Between events of the Pope's visit (I flipped it on for a millisecond, and a miracle occurred: The old guy hooked me), I tuned into the Rock of Love 2 reunion yesterday afternoon.
I don't know how much of it was staged, but it really doesn't matter. The way Bret behaves, the way some of these women behave (hello, Heather) never fails to astonish me.
I particularly enjoyed the way Wildebeast Heather reinforced the double standard by calling Daisy a whore for having sex with Bret. As for Bret having sex with Daisy? Hey, that's cool. He's a guy.
Daisy may be a highly gifted actress, but I did feel sorry for her when she said she'd become vulnerable after falling for Bret. I actually had to admire the girl when she called him on banging her yet again after he knew damn well he'd choose her rival, Ambre, to be his so-called rock star girlfriend (Bret's not really a rock star. He's a circus act).
Bret's response? Something along the lines of, "I'm a man. I couldn't help myself."
You may be a man, Dude, but you're not a nice man. Do you even have a soul?
And have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like a freaking moron in your poseur clothes and cheesy headgear. You look like you're posing, always, whether you're playing your guitar or riding a motorcycle.
You're not the real deal.
You're 45 now and still living a rock star pipe dream, but you're not Robert Plant. You're not David Bowie. You're not even David Crosby. And you sure as hell aren't Adam Levine.
You are no longer relevant.
When you're on your deathbed, will you regret not having banged just one more woman? What exactly is your purpose in life, anyway? You are the epitome of the saggy, orange-faced Peter Pan Man that no woman in her right mind should sleep with, let alone date.
Don't feel too bad. You may be woefully repellent, Bret Michaels, but you do possess a unique power:
You made an 81-year-old Pope look sexy.