That Chick
| Every rose has its thorn. |
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| Written by That Chick | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Monday, 21 April 2008 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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I mean, I watch bad television in general. But lately? I’ve really sunk to all-time lows. In fact, over the past weekend? I not only watched “Flavor of Love 3”, “Rock of Love 2”, but also “Celebrity Fit Club: Boot Camp” and “I know my Kids a Star”. All of them. I am so ashamed. I nearly called CPS on myself for merely allowing that garbage to be on the television. The kids weren’t even in the room, mind you, but the whole thing left me feeling dirty and nasty and somehow like I should go to confession. And I'm a Baptist, y'all. But also? It brought me to a greater understanding. A higher power, so to speak. Because I realized that all those people on all those shows? Were at least, in some small way, like me.
Take “Rock of Love 2” for example. If you’ve never seen this show, basically the premise is that Bret Michaels of the 1980's hair-band “Poison” is looking for a woman to share his life and possibly his herpes with. His “rock of love".
So, the man is forty-four or maybe even forty-five and “lives” in this mansion with some big bodyguard dude. He brings in a bunch of Slutann McSlutfaces who are all like, twenty and young enough to be his daughter or whatever and they prance around getting drunk and making out and fighting with one another because they are all TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH BRET and will do ANYTHING to make him love them back. And as I watched those girls, standing before him, hoping desperately to get their “backstage pass”, something clicked inside my head. The fake boobs and venereal disease notwithstanding, I’m kind of like them. And not just because none of us really give two craps about Bret Michael or his “mansion” and that maybe, just maybe, some of our parents didn’t give us the love we needed growing up. It’s just that all of us, the whores and I, are just trying to make it. True, we’re trying to make it in totally different ways. I’m a writer and I’m trying to get people to pay me money to write. So far? It’s not going well. I am amassing a really neat collection of creative rejection letters. Maybe I’ll even make them into a book someday (that no one will publish probably). I spend huge amounts of energy and effort writing and editing and sending out query letters. I write for free, just so people will read it and hopefully want me to write other things.
There is no quitting of the day job.
Not Flavor Flav though. I do have some standards. Even Bret is like me in some ways. We both have banging hair. We’re both holding on to the dream. We both believe that people will eventually like us for who we really are. And we both, of course, are putting it all out there for a paycheck.
Don’t hate the players y’all. Hate the game.
           
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Lately, I’ve been partaking in a whole lot of really bad television.
Seriously. I’m not kidding. That’s really the show. And it’s not even 1987. I checked.
Those girls are there to be on television. They want to become famous or known for something, even if that something is just that they were on television. If that means they have to take their top off and stick their tongue down the throat of an aging rocker, so be it. Hell, if Bret Michaels could get me a book deal? I might kiss him on the cheek. 
Hey I disagree! Rock of Love 2 was fantastic. Daisy crying at the Reunion show saying she felt 'used' after sleeping with Brett a dozen times (so funny). This series made me laugh my tits off| < Prev | Next > |
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