The last season of Rock of Love starring sad boy Poison frontman, Bret Michaels, struck me as sickly hilarious, the collision of a woefully insecure man and a passel of woefully insecure young women. I tuned in for every episode.
But now Bret is back, professing to be on the hunt for true love (or for a decent pole dancer, anyway) once again. I felt sorry for the poor women who felt low enough to dupe themselves into this humiliating mess last time around, but this time I feel even sorrier for Bret. He opened last night's Rock of Love II by claiming to be 40 years old, which he isn't.
He's really 44.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. But it's pathetic when a man runs from his age, when he wear layers of pancake makeup and eyeliner, and a bandana that probably conceals baldness (note to Bret: Baldness is a sign of masculinity, Pal. Don't hide it). It's tragic when a man who should know better throws himself into another pool of Kristy Joes, Ambres, and Destineys to prove he's still a hot commodity.
Most of the women he discarded last season have landed on their feet, I imagine. But I have to wonder what's going to become of Bret Michaels
I sure hope he's saving his money.