I have watched a few episodes of Rock of Love 2, and I just can't stomach it anymore. Please understand the implications of this. SGM rejecting a VH-1 celeb-reality show during a writers' strike is akin to Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag going into seclusion. It just doesn't happen.
Perhaps I do not like Rock of Love 2 because Brett Michaels is too old for a second season, and the women "aren't really there for Brett," but there for 15 degrading minutes of fame. Or perhaps it is simply because I feel that Brett should be with Heather from last season:
Isn't she a peach?
I don't know, and I don't even care to analyze it.
Brett, I don't even care enough to sit you down and talk to you about all of this. Wait--I do care enough to ask, "would you please own the fact that you are balding?" Those hair extensions aren't fooling anyone. Is this a recent picture? It's from your official website, which I presume is current. No man in his mid-40s has full, lustrous hair like this.
I saw that episode (the phone sex one) last season, pre-extensions, where you were sans hat and bandana. Remember that? Your hair was embarrassingly fluffy, especially in the bang area, which only served to highlight the thinning. Honey, you're almost 45 and diabetic to the point you've been incapacitated on your show. Take it easy. There's no way you can win this race without looking like Lauri Waring Peterson or your old sex tape buddy Pam Anderson. Shave your head or something. Embrace your older self. You can still use the self-tanner, but with restraint. I bet you'd still be pretty decent-looking guy (well, maybe not, but that's what you get from years of rock star partying. Every rose has its thorn. Hee hee).
And while I'm at it, what's up with that enormous bulge in your pants? WE GET IT , BRETT. You're all man. Can you work on being more subtle about it?
Look at me getting all riled up about Brett's appearance. There's some life in me yet.
Anyhow. I'm at my breaking point, people. Surviving on reality tv alone is like eating a diet consisting solely of donuts. It sounds like a good idea, a fucking awesome idea in fact, but after a few weeks, you just end up fat and toothless and stupid. Eventually you start to crave something healthy and substantive, e.g. shows that do not feature stripper poles or lips collagen-ed beyond recognition.
Yeah, yeah, the Writers Guild* is thisclose to making a deal. Whatever. By the time a new episode of The Office comes on, I'll be doing the unthinkable, like having an actual conversation with my husband or reading a book. And then it will be too late.**
*Dude, "Writers" isn't possessive? Jesus. I don't trust these people. Not one bit.
**Who am I kidding. It won't be too late. I'll come crawling back. But I just wanted to make a point with the writers and the networks, you know? They don't fully realize the suffering.