Monday, September 17, 2007

Rock of Sleaze

VH1's Rock of Love lost any charm it once possessed last night with the broadcast of "Meet the Parents."

The parents of the three remaining LSEs (or women who hold themselves in startling low self-esteem) were rolled in to meet Bret Michaels, the egomaniacal frontman of the the forgettable '80s hair band, Poison.

It's bad enough that any human being would willingly subject herself to the humiliation Bret and the show's sadistic producers shell out, but it's inconceivable that she would do it in front of her parents.

Bret took each of the LSEs and the people who spawned them on a field trip, in an effort to get to know them better. Heather, the stripper who had our hero's name permanently branded on her neck, and her crew got to go to Bret's favorite restaurant.

While enjoying a beer bong, Heather's purple-faced father treated his host with fart stories, which had Bret slapping his knee in earnest. Who knew that Bret Michaels loves a good fart story? What a regular guy! Then Heather treated us to a spirited performance on a mechanical bull.

Next, Bret took Jes and her parents shopping for rock star clothing, gleefully transforming Jes' middle-American-looking, middle-aged mother into the village idiot.

Then our hero met up with Lacey, the resident wacko, and her wacko father and surprisingly sane-looking stepmother. Lacey's dad bragged that he's a successful man and informed Bret that if he wanted to marry his daughter he'd have to sign a pre-nup.

Later on, Heather revealed to Lacey's parents (and everybody else) that Lacey had been providing Bret with oral sex, while she, good girl, hadn't done "anything sexual" with him. She is clearly the better person. Lacey is a slut! An evil, evil slut! Heather then announced that she is in love with Bret, the recipient of said oral sex.

Is it just me who sees the flaw in Heather's logic? (If her parents did, we weren't privy to their objections.)

Incensed, Lacey's father tracked down Bret to investigate. Cut to Bret, who confided to us in TV land, "Wow. Every rock star's nightmare. A man asking if his daughter's been s______ your c_____.

Note to Bret: It's usually best not to refer to oneself as a rock star when it just underscores the sad reality that you're really not. Bruce Springsteen is a rock star. So is David Bowie. And Ann Wilson. And Chrissy Hynde. And dead people like John Lennon and Jerry Garcia.

But you? No.

I still cannot understand what any of the LSEs stands to gain by winning this "rock star." (My cousin maintains they're all actresses hungry for exposure, but somehow I doubt any of them will show up in Hedda Gabler, let alone on The View.)

Lacey got the boot last night, so we're down to Jes and Heather. My money was on Jes for a while, but she's got this terrible habit of calling other women "bitches," and it's kind of hard to abide.