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But look, I don’t always need to get what I want. Who cares about elminasian when Asian parents might get involved? Just knowing that Terry would ultimately have to confront his cheating demons in front of Kate–Nicole’s awesome, loving-and-cool-yet-obviously-not-without-a-Hardass-laser-beam-glare mom–was enough to make me squeal like a pig with glee this VH1 week.
Watch Terry’s moment of truth (seated in therapy: Terry’s parents on his right, and Nicole’s baby bro and mom on her left) below:
It’s kind of the worst possible thing to imagine, right? Reality camera crews and the eventual eyes of the nation might seem kind of non-judgmental when you’re knee deep in filming, I’m sure. But–whether cameras are on or off–nothing’s more shameful than saying that you can’t tame your dick in front of PARENTS. Especially parents that think you’re a JERK.
So you’d think in a moment so mortifying, Terry could have mustered a more realistic “I’m sorry,” right? Me too. But…nah.
Filed under: Awesome Mothers, Bastards, Cheating, Hardass Asian Moms, Hardass Asian Parents, Moms, Reality TV, Shameful Behavior, Terry and Nicole, Therapy, Tool Academy, Tool Academy 2, Vh1, Ways to Not Look Sorry
Dear Reality TV Gods,
I don’t ask for much, right? Most of the time I just check in, see how you’re doing, sacrifice a few hooker bitches in the fire pit, and call it a day.
But on this very special day, I’ve got one request. I’d like to pray for the elimination of one
dude douche from Tool Academy 2 this week.
The thing is, I’ve had my eye on this dork Terry all season, and assumed he’d be gone by now. For starters, he’s not cute enough for his too-nice-and-too-pretty girlfriend, Nicole (pictured, left). He’s not cute at all, IMHO (I suck at Interwebz acronymz and that’s my first time using “IMHO,” by the way–think it workz?), especially when you take his man boobs, white sunglasses, and poseur-popped collar into account. [shudders]
Listen, I know Nicole’s got a role in this too. She started dating this fool, and after lots of bad years is still willing to take it to the Academy to make the relationship work (Maybe she’s a doormat, but hey. she’s a telegenic one with resolve). However, she’s a woman looking at long years of potentially wasteful love–I feel like her judgment is impaired. After all, in just half her stay at the Tool Academy, she’s watched tape of her boyfriend doing bodyshots off of a bunch of dirrrty lady plants…
…witnessed her relationship being referred to as a “speed bump, not a stop sign,” then sat through her dude’s pathetic, foot-in-mouth speech about how she’s “not his type,” but that’s a “good” thing…
…and on and on. Then there was the nonsense of 2 weeks ago, when Terry lost his shit watching Nicole receive a cheesy hand massage from a gentleman recruited for a set-up date. And the madness of last week, when he used both therapy and a “romantic date” to tell Nicole that she was out of line and couldn’t be trusted.
All of the above is in addition to Terry’s bullying of Nicole through the entirety of a physical, arduous team competition that nearly made her vomit (Who cares about spew when you might win something?).
Gods, I’d honestly hoped that you’d do the right thing in episode 5 and dump Terry for being a little bitch. But you didn’t. You cut the giant tool for thrashing your set in prior episodes (weird).
Frankly, I’m not sure that I trust Nicole to cut him either. She should’ve walked out on Terry by now, in a glamorous exit of flipping the bird and yelling, “Fuck this stupid fake fucking VH1 school and, by the way, fuck fucking you, you fat, ugly, idiotic assfuck!” She should have, and she might. But I’m not convinced she’s there yet.
The thing is, I like Nicole. I feel bad for her, and I think she needs to take a step back and realize she’s way too good for this nonsense. She needs a self-esteem boost, and I feel like I’ve got tons of male buddies that would be willing to “boost” for her (Just call and say the word, lady!).
So this is where you come in, Gods. Let’s trash this fool. Please make him go out with such a bang this week that he weeps in the elimination, weeps on the podium, and weeps as Nicole dumps his stupid ass. May he never hold her hand again, or do body shots anywhere within a 3,000 mile vicinity of her perky little figure. She can do so much better. Can’t we all?
Thanks so much, and I’ll def be sacrificing more hooker bitches tonight!
with about twelve other series
By now, you may have noticed that I’m a true sucker for the train wreck that is VH1 reality programming. Their collaboration with producers 51 minds has yielded a hamster wheel of sublebrity drama–a cycle that bests even that of the Bachelor franchise–in which drunk biatches can become self-righteous boyfriend bait faster than you can say, “Did this all really begin with Flava Flav and Brigitte Nielson hooking up?”
Yes, it’s trash. But do you really blame me? Life, as you’re well aware, is really fucking tough if you take a moment to smell not only the roses, but the feces tornadoes that are our country’s democratic conversation or the world’s ability to feed itself. A person needs an escape. Sometimes it’s heroin, sometimes it’s Rummikub. Sometimes it’s Bret Michaels banging a really gross, crazy chick.
So of course I was first in line to watch my most loathed character ever, Megan Hauserman, televise her gold digging on Megan Wants A Millionaire. The brain cells I lost during the pilot were more than made up for by the gleeful groans I expressed while watching oogly, self-important “millionaires” (Does $1.1 million ‘net worth’ really count? Not that I’m number crunching) vie for the affections of a weak-voiced, leggy blonde whose face will certainly go within the next five years.
As the first few episodes rolled out, it seemed Megan was actually reality gold: far more savvy than your average trophy wife, with a complete lack of soul. In fact, it seemed almost organic to set the match-up process of money-making douchebag with money-grubbing tramp in a TV elimination process, since it’s all fuckery and performance anyway.
I was enthralled. And though she rubbed lips with both grubby old dudes and closeted trust fund baby, I held high hopes that by Episode 13, she’d realize that her perfect match was a cocky Canadian playa named Ryan, who caught her early attention by telling Megan he wouldn’t make her sign a prenup (game, set…). Three shows along, and I felt Ryan was in it to win it.
Then, suddenly, it got real dark.
Ryan, who apparently moved on to the 3rd season of I Love Money and married Playboy model Fiore shortly after getting eliminated by Hauserman (the marriage was short-lived), was thrust into a completely different kind of spotlight when his ex-wife was found dead and mutilated in an Orange County dumpster nearly two weeks ago. After fleeing on foot, he was upgraded from “person of interest” to person charged with murder. Yesterday, he himself was discovered dead, hung from a coat rack in a motel room. And as it turns out, Jenkins had a record of domestic violence, for assaulting a girlfriend in 2005 (shame on the producers for their shoddy background checks).
VH1 has since canceled and erased all trace of Megan Wants a Millionaire and I Love Money 3 from their website and program listings.
And I find myself now reeling with both fascination and strange pangs of guilt for watching him in the first place. It’s natural when watching reality to get to know, begin to identify with, and develop loose affection for the contestants. So watching this kind of terrible saga unfold feels, for some reason, personal. Why must I feel that way? It’s horrific.
Perhaps the reality is that reality television isn’t just an escape. The players may be trashy, the music cues may be funny, but the people are real. And sometimes, all too real.
I happen to enjoy the fact that Twisted Sister is making strides towards a comeback, even though they were never really at the top tape of my bin (They were kind of a “Pontiac Firebird” band, and I always felt more “Chrysler LeBaron Convertible”). Dee Snider actually entertains me quite consistently as a droopy-faced older gent with a bag full of memories and VH1 sound-byte commentary–much more so than the droopy-faced, garish loudmouth he was in his youth.
When director Ben Kim told us that he and D.P. Jonathan Yi (Ed. note–Two almond-eyed men bossing people around from behind the camera? Yummers!) had helmed a hot of ze presses music video for Twisted Sister’s newest track, “30,” we were pleased as punch.
We really just kinda love their straightforward approach–Simple setting, clean concept: A dramatic dusting off of Marshall stacks and a sweet-ass drum kit. Old metalheads giving it another go.
And the fact that two of our peeps have the mettle to shoot metal in HD? Even better.
Filed under: Aging Nicely, Ben Kim, Comebacks, Cool Music Videos, Dee Snider, I So Fucking Love Hair Metal, Jonathan Yi, Metalheads, One of Us One of Us One of Us, Twisted Sister, Vh1, We're Gonna Take It
Daisy De La Hoya, one of my favorite jilted lovers ever to be dismissed by Bret Michaels on Rock of Love 2, is–rather surprisingly–a strong enough character to carry her own show. Predictably, Daisy of Love features Miss Daisy taking a booze-and-gasp-filled tour down Douchebag Lane, in hopes that she’ll be able to settle down with a boyfriend that’s VD-free and mentally stable-ish enough to emotionally support her through rocky career exploits of modeling and singing.
The series premiere, which first aired over the weekend, introduces viewers to 20 guys vying for the lady of the hour’s heart (Note if you haven’t yet watched: Without fail, every time you gasp in horror at the level of douchery exhibited by a newly-introduced cast member, prepare to hear Daisy say something like, “Yummy!” or “Just my type!”).
It’s like an all-encompassing television answer to the hypothetical questions I often find myself ask when eying the creepy, forced “alt” stores on Melrose Ave., Hollywood Blvd., or St. Mark’s Pl.: “Who the hell buys pre-safety pinned mesh tank tops?” or “Are people still dying their hair with Manic Panic?” or “People don’t pierce their muthafuckin’ foreheads now, do they? ” Oh, and less often: “Is it really possible to get a 6 gauge Prince Albert piercing? That shit can’t feel good.”
By episode’s end, five dudes get the boot. Without blinking, the little lady dismisses three Swedish brothers that share a band, a personality, and a lady (and who seem about as cool as, like, Tokio Hotel), that are more interested in eating the set’s catered buffet than making a love connection. Also saying “lates”: a goofy, pale, high school dropout that Daisy isn’t attracted to.
But as is often the case, the most interesting parts of elimination night are the reveal of the big winner and big loser, in this case also a study of the difference between “Being Asian and Getting Laid” and “Being Asian and Not Getting Jack Shit.”
At the top of the pack lands Daniel, aka Fox:
And how does he seal the deal? Doling out compliments, flashing his pearly whites, and sucking face on the first night. An easy peasy technique that almost always works. Kudos to Fox–can somebody grab this guy a Costco pack of Trojans?
But booooooo… closing out the cuts is Kenn, aka Torch:
If Torch’s chin pubes and Jem hair don’t scare a lady, his weak conversational skills and incessant determination to speak Swahili to non-Swahili speakers certainly will.
Lord knows I won’t miss Torch in the episodes to come. Not him, not his hair, and not his clickity-clackety tongue. After all–with 15 jokers to choose from–Daisy can definitely find herself a better tongue (albeit probably a pierced one).
I’m not one to be a stickler for quality control in any of VH1′s fucktarded celebreality programs–if I was, I couldn’t possibly enjoy the bounties of mindless hits like Rock of Love and the now-defunct Charm School.
But I do wonder what genius came up with this season’s new ideazzZZzz to book I Love New York‘s namesake star for an energy drink commercial in Japan (how wacky!), painted up like a Geisha bobblehead drag queen, and asked to break a board with her hand by a fisting/shouting/wacky Jap director? (Skip to 00:50 of the video to watch.)
And I do ask myself why, to do research on Japanese culture, New York went to a dry cleaners and nail salon on Hollywood Boulevard (much to the geisha-bobblehead-drag queen-fearing dismay of the respective Korean and Vietnamese store owners), when Sushi Row was just meters away?
Sure, New York is that stupid, but do her producers have to be?
Oh, so many questions, questions, questionzzzZZZZzzz.