Bret Michaels, Peter Pan Man

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.

Date Night Tonight

We regained access to our money, so Peter and I will go out by ourselves for dinner tonight. Perhaps we'll see Sicko, too.

Maybe we'll call another couple to join us. Then again, maybe we won't.

I spent the morning watching the old Andrew McCarthy/Kevin Dillon movie, Heaven Help Us, which pretty much sums up my experience at Our Lady of the Blessed Sacrament in Bayside. Spoke to my old classmate, Karen, yesterday on the phone for almost two hours. We met in Blessed Sacrament in 3rd grade and have been friends ever since.

Must recommend Heaven Help Us to her. I imagine she'll find it cathartic.

Both Andrew McCarthy and Kevin Dillon were fabulous in that movie, by the way. McCarthy made you feel exactly what the character felt, and around Eighth Grade I knew boys just like Kevin Dillon's character. These days, Dillon blows me away as Johnny Drama on Entourage. He and Jeremy Piven's Ari Gold are my favorite characters (although I like Kevin Connolly as the show's moral compass, E,, too).

It's too bad Andrew McCarthy has fallen out of the limelight. I saw him on 20/20 a couple of years ago, where he explained that much of the widely lauded performance he gave in Pretty In Pink benefited from the pain of a wicked hangover.

I hoped to post Stephen Colbert's response to Pope Benedict's disturbing claim that only Catholics are on the path to salvation (I hang around with a lot of non-Catholics), but I cannot seem to dig it up. By the accounts I've read, Colbert is a much better Catholic than I am.

His take on Benedict's comments were priceless.

(Note: A quick Google search directed me to McCarthy's website. Apparently, he's keeping busy, which is great news as far as I'm concerned.)