstrous re-make of The Women---Aaaaaaaaaah!), the word on the street is that English "bad boy" comic Russell Brand is about to star in a re-make of Arthur. ARTHUR!

Oh, how I loved that movie as a kid. I saw it about 5o times in San Antonio, TX, and I thought it was the funniest, most sophisticated thing ever. Why, it had it all--a fun hooker, naughty drinking, a bizarre love interest (Liza Minelli!), riches beyond your wildest imagination, a totally kick-ass Christopher Cross soundtrack, John Gielgud camping it up, romance, drama, and endless high hilarity!

Now, this Russell Brand fellow seems funny in an on-again off-again way, if a tiny bit too pleased with himself, but the main thing is that Hollywood just needs to STOP destroying the last vestiges of my cherished movie memories and come up with some new ideas. What's next? Miley Cyrus in The Wizard of Oz? Oh, god...

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

An Early Christmas Present. God Bless Us, Every One!

It turns out we DO need another hero. BEHOLD:


(click here for larger version! do it!)

Tina Turner at Madison Square Garden just last night.

In full Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome regalia.

She is 69 years old, people!

Simply the best, indeed.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Huzzah With A 'Z'--Liza's Back!



Here's something to be thankful for--it's a Liza Minelli slide show!

Apparently La Liza is making a triumphant, temporarily drug-free return to the Gay White Way. The headline for the article--"Comeback With A 'Z'" is a bit of a stretch, however. Come on NY Times. "Liza With A 'Z'" made sense--because THERE IS A Z IN HER NAME. Now, "Huzzah With A 'Z!'--Liza Is Back!"? That's a headline.

Look how awesome she looks. She is a parkly be-sequinned wax effigial delight!

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

ANTS!



In the ongoing episode of "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom" that is my life at Felt Up HQ, I discovered today that mere feet from my ancient, decrepit house is a giant complex of red ant hills, so advanced that they rival the Great Pyramids of Egypt. Those ants are busy bees, let me tell you. They are all hard at work making those pyramids ever-larger in preparation for taking over the yard, then the block, and then THE WORLD.

I made a little film of the ant hills in action. I did a terrible job. Suffice it to say that everything you see that isn't a leaf or my foot is ANTS. It's a bit boring, and I'm no Marlin Perkins, but you'll get the jist. There is also a wee treat for lovers of a certain breed of dog at the very end (I didn't realize the camera was still rolling when I walked away):

Phoenix Rising From The Asses



Oh, dear God.

Normally I get excited when a favorite star of mine goes over the edge into the Abyss Of Craaaazy, but this is not one of those times. Joaquin Phoenix has apparently retired from acting so he can start a music career.

Digest that for a moment.

Now, get ready to barf it all up, because according to People magazine:
Last week Phoenix, who played Johnny Cash in the biopic Walk the Line and his pal Casey Affleck hit Culver City night spot Carbon for their funk night where Phoenix surprised the crowd with a rap performance which Affleck recorded.

Well, I shouldn't be too surprised, as Joaquin is a well-known kooky kookerton who grew up in a religious sex cult. And I will reserve judgment on his new musical career until I hear the evidence, but let me tell you, "rapping at funk night" is not a good sign.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Controversy!



There has been a lot of chitter-chattering lately about the wee profile of the wee musician Prince Rogers Nelson in this week's New Yorker, because when asked about his newfound Jehovah's Witness-y thoughts on gay marriage and abortion, Prince replied:
You've got the Republicans, and basically they want to live according to [the Bible], but there's the problem of interpretation, and you've got some churches, some people, basically doing things and saying it comes from here, but it doesn't. And then on the opposite end of the spectrum you've got blue, you've got the Democrats, and they're, like, 'You can do whatever you want.' Gay marriage, whatever. But neither of them is right...God came to earth and saw people sticking it wherever and doing it with whatever, and he just cleared it all out. He was, like, 'Enough.'
At first I thought Prince was surely leading up to a whole "Blue + Red= PURPLE" segue and then Wendy and Lisa would appear and they'd all strip down to '80s lingerie and launch into a barbershop quartet version of "Purple Rain" while Charlie Murphy played tambourine, and all would be right in the world; but alas, 'twas not to be. This quote was taken by just about everyone to mean that he is anti-gay and anti-whatnot and now the internet is all, "Not PRINCE! Say it ain't so! He of the be-velvet-and-ermine-robed-and-platform-shoed personal style and pansexual musical explorations? Why, it simply makes no sense!"

Now Prince is denying the story, saying he was misquoted, while the New Yorker stands by its quotes, according to Wired magazine.

But the more interesting part of the interview to me was when he was asked about his conversion experience. His response made me giggle:
I don't really see it as a conversion...More, you know it's a realization. It's like Morpheus and Neo in 'The Matrix.'
Oh, Prince, I know just what you mean.

The New Yorker notes that Prince, who was interviewed in his L.A. mansion "in yoga pants and a big sweater, wearing platform flip-flops over white socks, like a geisha," also
attends meetings at a local Kingdom Hall, and, like his fellow-witnesses, he leaves his gated community from time to time to knock on doors and proselytize. "Sometimes people act surprised, but mostly they're really cool about it, " he said.
Can you imagine opening your door and having the following thoughts go through your head in rapid succession: "Oh, crap, it's a Jehovah's Witness! Boo! How do I get out of this? Hang on. This tiny person wearing platform flipflops and yoga pants seems to bear a strong resemblance to Little Richard...OH MY GOD IT'S PRINCE. PRINCE IS TRYING TO CONVERT ME. If I say yes will he play "Sexy Motherfu**er" at my birthday party? PRIIIIIIIINCE!"

A perfect example of mixed emotions if there ever was one...

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Amy Winehouse Makes A Withdrawal From The Perm Bank

Even though I don't blog about celeb gossip (or anything at all) very much anymore, I do keep up with all the non-news happenings and goings-on and lesbian affairs with celebrity djs and whatnot. I usually just can't muster the energy to write about them, that's all, especially now that Britney Spears has settled herself down. Once that bald hair was re-grown, my interest in gossip waned. WANED, I say. It's simply too magnificent an act to follow. It's all downhill from here, people.

But of course I have been following the ups-n-downs of Amy Winehouse for what seems like an eternity, and lately the biggest change in her life (besides the recent release of her nogoodnik cad husband Blake from prison) is that she has ditched her trademark ginormous beehive hairdo and gotten a Rizzo-style curly perm:



Now, like most women of a certain age, I am all for a tight perm on almost anyone besides myself, and I do think that in theory this 'do is could be fetching. However, without resorting to cruelty, I must say that her facial features and scraggly, mesh-and-acid-washed-denim-clad body are not being done any favors by that hairdo, which is just another in the endless series of tragedies that have befallen Ms. Winehouse of late, let me tell you.

Then today, Janet Charlton posted this photo heralding that the "beehive's back!"; unfortunately, the hive's triumphant return to Amy's head was somewhat marred by her unusual decision to simply plunk the ratty ole hive hairpiece on top of the curly Rizzo hair:



An improvement, yes, but it does make her seem even crazier, which I had thought was impossible, and somewhat poodle-esque, and not in a good way. Perhaps the addition of one of her patented Rosie The Riveter doo-rags or 1940s washerwoman headscarves would ease the transition from wig to perm, like one of those strips of plastic used to transition from hardwood flooring to tile. Something.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Sheena Was A Stockbroker

Why, hello. I didn't see you there. Yes, it's me, your long-lost Felt Up blogette. I am compelled to blog again today. There's no rhyme or reason to it, believe me. Sometimes I am swayed by my Muse, like today, and sometimes I hit the snooze button on the Muse over and over until it shuts the hell up.

Today I wanted to point your attention to a sale I read about on The Village Voice website--an auction at Christie's of punk memorabilia. Take a look-see, and weep! Weep as you realize that all those fliers of Black Flag and the Big Boys are probably the only valuable thing you've ever owned, and were destroyed years ago when a box of papers got wet during a move to California! Cry bitter tears as you realize your Misfits orginal-pressing single of "She" was stolen from your record collection during a house party! And of course, sob uncontrollably as you see punk anti-commercialism sold to the highest bidder--and realize you won't get one red cent!

This auction comes hot on the heels of an existential crisis after experiencing the shocking transformation of CBGBs in NYC. The venerable punk club was finally evicted a while back in the face of escalating Manhattan real estate prices, but I had no idea what had become of the place. I was in New York recently and walking along The Bowery, and felt certain that I was within a block or two of CBs, and then I found myself inside this giant fancy-but-trying-to-be-cool men's clothing store and...my blood went cold as I noticed the framed swatches of graffiti and torn fliers and filth on the walls. A menswear designer named John Varvatos has transformed CBGBs into a high-end boutique, but in his attempt to preserve some remnants of the space, to pay homage to the punk spirit embodied there, I think he actually made it much, much worse than if, say, a Baja Fresh or Dunkin' Donuts had just moved in and gutted the place. Varvatos sells very expensive, almost entirely black-colored, hilariously ridiculous "cool" men's clothing, and in this store, he puts his military-esque $3500 coats right next to vintage rock t-shirts and used amps and old vinyl. Gag. To give you an example of the insanity, a vintage Iggy Pop t-shirt was marked $750. Iggy Pop himself probably can't afford that shirt!






On the one hand, it's cool that what used to be considered a bunch of scumbag loser lowlifes are now enshrined as high culture; on the other hand, it sucks. The whole thing is oddly depressing to me, although I'm not sure why. Oh, wait, yes I do: BECAUSE MY ENTIRE EARLY '80S FLIER COLLECTION TURNED TO MUSH IN 1990!

Sunday, June 29, 2008

I Hardly Drew Ye



Friday I was working at my shop and a group of people came in that I can only describe as "Hollywood"-types: Older, white-haired men straining to look casual in a really expensive way. They seemed extremely out of place in a vintage clothing store. Then a young guy in a jaunty hat appeared in their midst; I thought to myself, "This dude looks exactly like the kid in the 'I'm a Mac' commercials," but then, almost every young man on Earth looks like the "I'm a Mac" kid (aka Justin Long, who was also featured in Dodgeball and the latest Die Hard movie) these days. He is in the tabloids a lot right now because he is dating Drew Barrymore.

And then I heard her voice! Yes, standing two feet in front of me was Drew Barrymore and her "I'm a Mac" gentleman-caller and her entourage, which was entirely male. She did not at all do the "Please, don't notice me, let's all pretend I'm not famous" thing that I've seen many celebs do. She totally took over the whole store with her Drewness.

She immediately flitted over to the sunglasses rack and started trying on different pairs, the kookier the better. We have a mirror down below the counter for trying on shoes and she kept squatting down on her knees to look at herself in the sunglasses; I said, "Uh, you don't have to do that, there's a mirror right here" and urgently pointed over at the non-shoe-level mirror near the sunglasses rack. "Seriously, you really don't have to do that!" I pleaded, over and over, to no avail. Eventually the "I'm a Mac" guy said, bemusedly, "I think she likes doing that, don't block your sale," so I shut up. I, did, however, manage to say, "Those glasses are just eight dollars a pair," which I thought was kind of funny, if I do say so myself. Funny because it's true! Also, she's rich.

The whole time she was doing this, the Hollywood guys were milling around, seemingly unsure of what, exactly, they were supposed to be doing while The Talent shopped at this weird little store in Austin, Texas. They might have been agents or producers, or both, it was hard for a rube like me to tell.

Suddenly Drew flung herself on the "I'm a Mac" kid, wrapped her arms around his neck, and shouted gaily, "Will my sugar daddy buy me these glasses?" (which is funny on many levels, obviously, as she is way wealthier and famouser and several years older then him, plus they are kind of known for their public displays of affection) and then fairly skipped over to the counter, flung down three pairs of sunglasses (pink, yellow, and black) and Drewed her way out the front door, calling out something vague about seeing "the frog" (ie, the Daniel Johnston "Hi, How Are You" frog that is painted on the side of our building).

A young man suddenly materialized out of nowhere with a credit card in his hand and asked, "Is she buying something?" and then wondered, "Anything for me?" and looked in the bag of sunglasses and answered his own question, a bit ruefully, with, "Ah, no." He paid and left. How awesome to have a "go pay for my crapola" person!

Then the "I'm a Mac" guy asked if I would get a t-shirt down for him off the wall. He wanted a vintage t-shirt I'd found a while back that has fuzzy iron-on letters and reads "BECAUSE I'M THE MOM, THAT'S WHY" on it. I complimented him on his taste and we exchanged pleasantries about a pair of sunglasses he tried on making him look either like Lavar Burton on "Star Trek: The Next Generation" or Lamar Latrell from Revenge Of The Nerds (either way is a winner, obviously.) He also bought a new "I Heart Puppets" t-shirt. If he ever wears either of these shirts in my Star or Us Weekly I WILL DIE.

While he was checking out he said, a bit panicky, "Oh, hey, I was supposed to buy those glasses for her, " and then when I started giving him a little background story on the Daniel Johnston frog I thought might be interesting to him, he kept looking outside and got more and more agitated as he was clearly being summoned to leave by Drew and her people and so once I again I shut the hell up and as soon as he finished paying I bid the "I'm a Mac" guy a fond adieu.

All in all a funny little celeb encounter. And I do mean little--he was teeny tiny (including hat) and she was about the size of my thumb...

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Frightening Celeb Photo of the Day

Much like celebrity deaths, these scary skinny photos seem to come in twos and threes--though I'm not sure if my lil' heart can take much more. What fresh horrors will tomorrow bring? In the mean time, feast your eyes--if you dare!--on this bag of bones:


(photo via the uk daily mail)

I swear to God, Courtney Love is the spitting image of that dead flapper lady who was drowned in an olden timey car and haunts a bunch of ancient actors in Ghost Story. And not in a good way.

AAAAAAAAAAH!

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Frightening Celeb Photo of the Day

Ack! At first I thought this was a photo of a very tall-looking Ellen Pompeo from "Grey's Anatomy," but instead it is a very skinny-looking Kristen Johnson of "Third Rock from the Sun" semi-fame:


(photo via janet charlton's hollywood)

She is a comedian, people. Is she required to starve herself in order to get jobs? Uh, don't answer that.

Here's what she used to look like (back when she was healthy and rather fetching):



Sigh...

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Some Mic It Hot

I was at the thrift the other day, as is my wont, and I heard an awesome version of Otis Redding's "I've Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now)" by a female singer who sounded very much like Tina Turner. So I Googled around and found that yes it was indeed Ms. Turner, and that there is a video of her (with Ike!) performing this song on YouTube.

I was watching and enjoying this amazing rendition of one of my all-time favorite songs (and was entranced by a) her see-through fringed top, b) her wig, and c) the Ikettes), when about mid-way through I realized that this was ALSO the video of an incredibly dirty interplay with Ike that I only seen once before. It involves quite a bit of naughty groaning, lewd innuendo and possibly illegal microphone stroking and is a total delight if you're into that kind of thing. Actually it makes me squirm a teensy bit, but it is fascinating to see Tina in quite a different mode from her current ladylike regal diva persona.

So whether or not you like R&B, Ike & Tina, or just good old-fashioned lascivious shenanigans, there is probably something for every taste in this video. Enjoy:



PS
Like most decent people, I have long dreamt of being an Ikette, which, now that Ike is dead, is probably no longer viable, though I don't like to admit it. However, a few years ago I was able to force a facsimile of this dream into a reality by demanding to be an ersatz Ikette during a fashion show in which all of the models had to karaoke. The wig I wore was ginormous and glorious.

Friday, June 13, 2008

My New Roommate



Allow me to introduce LeConte, the newest addition to my little family at Felt Up HQ. I have mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, he is not a total cockroach; on the other, he is "capable of biting," though "generally not medically harmful." He may also have a lot of moochy family members who want to hang out all the time. And I don't think his rent check is going to clear.

At least he's not a pothead.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

XXXtremely Odd

I found this t-shirt a few days ago at the Goodwill Blue Hanger, aka "The Bins." As soon as I picked it up and saw what was on it, I felt kind of self-conscious and weird, like I was doing something dirty. Here's what it looks like:





This is awesome and disturbing on so many levels! What is this "TeXXXas Adult Rodeo"? Does is it still exist? What kind of events take place? Are there animals involved? Are cash prizes awarded? Do they have very special rodeo clowns? And the biggest question of all: Why, oh, why do they use a monstrous beast with flayed flesh, ram-like horns, snarling fangs, and exposed female boobs as their image? WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

If anyone knows anything about the reference behind this image or about the "rodeo," please let me know ASAP. I think. Maybe. Do I really want to know? Maybe!

Monday, June 09, 2008

Fun With Comments!


I've been wanting to do a new feature in which I pull the best/worst comments from the ole Felt Up Comment Files for a while now, and then I got one today that was good/bad enough to spur me into action.

The comment was in reference to an old post about "Nip/Tuck"; the tone was rather critical. Let's just say that Matt, the creepy Michael Jackson-lookalike son, has at least one extremely loyal fan! I may be wrong, but I believe this is the first time a commenter has called me a "hideous bitch." But the best part was the last line:

"Your writing is trite, and the author appears to be menopausal."

Well, Anonymous (if that is your real name), you are at least half right!

Also, I think I hear a new MySpace headline...

More fun comments to come.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

A Program Note

Dear Readers (Both of You):

As you may have noticed, someone has been remiss in her blogging duties lately, and that someone is your humble Felt Up blogette. I have no excuse other than the fact that I have been cruelly deserted by The Muse lately; somehow the Pete Wentz/Ashlee Simpson Hot Topic-meets-Alice In Wonderland goth-lite nuptials, the fact that a Starbucks barrista secretly put whole milk into Mary-Kate Olsen's nonfat lattes, even Britney Spears' bible vacation with Mel Gibson (!) have not inspired me to take finger to keypad. I am a teensy bit burned out on the gossip stories, my friends. I never thought it would happen to me, but it's true.

However, if for some strange reason you enjoy reading my ramblings, fear not. Felt Up is not dead, it's merely napping, like Lisa Rinna's facial muscles. When it wakes up, Felt Up may not take the exact form it does now; I'm thinking about retooling the whole concept to allow for more freedom about subject matter, and possibly combining my other two blogs (MySpace and Thrifty Cent) into one megablog where can I dump all my random thoughts and rantings. It's just a thought right now, but some day I hope to get financing to turn it into a notion, and then maybe, if I'm reallly lucky, an idea.

If you think you might enjoy reading about the day I spent in 1985 going to a comic book convention with Glenn Danzig, then by all means, keep checking back....if not, well, there may also be a post or two about my newly-acquired vintage Fonzie puzzle, or perhaps some photos of the newest wave of moths that have invaded my home, which gets more like Buffalo Bill's house in The Silence of the Lambs every day. And of course there will be the occasional gossip item--I'm not made of stone, you know!

Stay tuned!

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

I Shot The Gunn?

Apparently I filmed video of Tim Gunn's visit to Austin and don't remember it, because these videos from Austinist are shot from my exact perspective, right next to Friend of Felt Up Michele S. (You can see her cute short hair and glasses every now and then.) Perhaps I was in a blackout, despite not being drunk? Very odd!

Anyway, enjoy--they are in three parts and this is the last section, the Q & A, which is the most Gunn-y. There's more here:

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Texans Love Their Gunns!



Yesterday was a red-letter day for us hicks in sticks in Austin, because Mr. Tim Gunn of "Project Runway" and "Tim Gunn's Guide To Style" graced us with his presence!

Timmy G. was here to promote Liz Claibourne's new spring/summer line with a little fashion show at our local Dillard's department store. Friend of Felt Up Michele S. took matters into her capable hands and called Dillard's, reserved a bunch of seats, and got there early to make sure slackers like your humble Felt Up blogette wouldn't get left out in the cold, wandering around lost and hopeless in the Siberia of the nearby Dillard's "Woman" section (ie Fat Ladies' Clothes) without her help, so thanks again Ms. S.!

They had removed a bunch of racks in the middle of the womenswear section of the store and set up a runway and backstage area, plus a photo-op area (you had to spend $100 on Liz Claibourne to get a professional picture with Tim) and a bunch of chairs around the runway and a velvet rope to keep out all the people who didn't RSVP. Oh, such a nice feeling to be on the right side of the rope! Just like being inside Studio 54, except at 5:30 pm on a Wednesday in a mall in Texas.

It was fun to see who would show up for an event like this. Tim Gunn's Austin crowd was a pretty diverse mix of ages, races, sexual orientation, and body types. Everyone had obviously made an attempt to dress nicely, which kind of broke my heart a little. There were some totally awesome big-haired, plastic-surgered older rich ladies who looked like they had flown in from Dallas, and a great many 'tweens with their parents. Everyone was very excited, and when it got close to show time the whole place started reaching a fever pitch; the din was incredible. People were just about to burst with anticipation. I was not immune: I was able to catch a glimpse of a pin-striped arm backstage and I almost peed my pants.

First Tim's female perky co-host came out and blah blah blahed about Liz Claibourne and Mother's Day coming up and whatever; we just wanted TIM! Finally she shut up and he came out and the crowd went nuts. He was EXACTLY like he is on tv: Charming, erudite, a total delight in every way.



The fashion show began and it was nice because they used models of different sizes and ages, and a couple of times Tim and his co-host would come out on the middle of the runway and change up the look with a bag of accessories and Tim would make totally Tim comments like, "We all know that green can be dicey." Swoon! He also tends to get really red in the face which I found very touching, because it indicated nervousness. Or shock in the Texas heat. Whichever, it was sweet.



After the fashion show (which was a bit on the mom side, as expected, but there were quite a few really cute dresses), Tim took questions from the audience, which always makes me a bit nervous because I don't trust my fellow humanity in the slightest and am worried that someone will either be a) a crazy nutball, b) retarded, c) inappropriate, or d) all of the above. But to my relief, the questions were all fine and ranged from "I'm short. Should I wear a belt?" to "How much input to the producers have on the judging on 'Project Runway.'" The answer to the first question was, "It all depends on proportion, and you should try a variety of widths and materials. Try on, try on, try on!" while the answer to the second question was a bit longer but the gist of it was that the only time the producers have a say is when the judges are at a total stalemate/deadlock. He did dish a bit that he mistakenly thought the producers had intervend on Season 3 during the recycled materials challenge because he thought Vincent (loathesome nutty old Vincent! Ugh!) was so obviously the loser and should have gone home that he "burst into the producers' office" and had a fit over it, but it turned out to be solely the judges' decision. He also talked about concealing one's flaws and said of himself, "I'm a bowling pin!" Oh, Tim.

Overall, a wonderful experience and it didn't cost a penny. Tim made it work!

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

I Did Not Go There Thinking, “I’m Going to Punch Daisy in the Head.”



There are lots of post-"Rock of Love 2" interviews and blog reports about The Daisy/Heather Clash of the Tit-ans floating around right now, including this one (sent in by Friend of Felt Up Terri R.) on VH1 with Heather, featuring the insanely awesome quote in today's headline. It is a total delight from start to finish--apparently, Heather knows some dark secrets about Daisy that she won't blab about in public, unfortunately--but the bestest part of all is that she refers more than once to the NEW SHOW she is filming right now for VH1! Huzzah! A reason to live!

If you would like to get Daisy's perspective on The Fight, you can read her interview, too, the best part of which is this touching memory:

What did Bret say after?

”Well, you looked hot.” I was like, “OK, thanks Bret.” He’s sort of just an innocent guy, you know?

Oh, we know, Daisy. We know. Another great quote from Daisy:
The only thing I could think about was, please don’t ruin my hair.
Speaking of hair, Friend of Felt Up Joe E. pointed out this grrrrrrreat interview with Bret on CNN, in which Bret actually totally goes there:

Q: What are you hiding under that bandanna?

MICHAELS: My hair is combined of my hair and the finest extensions Europe has to offer. I do the show without it on all the time and they won't film me. They are like, "Put your bandanna back on. It is your image." It is my signature thing.

Sir, I owe you an apology. In a previous post I mentioned the "finest Malaysian weavemasters," but I was off by a whole continent. I know when I've made a mistake and am man enough to own up to it. And Bret, I am impressed that you have the (padded) balls to tell the world the truth about your tresses. It really does set you free, I think we can both agree on that.

Then we have a great blow-by-blow account of the reunion by sometime Jezebel Pot Psychology contributor, Rich Juzwiak, who talks candidly about the girls' collective crankiness from hunger and lack of nicotine infusions, Bret not appreciating host Riki Rachtman twice calling Bret a "likable pig," and the fact that the producers made Frenchie go put on a bra because her dress was too x-rated for cable tv (as was the lap dance she gave Bret, which was re-shot and highly edited). There are many, many wonderfully candid photos, too, so real "Rock of Love" affiaciados should hurry on over and take a look-see.

The saddest part about the reunion (besides the fact that Frenchie had to put a bra on, of course) was that Bret and Ambre seemed like they might really possibly like each other (at least enough to do it on his tour bus since the show ended), so that leaves "Rock of Love 3" up in the air. Although I am still working on my internet petition to make CC Deville the next eligible bachelor...If we all band together and get some catchy slogans going, I think we can force VH1's hand. WE'RE HERE, HE'S GOT NO CAREER, GET USED TO IT!

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Frightening Celeb Photo of the Day

Take a gander at this person and try to guess who it is:






Is it: a) Dita Von Teese, age 35

b) Bebe Neuwirth (age 50), possibly showing off her new witch's costume from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

c) a lesser-known offspring of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis going through a severe case of Hot Topic Fever, or

d) Evan Rachel Wood (age 20)?

If you guessed d), well, you're way cleverer than I am, because I had no idea who this was at first glance. Here's what Miss Wood, best-known for her lead role in the harrowing tweens-gone-amok movie 13, looked like before she sold her soul to beau Marilyn Manson:



Does she have parents? And does she realize she is now living the Kim Novak part in Vertigo?

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Daisy Speaks!


Run, do not walk, over to this insanely awesome post-"Rock of Love 2" finale interview with Daisy "Horseface Killah" De la Hoya! Here are some highlights:

1. She loves to read and write! Her least-surprising favorite books? Dirt by Motley Crue and Jenna Jameson's autobiography. Most surprising? Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf? by Edward Albee (which is technically a play and movie and not a book, but whatever)!

2. Bret's kissing is "very sensual, very passionate, that's one thing I love about Brett, he's very passionate. Soft and tender."

3. She bought at least one of her elimination dresses at Forever 21.

4. She is working on a book with Neil Strauss, who not only co-wrote the Motley Crue book, but also wrote The Game, about Mystery from "The Pick Up Artist"!!! The book will be a blow-by-blow account of each and every episode of "Rock of Love 2" which--and I'm sorry for the spoiler, but too bad--apparently included a "lot of standing around."

5. On the Wig Question:
He does have perfect hair. I think Bret's hair is awesome, as far as any rumor, I'll say no comment and you'll have to talk to him about that. I'll just say that his blonde hair goes perfectly with his blue eyes.
Not mentioned at all: Seraphim Shock or Marilyn Manwich!

Monday, April 14, 2008

A Price Above Boobies

Well, I was going to say a quiet requiem mass for the demise of "Rock of Love 2," but apparently it ain't over until the fat lady sings or the blonde stripper yanks a weave out of another stripper's head, whichever comes first. Check out this clip from next week's reunion show:



Just when you think you're out, they pull you back in!

OK. Let's get thee to a recappery!



**WARNING!**

**SPOILERS AHEAD!**

**SPOILERS THAT MIGHT MAKE YOU PUKE!**

Previously on "Rock of Love 2," Destiney was eliminated by reason of lack of insanity and Bret's final skanktestants were Daisy, her breasts, and Ambre.

Bret announces that they are all to be whisked off on a private jet to Cancun, Mexico, for a romantic three-person vacation. They arrive at a swanky hotel and are greeted by traditional Mayan dancers. Daisy looks confused, as do her boobs.

The girls go up the room they are sharing, which is kind of small, although there is a bed out on the balcony. A kind and thoughtful p.r. firm has left them gifts--a bunch of teensy tiny t-shirts and crappy hats to wear. They both pretend they are from Bret and squeal with so much delight that it makes me kind of sad.

They join Bret for dinner. Daisy whips out a list of questions she has written down that she wants to ask Bret. Daisy can write! Sentences! Or, at least, sentence fragments. Or someone else has written them for her. Which means she can at least read! Or she has memorized it all. Which means she can memorize! Well, maybe. Anyway, her main question is she wonders if her connection to Bret is merely a physical one, or if it might also have a deep, meaningful, intellectual component. Bret replies, "Uh, mainly physical." She tells Bret that she doesn't mean to use her sexuality on purpose, because as we all know, poor Daisy just woke up one fateful morning to find that God had bestowed upon her ginormous breast implants, trout lips, fake eyelashes and a complete wardrobe of stripper outfits and whore shoes. To not use these holy gifts would be an affrontery to the Lord, right?

Ambre wants to know what Bret thinks she "brings to the table" besides brownies, mom jeans, and 6 extra years that she forgot to mention. Bret thinks Ambre wants to win at all costs, which doesn't sound like a compliment, but with Bret you can never tell. Daisy and Bret both think Ambre is a jenny-come-lately to the whole rock skank lifestyle, and Ambre says that while yes, it's true that Bret is the first member of Poison she's ever dated (which is more than Daisy can say!), and yes, her previous beau was a Little League coach who liked to wear a "World's Greatest Cook" apron over his pleated shorts while he grilled in the backyard with the neighbors, she is now certain that a talentless balding, bewigged former rock star from the '80s who stuffs socks into the crotch of his carefully-ripped jeans is exactly what she's been looking for all along.

Bret tells them that first Ambre will have an all-day date with him, and then Daisy will have her turn. Shudder.

The next morning as Ambre is getting ready for her date, she and Daisy naturally get into a huge fight over sexiness. Daisy has hurt feelings because Ambre played the "sexuality" card with Bret, ie, saying that Daisy has sexuality and is not afraid to use it on weak-minded prey like Bret. Well, der. What the hell else is Daisy supposed to use--her razor-sharp wit and jaunty banter? She can barely speak without using her hands! (Seriously, what is up with that? The way she gesticulates it is as though she is physically dragging each and every syllable out of her cerebellum with her hands. If her arms were cut off, I'm pretty sure she'd be a mute.) Then Daisy really goes for the jugular, accusing Ambre of being UNSEXY. There is no worse insult than can be hurled on this show. Really. It's the "n-word" of "Rock of Love." Of course Ambre gets all riled up at this terrible slur and demands to know how, besides her complete lack of body fat, her scary/perky/intense personality, and soccer mom looks, she is not sexy. It quickly becomes like Joe Pesci in Goodfellas: "Am I clown to you? Do I amuse you? How am I so un-sexy? HOW AM I SO EFFING UN-SEXY?" So Daisy calmly explains that Ambre is a hunch-backed old crone who wears granny panties, and then proceeds to get up and rather cruelly imitate her hunchy posture while walking. Ambre, like the good suburban housewife she is, just sees this whole scene as one of life's lemons that has been handed to her, and she is determined to make lemonade out of it. Hot, sticky, sexy lemonade!

She arrives at the date with Bret, which takes place at what appears to be a Disneyland version of a Mayan temple in the jungle. Bret says he knows Ambre enjoyes "adventures," so they are going to have one and then get spa treatments. Their "adventure" consists of walking down a path and touching some giant moths. Dude, they could totally have an adventure like that at my house, for free. Then they get massages on tables set in the water and I start to get violently jealous because it really does look like a beautiful setting with a waterfall and greenery and discreet Mexican masseurs. And I remain very covetous until the precise moment when Ambre takes it upon herself to "step up her game" and straddle Bret's midsection while he lays on his stomach on the massage table. He's greased up like Ned Beatty in Deliverance. Much like a pus-filled blister, a really long makeout party then erupts, but it's far more revolting. (The viewing party finally figured out what makes Bret's makeout sessions with Ambre particularly nauseating and it's that she kisses exactly like he does, leading with her lips, like a dead fish. That's why he thinks she's "by far the best kisser" he's ever encountered! I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.)



They eat lunch and Bret talks about the fact that in the past he has dated people more in the Daisy vein, ie, young, cheap, and retarded, but Ambre goes into full-on selling mode. She knows her ABC's--Always Be Closing. She sounds like an HerbaLife or Mary Kay rep or something, with her eyes bulging out and her over-the-top perkiness that makes me want to lie down. She is in such a great place in her life! She knows exactly what she wants! She has so much to bring to this infamous table! Bret worries once again that she won't be able to handle his "rock-n-roll lifestyle." Oh, Bret. Anyone who has attended an oldies show in between riding the Tilt-a-Whirl and eating a corndog can handle your "rock-n-roll lifestyle."



After the day portion of the their date is over, they head back to the hotel to take an hour-long break and get ready for the (boom-whacka-whacka-boom-boom) evening portion. While Bret adjourns to his suite to festoon his wig with his formal doo-rag and put on his best bedazzled Affliction™ evening t-shirt, Ambre goes back to her room, where she finds a sulky, pouting Daisy. Daisy wants to know what they, like, did, on like, their date, and Ambre is still pissed about the "u-word" incident so she refuses to answer and they get into another tiff and Ambre calls Daisy a "hateful bitch." Daisy is disgusted with what she repeatedly calls Ambre's "white picket fence" lifestyle, by which she means not having become a stripper in order to support Marilyn Manwich, their terrible goth band, her boob job, and her lip implants. (I think now is as good a time as any to relay the fact that Friend of Felt Up Skinny J., who coined the name "Marilyn Manwich," also came up with Daisy's new nickname, "Horseface Killah." Well-played, Skinny J. Well-played, indeed.)

Ambre, trying and failing not to appear hunchy as she clomps her way to dinner in a very short and extremely unflattering minidress, dazzles Bret with her mom-ish sexuality. He tells her she looks "smokin' hot," which, in the universe of "Rock of Love" is akin to winning the Nobel Peace Prize, but skankier. Bret hands Ambre a box containing another thoughtful gift from yet another generous, gracious p.r firm hawking products for a client. This particular client appears to manufacture hideous charm necklaces. Ambre tries valiantly to believe that Bret actually went out and picked this just for her.

Ambre decides she needs to "turn up the heat," so she tells Bret that she's not wearing any underwear. And then it happens: THE GREATEST MOMENT IN TELEVISION HISTORY. Forget the "Daisy ad," Lucy getting pregnant with Little Ricky, the moonwalk, forget even last week's view of Bret's naked wig, because Bret actually asks if he "can see it." IT! He asks to see IT! ON TV! And Ambre just spreads those legs and lets him take a gander. AT IT! Then he asks to see IT again! And she shows IT to him, again! Let me tell you, we had to rewind that scene about ten times. I may never recover. I mean it. Anybody can see The Vagina Monologues, but "Rock of Love" goes one better and gives you The Vagina Dialogues. I wonder if IT has a wee white picket fence for a festive and ironic touch...

They go up to Bret's suite and totally do it.

The next morning Ambre has her walk of shame back to her room. Daisy is getting ready for her date with Bret and acting like a baby. What a shock!

Daisy and Bret go on their date, and this time it's a fishing trip on a big boat. Everything is going pretty well--they re-enact the "I'm the king of the world!" scene from Titanic at the front of the boat (I wish I was kidding)--and then suddenly it all goes awry. Daisy's equilibrium, which is no doubt already under duress from the unnatural extra ballast of those fake boobs, gets disturbed, and she turns green and feels pukey. And then pukes. Bret calls off the fishing expedition and turns the boat around. You can tell he feels extra-specially chivalrous for giving up his fishin' time for a chick. He rubs ice on her belly and for some reason this makes me want to hurl. When they get back to dry land they make out. I'm guessing that with all his years on the road Bret has developed quite a refined palate and can tell a lot about a girl from the way her puke tastes in his mouth: "Hmmm...it's piquant, but not overbearing. The chunks are a little on the mealy side, but the pear overtones and faint oakiness provide a nice mellow contrast. This one might be a keeper."



They go back to the hotel for dinner and Bret gives Daisy the identical horrible necklace that he gave Ambre. They talk about Daisy having a lot of love, and diseases, to give Bret, and that she's not from that "white picket fence" background that she won't shut up about. They make out for a bit and blibberty blahberty for a while and then make out some more.

They go up to Bret's suite and totally do it.



The next morning Daisy has her walk of shame back to her room. Where Ambre is sitting around doing nothing. The world of this show is so bizarre! They have both had sex with the same dude in the past 48 hours and have to sleep in the same tiny room in Mexico and make small talk with each other! Needless to say, it's a bit awkward.

Bret has a lot of thoughts to think, and so we must endure a montage of him walking on the beach while one of the incredibly terrible songs from his horrible new album plays horrifically in the background. What a conundrum! On the one hand, Daisy is young, "hot," and embraces his celebrated and hilariously overstated "rock-n-roll lifestyle," ie, she's a skank. On the other hand, Ambre is within a decade of his age, stable, determined, and showed IT to him on national television.

Finally it is elimination time. Bret shows up wearing his formal wig, evening bandanna, and a sharkskin silver suit which is ne flatter pas to his groinal region. He goes into all the usual pros and cons of each girl--he and Daisy have an "intense physical connection" and she's a rocker and blah blah blah, while Ambre is smart and beautiful, but perhaps not rock-n-roll enough to handle bagging up the leftover fruit trays after an evening of playing "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" for the 9,000,000th time at the pre-game show for the Cedar Rapids Kernels baseball team. Bret is looking not just for his Rock of Lust, or his Rock of Like, but his Rock of Love. Also, perhaps, his Rock of Cocaine.

The whole time he's gibberty gabbertying about this crap, Daisy and Ambre are convulsing, pouring sweat, and truly appear on the verge of fainting. They are either really nervous or they are suffering from a particularly virulent strain of Montezuma's Revenge. Either way, they are not exactly taking me to Erection Cove, let me tell you. But then, I'm not Bret Michaels.



He calls down Daisy. Is she the "winner"? Does she get to be his fake girlfriend? Is Horseface Killah his Rock of Love? NO! It's a classic fake-out! Her tour ends here. Daisy, and the world, is in total shock. I don't think her brain stem can handle this much stimuli. Bret interviews that as much as he cares for her, Bret worries that Daisy needs him more than she wants him. Which means that Heather's devious plan (to plant the seed of doubt in Bret's mind that Daisy was mainly looking for a sugar-daddy to cough up major cash to pay off her debts) totally worked! I consider this not just a failure for Daisy but a huge triumph for Heather and her evil stripper schemes! Huzzah!



So, in a move carefully calculated by his ever-dwindling "people" to increase sales of his new cd in the highly coveted 39-54 year-old suburban haus frau market, Bret has crowned Ambre his Rock of Lust, Like, And Love.



And scene.

Normally I'd be all sad and shit, but not this time! No, the promise of seeing Heather grab Daisy's weave off its tracks and pounding her to pulp has me giddy as a school girl in a short, slutty uniform. Yippee! It will not be until the reunion show is over that my whole world will crumble and I'll have to take to my bed. But until then, it ain't nothin' but a good time!

Monday, April 07, 2008

Triumph of the Wig

And then there were two. I know, it's hard to believe that we are already down to the final skanktestants on "Rock of Love 2," but like sand in the hourglass, so are the days of Bret's wig. Which we finally saw in all its lustrous, hand-sewn-by-master-Malaysian-weavemasters glory. But more on that later!


Rock-n-Roll! Whoo-hoo!

**WARNING!**

**SPOILERS AHEAD!**

**ALL WILL BE REVEALED, LIKE BRET'S HEAD!**

Destiney, Ambre, and Daisy return from Las Vegas--older, wiser, and, though I would have once thought it impossible, even more haggard than when they left. They eat a lackluster breakfast slumped over like used-up dish rags in Bret's McMansion kitchen. A note arrives with some buckets and cleaning supplies--are they going to detox Daisy's face? Noooo, they have to clean the house for mystery guests about to arrive. The fact that these girls actually put the rubber gloves on and get a' scrubbin' speaks volumes about this season's crop of contenders compared to last season's--can you imagine what Heather's reaction would have been if she'd been handed a mop?

After some half-hearted toilet cleaning, the girls get their first visitor...and it's Ambre's daddy, Daddy. He's a beefy southern man who for some bizarre reason seems less than thrilled that his daughter has given up her Sunday school class and PTA cookie-baking duties to find fake love on a reality show with the singer of Poison. Ambre immediately gets a thick southern accent and suddenly sounds (and looks) like some long-lost bottle-blonde Sugarbaker sister from "Designing Women." Bret comes out to greet Daddy and OH MY GOD THE WIG IS UNADORNED! He is unburdened by doo-raggery, unfettered by straw headgear! Stripped bare, his wig lies on his head as naked as the day it was born, back in 1992. It is mesmerizing. Like the day man landed on the moon or Oswald was shot in Dallas, this is going down as one of tv history's greatest moments. A day that will live in wigfamy. One small step for a wig, one giant leap for wigkind! BEHOLD:


Ask not what your wig can do for you, but what you can do for your wig.

Bret tries to be all down-homey and macho and talk about barbecue and football with Ambre's father, but the wig is kind of making a mockery of any Red State just-folks normalcy that he's trying to achieve.

Daisy interviews that she hasn't seen her parents in years and doesn't have any family to speak of. Does this mean her tio Oscar de la Hoya may show up and save the day and bring candy and presents? No, it does not. She's afraid her lack of kinfolk will make her look like a freak to Bret (in case her face didn't already do the job, of course) and she is kind of killing my buzz.

Next comes Destiney's parents, and they are totally and completely insanely awesome. Her dad is wearing a rocker velvet jacket and has tattoos encircling his head (that unfortunately look a great deal like hair plugs) and no teeth whatsoever, and I feel really bad because when I first saw him I made a crack about him looking a bit like a rock-n-roll Blue from Old School, but then felt like a total dick because he eventually reveals that he's dying of liver cancer and only has a few months to live. He and Bret immediately bond over their mutual love of motorcycles, cross-themed formal wear, tattoos, and lack of hair follicles. It's all rather sweet and tragic at the same time and why is this show making me sad when it is supposed to be about nothin' but a good time? WHAT IS GOING ON THIS SEASON?

Finally we get to see who has come to represent for Daisy and though I fervently prayed to God in heaven that C.C. Deville would show up as surprise "twist" guest, the best the show can come up with is...Marilyn Manwich's older sister, Meryl Manwich. Yes, Daisy's ex-boyfriend's sister is the closest "relative" they could cough up and again, what a goddamn bummer this is turning out to be. SIGH!

Barbecue time comes, and Bret starts asking Ambre's dad about his kids, and then Daddy drops the bombshell that Ambre is 37 years-old and not the 31/32 she has claimed to Bret and to that ridiculous swami dude and everyone else on Earth. Oh. My. Gawd! Bret is stunned and shocked that he has been making out with someone who is within 7 years of his own age, albeit under false pretenses. He wonders if she's been lying about anything else. Well, if she has claimed to drive anything other than a Dodge Caravan, then yes, Bret, she has.

For some reason, Bret feels the need to take all the family members into a screening room to watch a Poison concert video. Everyone is a bit uncomfortable because even Meryl Manwich--who has had to endure years of her baby' brother's Seraphim Shock concerts--can tell that this is a very terrible band. Well, everyone except Bret, of course, and Destiney, who is moved by the awful music to jump around and gyrate and act the fool. The slutty, stripperish fool. You'd think Bret would be kinda turned on by these antics, but he's a bit embarrassed for her and worries that she's too much of a groupie to really be there for him when he's off the stage at Six Flags' Magic Mountain.

Daisy and Bret and Meryl go off to the Rainbow Room, the world-famous rock club in Hollywood. Daisy is so impressed with this dump that it makes me, yet again, sad. Which makes me angry. Bret presses Meryl for more information on the whole are-Daisy-and-Marilyn-still-having-sex thing blah blah blah, and Daisy says that Marilyn cheated on her and that her world is not black and white, but color. Bret, Meryl, the entire human race, and possibly Daisy herself are all deeply confused by this explanation.

Back at Skank Manor, Ambre's Daddy tries to talk sensibly with Destiney about her future, which is sweet and hilarious and nonsensical at the same time, sort of like watching him ask an emu if it enjoys being feathered and would it mind if he put a wee beret on its head? Daddy asks her what happens if she gets picked by Bret and Destiney stares back uncomprehendingly, and he asks what would she be doing in six months, and she's all, "acting, doing music videos, being on tv shows, bartending, and hosting" and I think I can safely say that those last two are the only actual things she will be doing in six months, regardless of whether or not she is Bret's Rock of Love.

Meryl Manwich is trying to convince Bret that Daisy is being truthful about her relationship with her brother Marilyn. I think. It's kind of hard to figure out their convoluted soul-searching conversation. He still thinks Daisy is hiding something, but he wants to trust Meryl's "truthful eyes" and Daisy's "enormous fake boobs."

For his date with Destiney (ha ha!) and her parents, Bret has arranged for a motorcycle ride, which is a very kind thing, as Destiney's dad had to sell his motorcycle when Destiney was born. There are some nice scenes of the dad and mom on one bike and Bret and Destiney on his hideous yellow-checkered-cab-themed hog, riding around town and having a great time. Just when you start to think, "This show is kind of touching and these girls aren't so bad after all," they pull up at a tattoo parlor in a strip mall so that Destiney can get the "Rock of Love 2" logo tattooed on her neck for all eternity. First of all, Heather already did this and did it 1000% awesomer, because she went insane and had Bret's name tattooed, beyotch! Hells to the crazy! Secondly, skank+ neck tattoo+"Rock of Love"=Kiss of death. And speaking of death, this is how you want to spend your precious remaining time with your father?



Bret actually has the nerve to get pissy because she is not so batshit nuts as to put the words "Rock of Love 2" in the tattoo! He thinks Heather was more "committed," but look how that worked out for her, Bret! Jeez Louise, man. Let this girl salvage some teensy shred of dignity! Wait, wait--what am I saying? It would have been way better tv to see Destiney get "Rock of Love 2: Electric Skankaloo" etched into her skin forever!

Then it's time for Bret's date with Ambre and Daddy. They go to a sushi restaurant, even though Daddy clearly would rather eat Bret's wig. Immediately the Age Issue is brought up by Bret, and Ambre is shocked--shocked!--to learn that she lied to Bret about being 37 and not 31. The way she talks during her interview, it's like she has just found out that she was in a coma and said crazy things while unconscious. She explains to Bret that she constantly lies about her age due to her super-successful career in "show business," and basically says she is so used to lying about it that "31" just popped out of her mouth without her even thinking about it! It could happen to anyone! She interviews that she is terrified this will undo all her work at gaining Bret's trust, and she's crying and near-hysterical that she has blown it. She tells Bret she has fallen in love with him. I, on the other hand, have fallen in love with the piece of ahi tuna her dad is trying to gag down while all this drama swirls around him. Why am I suddenly reminded of Inna ?



When the various family and sort-of-not-really-family members get ready to leave, Ambre's dad hopes, awesomely, that Ambre can do "better than Bret Michaels," which is HILARIOUS, Meryl Manwhich calls her brother "Chuck" which I'm sure sent paroxyisms of embarrassment through Seraphim Shock HQ (ie, Daisy's apartment in Denver), and Destiney's parents were warm, likable, genuine, and, naturally, doomed.

When the skanktestants are alone again, Ambre decides to ask Destiney about her level of love for Bret. Is she one gazillion percent, truly, madly, deeply, fairytale storybook in looooooooove with Bret like Ambre and Daisy are? Destiney, showing hitherto unseen reserves of sanity and reason, says, "well, no, actually, I barely know the dude." She continues that yes, she is THERE for Bret and OPEN to loving him, etc etc, but she can't give her heart entirely to someone who might not love her back. And for this she will be BURNED AT THE STAKE. For clearly only an evil witch with hands soiled by the blackest magic would proclaim that she would not lay down her very soul for a 44-year-old has-been rocker in a wig! UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN! KILL! KILL!

Elimination time. Before you can say "hairweave for men," Ambre and Daisy have set up the pyre, tied Destiney to a post, and lit the match. They tell Bret that Destiney knowingly and with malice aforethought did admit to the greatest crime on reality competition dating shows: That she is not 100% in lurve with Bret. Bret's hands are tied. He knows the rules, man. He tosses the match and Destiney meets her destiny. Bret is sad.


Whassa goin' on, Bret?

(What's really sad is that her sweet dad, who predicted that he would only live until March, is proven true by the tribute/coda at the end of the show.)

But let's not let these tragic events get us down! Next week it's PARTY TIME IN CANCUN!


The final 2! Plus Ambre!

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Between The Hard Rock and A Hard Place

Whassa goin' on, skanks? It's time once again for your "Rock of Love" recap! Oh, my, this was quite an episode. But first, I have some unfinished business to take care of from last week. I finally found a picture of The Smelling Sandwich! Here you go:



OK, I feel much better. Now let's get right into Episode 10: Attack of the Clones, shall we?

**SPOILERS AHEAD**

**WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

**STAYS IN MY RECAP AS A SPOILER!**

This week the skantestants--plus Heather! huzzah!--are whisked away from Sloot Manor in an ultra-classy stretch Hummer that takes them to Bret Michaels' personal, private totally-rented-by-VH1 Lear jet, which is flying them all to Las Vegas, yay!


Bret still foolishly believes they're going to have nothin' but a good time.

There are some misty eyes out in the audience as they replay a very moving montage from last season's ill-fated Vegas jaunt...who can keep a dry eye when re-watching Lacey collapse on the bar in a drunken stupor or Brandi M. spew vomit into her napkin like a whale spouting water out of its blowhole? Who among us is made of stone? Who, I ask?

Poor Bret has high hopes that this trip to Sin City will be a rawkin' good time, but, alas, he is sadly mistaken. It all begins cheerily enough, with the gang's arrival at--where else?--the Hard Rock Hotel. The ladies get a ginormous suite all to themselves, plus there's a bunch of hideous gifts that Bret has bought for them waiting on a table--all manner of pink cowboy hats, Hot Topic grab bags, and all the doo-rags a girl could ever dream of. There's also a note from Bret indicating that Jessica The Innocent and Destiney, Destiney, No Escaping, Not For Me are to put on what I misheard as "goth" outfits and meet him for a round of golf, while Ambre The Soccer Mom and Daisy de la Trout-a would be having dinner with Bret later. I didn't even blink an eye at the "goth" reference--of course it turned out to be "golf outfits," but it's pretty funny that it made sense within the realm of this show that Bret might have wanted them to play goth golf.

Jessica is totally psyched because she played varsity golf in high school ("varsity"? did she go to Gerald Ford High or something?), while Destiney has never played before. Heather, being enchantingly, delightfully evil, gives the two girls an '8os makeover, ratting out their hair and giving them giant side ponytails and whatnot. Sadly for Heather (and us) Bret sees their new look and is kinda turned on by this visual walk down memory lane. (I like to imagine that sometimes late at night he is visited by the Ghosts of Groupies Past, like an '80s hair band version of Scrooge in A Christmas Carol.)


You are my Density!

Back at the Hard Rock, Heather is continuing her mission of destroying all the contestants' lives, bless her. She asks Daisy and Ambre if they've done it with Bret, and Daisy says, "Yeah, like 500 times!" I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or trying to one-up Heather, but either way, biiiiig mistake, because much like a tiger in a zoo, everyone knows that YOU DO NOT TAUNT THE HEATHER! Ambre has to tell the truth, that she has only, like the rest of the known free world, made-out with Bret in a totally disgusting manner. Daisy interviews, rather unkindly, that she can't imagine Ambre and her "granny panties" doing it with Bret. Well, neither can I, but then I can't imagine anyone doing it with Bret or I might vomit myself to death. And hey, soccer moms can have thongs too! Right under their elastic-waist Lee Mom Jeans™ ! Actually, I bet that would kinda be a turn-on to ole Bret...

Daisy and Heather have some girl talk, and Heather gets Daisy to admit that she doesn't think she has any real competition left, that Bret's doo rag is practically in the bag. Then Heather writes all this down in her slam book and calls Ambre in and shows it to her, so Ambre spills her darkest suspicions--that Daisy is a gold-digger who is trying to find a be-wigged cash cow to get her out of boob job, lip injection, and live-in ex-boyfriend debt. (I must take a moment here to send heartfelt kudos to Friend of Felt Up Skinny J., who hails from Daisy's hometown of Denver, for coining the new nickname "Marilyn Manwich" for Daisy's gothy douche ex-boyfriend. Well-played!) Heather is beside herself with glee and surreptitiously snatches a hair from one of Daisy's extensions to make a hightly effective black magic voodoo doll in order to make Daisy's life a living hell. Oh, Heather. You are a precious gift!

Heather wants Ambre to promise that she'll bring up all this Daisy-in-debt stuff with Bret at their dinner date, and Ambre agrees, because she is now a zombie under Heather's santeria spell! Heather cackles and rubs her claws together in delight, puts some eye of newt into her cocktail, and then mentions that Bret thinks with his penis, which I really wish she hadn't said, because, while true, it is the stuff of horrific nightmares. I keep seeing a wee doo rag and miniature cowboy hat and...well, you get the picture. The terrible, terrible picture.

At the golf course, Jessica shows Bret that she's not just an innocent who can't hold her liquor, she's an innocent who can't hold her liquor who can golf. Destiney can't play golf to save her life, but being no idiot, she, like the song says, accentuates the positive and eliminates the negative by using the golf course as her own personal gynecologist's office, bending over and showing off her nether regions to Bret whenever she gets the chance. Which is often. She gives a whole new meaning to "a hole in one." Jessica tries valiantly to slut it up by making out with Bret constantly, but it feels a bit forced. Bret actually says that this golf course is the kind of place where you can "make love" late at night. I had no idea that Bret writes scripts for Lifetime mini-series!

There's some tension between Daisy and Destiney when the skanks meet up at the hotel room, but then Destiney and Ambre are off for their dinner with Bret. Right off the bat, Bret starts in on Daisy and her relationship with Marilyn Manwich. Daisy reveals the surprising news that Seraphim Shock, her ex's awfully bad band, is not bringing in the bacon and he is not otherwise employed, so she is supporting him. She brings up for the millionth time this lease they signed which is quite unusual in that it is a residential lease on an apartment that lasts approximately 10 years.



Bret suspects that Daisy is leaving some important aspect out of the story, and even though for some strange reason she seems like she'd rather not talk about it on national television, she finally admits that she aborted Marilyn's baby 'wich, and that he was supportive of her through this ordeal and that's why she's still loyal to him. (I saw this coming a mile away, by the way, as soon as she said they'd been through "some crazy-ass shit" together. That is Skank for "abortion," I checked my dictionary.) Of course if they broke up 2 years earlier as she claimed, why are they still so co-dependent? Would Damone have stayed with Stacey in Fast Times for two years? I don't think so.

Ambre sees her chance and breaks into the sobfest to do Heather's dirty work. Ambre wonders how Daisy can afford to support her ex-boyfriend and pay off her enormous debt for her enormous boobs and various other body enhancements, which leads to the shocking--SHOCKING--confession that Daisy is a stripper. Who would've believed it? I totally thought she was a physics professor or read to the blind or something.

Ambre actually thinks that her not being a stripper will be more appealing to Bret! Oh, poor, deluded Ambre.

In the hotel room, Heather keeps stirrin' up the shit by telling the others that Daisy thinks Bret has already chosen her and that she's done it with him 500 times. This news sends Destiney into a fit, and she flings herself upon the pool table that is set up in the suite. She kind of flails around and makes piggy noises. It's not a flattering look for her, but it is pure entertainment for the rest of the known universe. Then we get an awesome quote from Jessica, who says that when Daisy comes back to the room, "it's going to be on like Donkey Kong." You may be a "young soul," Jessica, but sometimes you are very wise.

The second Daisy and Ambre return, Destiney is all up in Daisy's face and they're screaming at each other. Then Ambre gets in on the action and none of it makes any sense, but basically since Kristy Joe left they have to gang up on someone. This all reminds me of Blubber, by Miss Judy Blume, except without a fat girl and with less maturity; it also brings to mind Lord of the Flies, except without a fat boy and with less maturity. Jessica doesn't partake in the melee, because while she may be innocent, she's not retarded. Heather is enjoying watching her well-laid plans come to fruition. She's like Glenn Close playing her evil games in Dangerous Liasons, except without French people and with less maturity.

Daisy tries to leave and go into her room, but they follow her in there, thank god. Heather is damned if she'll let Daisy end up with her "friend," ie Bret, ie the love of her life, and Daisy rather unwisely responds by rolling her eyes at her. Nobody rolls their eyes at Heather! Them's fightin' gestures! Heather throws some kind of drink in Daisy's face! Huzzah! Sad for Daisy, awesome for us!

Just then Big John comes in to bring the skantestants up to Bret's even more ginormous suite for some rockin' good times! Bret, of course, has no idea about the bitchfest that has been going on. He tries to get them to let loose and party, but you can cut the tension with Heather's well-concealed knife. Bret sits them down for some gambling at his private in-room blackjack table, but in about two seconds the fight erupts again between Daisy and Destiney--blah blah living with boyfriend blahbitty blah two years no sex blah blah BLAH! Destiney throws a drink at Daisy and in so doing manages to knock over another glass onto the blackjack table and that is IT, Bret has had ENOUGH and calls in Big John to do...whatever it is Big John is supposed to do in these situations. Bret leaves in disgust! Whassa goin' on? Why must these crazy girls rain on Bret's wig?



Destiney interviews that she might have made a tactical error in losing her cool at Bret's private Las Vegas blackjack table. It's a pretty big deal. Kind of like peeing in the baptismal font in the Vatican--it's just not done.

So of course none of this is dramatic enough for Heather, who tells Daisy that she's "sucking" her way out of debt (hee hee!), and Daisy screams, through tears and sillicone and god knows what else, that her uncle is OSCAR DE LA HOYA, which of course we all already know, having internet stalked her weeks ago, and she says she could've totally gotten money from him if she was so desperate. (I'd love to hear that conversation: "Tio? Es Daisy Waisy! Yo quiero mucho dinero para mis nuevas ta-tas y mis labias gordas, y tambien para mi ex-novio, Senor Marilyn Manwich, porque el es un douchebag y el no trabaje. Gracias!" I realize Oscar de la Hoya is an American, but indulge me!) All this ruckus brings Bret out of his seclusion and he comes in to break up the fight and punish Daisy by taking her into his bedroom for some face time.



They have the exact same soul-searching conversation that they've had 10 gazillion times--is she there for him? does she still care for Manwich? is she there for the right reasons? etc etc. There are no real answers, but she leaves feeling better about things and goes back to her suite, where the haters are waitin' for some hatin' on her.

The next day Destiney is in a bit of a panic that her drunken behavior might send her home.

Heather comes in to talk with Bret and finalize her plan to eradicate all women on Earth who might compete with her for his love. And more power to her! I know I'm safe. She tells Bret that Ambre would be more comfortable in a Dodge Caravan than on his tour bus, that Jessica is too innocent and young to handle his rock-n-roll lifestyle (they all act like Bret's life is one long orgiastic Exile On Main Street tour, when really it's like three dates a year at Knott's Berry Farm, which I think Jessica could manage), and Destiney is too much of a rocker for his rock-n-roll lifestyle, somehow. Basically, they are not Heather and thus must be smote down. Smote, I say!

Then Bret totally breaks the world's heart and makes Heather leave! She's too much of a distraction! They talk about being great friends and blah blah blah, but it's pretty tragic. Don't go, Heather! Come back! COME BACK! (However, on the upside I did discover that there is unaired footage of Bret and Heather making out and rolling around on the bed right before she takes off! Check out the interview about it with Heather here!)

Bret sets up shop in the empty Hard Rock club (I believe the same one where he played during last season's infinitely more festive Las Vegas trip) so he can talk to Jessica about his many, many endless concerns about her innocence and lack of jaded whore freakiness that he feels is de rigeur for manning the merch booth while he's singing "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" at the State Fair. Jessica tries to assuage his fears by saying she can be the unstable, cruel, bitch slut rock-n-roller he needs her to be! She can, she can, she can! She will be whatever she needs to be to win his heart! She will remake herself into any image that will get her victory! Jessica is the Hillary Clinton of "Rock of Love 2."

Then Bret calls in Daisy. He still feels like there are things she's keeping from him. And because he presses her, she finally reveals the single best secret ever kept on this or any other tv show in the history of man: SHE HAD A RELATIONSHIP WITH BRET'S FELLOW POISON MEMBER C.C. DEVILLE! Yee-ha! Although she swears she only "befriended" C.C. and that it was never sexual, Bret is mighty disturbed. As well he should be. If the tv gods were kind and benelovent, they would have brought C.C. to Vegas right then and there and let the three of them hash it out for our viewing pleasure! (I looooove C.C. Deville! He sounds just like an olden-timey Borscht Belt comedian but with glam make-up and giant spiky blonde hair! He made the Poison "Behind The Music." He is a delight.) But, alas, 'twas not to be. They do not bring in C.C. to have a heart-to-heart-to-fake-boob confab. They tease us, but they do not please us.

Bret is, naturally, concerned about all this, but he also says he's "massively attracted" to her. Bret has the worst taste I have ever seen. Daisy looks like Hedwig and Alexis Arquette's lovechild, mixed with Janice the Muppet, but less pretty.

Daisy interviews that she's worried all this information may lead to her elimination. And then she acts like there are still MORE hidden, potentially-reality-show-ending secrets that she has not yet imparted! Is she Bret's long-lost daughter? Does she have a terminal disease? Was she (allegedly) raped by Rikki Rocket? WHAT ELSE COULD THERE BE?

At eliminations, Daisy seems to be having an epileptic fit of some kind. Seriously, she's crying, shaking, gurgling, and mewing all at the same time. But she need not worry, for she gets the first pass! Wow. Bret really, really likes the crazies. The crazies with the big fake boobs. Destiney starts crying, because she sees the writing on the wall, and it says, "I May Be Escaping My Destiney After All." Then Ambre gets called, which is not a big surprise, and now it's down to Jessica and Destiney.

He talks a bit about Jessica's Mother Teresa-like purity and "young soul," and then he discusses his fears that that Destiney might get in a fight with a fan and cause a potential lawsuit. (Really? Bret would be personally liable if his fake girlfriend attacked an overly-friendly groupie with a broken bottle? Who knew?) In the end, crazy potential legal liability wins out over sweetness and light, and Jessica is sent packing.


Jessie, we hardly knew ye.

If I feel like I just finished the Bataan Death March re-capping this thing, how must Bret Michaels feel? He LIVED it! Isn't this supposed to be fun? Oh, Bret. Please, I beg of you, just dump all three of these skanks on the final episode like that guy on "The Bachelor" and run off into the sunset with Heather! PLEASE!

Next week, Ambre's dad comes on the show. She's young enough to have a living parent? (That was mean, I'm sorry. I'm very depressed about Heather's exit from our lives!)