After much anticipasian, VH1′s new celebromanceality show Rock of Love premiered last week, proving to millions of viewers that Groupies don’t die; they just get chunky highlights, put on a clean dress, and pop out good as new. In this season of ROL, Poison’s golden boy Bret Michaels will take his pick between ladies of all sizes and shapes, all of whom will do just about anything to have Nothin’ But A Good Time with him in the bedroom.
For those who don’t remember, Bret and his band Poison spent most of the late eighties making Hair Rock that all the real rockers (like Ozzy and Axl) despised, but inspired ladies around the world to hike up their skirts and spread their legs on demand.
Of course I had every Poison record. Of course I wanted to lick Bret’s insulin syringe. Of course I’ve seen the reunited band perform three times in the last 5 years. Don’t judge me!!!!!!!!!!
The Flavor of Love knockoff has just about everything required by the formula for success: a large house with a hot tub, a faded rock star that still arguably has his hair, attention whores who make out with visible tongue, lots of booze, and…
…wait. There’s one thing missing. One thing. What is it? What is it? What could it be? It’s driving me nuts!
Ah, ’tis true. I’ve scrutinized the cast at length and found not one almond-eyed harlot in the bunch. What the F? Somebody should have called–Between me, Jen, my three sisters, Kristi Yamaguchi, and our 5 autographed copies of Open Up And Say… Aaaaaaahhh!!!—I’m sure one of us could’ve dug up a leopard-print miniskirt in time to show some representasian.
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