Rock of Love finale - The Rose and the Thorn, or “I wrote one good song and will milk it ‘til I die”

The big, big finale of the douchiest show on TV since Richard Grieco took over for Depp on 21 Jumpstreet.  First off, this week’s bonus material is this perfect entry at VH1’s Celebreality blog, featuring my favoritest RoL image ever.  This image was captioned “Have You Accepted Heather’s Hair as Your Personal Lord and Savior?” Yes.  Yes I have.

On to the douche-tastic finale, where Douche McBalderson tries to talk them both into co-humping him!

First off, a glossary of the (two) whores that are left:

Bret Michaels: Douchey, Douchebag, and all form of the word “Douche.”
Heather: Stripper Showmytits, Grandma, variations on how she looks three hundred years old, especially next to Jes
Jes: Punky Brewster, Punky, Punk, etc.

- Before we begin...seriously, this was the most awesome train wreck of a show, but it was also the death of Poison and all 80s metal for me personally.  I had, up to this point, sort of been ignoring the fact that everyone from the 80s metal scene (all metal, not just hair) was either fat, extra douchey or about as cool as anal warts.  Except for Iron Maiden, who went through a small period of “We don’t need Bruce” and quickly regained their senses, and rock as hard as ever.  Everyone else just sucks, and Bret Michaels helped drive that point home.  Our heroes are dead, people.  All dead.

A long, long time ago…
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.

I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

- We’re treated to a recap of douchiness, everything that has happened up to this point.  It’s frigging long.

- Oh NOES!  This is the last time I will ever see that douchey opening!  Aww...I might put the credit sequence on my iPod just so it will be with me always.

- Early in the morning at Douche Castle.  The ladies are packing for Cabo.  Anyone notice that Heather is wearing one of Bret’s hats?  Both of the girls are vowing to fight to the death for Douche.  Off to Cabo on a private jet.

- We hit Cabo San Lucas, which is like the biggest lie in that whole country.  I love people who go there and think they;ve “been to Mexico.” Anyway, they get greeted by some stupid dancing thing that for all the world looks like a Polynesian tribal ritual, and Grandma points at one of the dancers and says “I’m fucking this one.” Hey Douche - pick her.  Seriously.  leave poor Jes out of it and just pick the classless whorebucket with your name on her neck.

- Bret is all torn up in confessional because Heather is dancing with one of the...uhh...hula girls?  Tribal dancers?  Aside - what the flying fuck do these dancers have to do with Mexico?  Anyway, Bret’s crying because Heather’s attention is elsewhere for like, 4.32 seconds.  Good gawd he’s a little bitch.

- They get to their rooms to get ready for an “awesome dinner by the pool.” Anyone see that new show “Chuck?” Bret is Captain Awesome.  Everything is either awesome or it’s kick-ass.  The man has two adjectives and by God he is going to use them!

- Night falls, and dinner is imminent.  The ladies re-affirm their vows while getting ready.  The moment arrives...douche isn’t wearing a hat, but he’s still wearing a douche-danna that covers that hairline.  I’m telling you, he’s either got the world’s worst hairplugs, a five-head or weave tracks.

- He’s calling them “The Terrific Two.” Dinner starts off with extreme tension.  Questions start.  Douche is still worked up over the fact that Heather was dancing with the hula bitch!  Jesus, he’s so fucking insecure!  Pretty standard for someone who literally can’t see past their own reflection, I guess.  Jes: “I think Heather’s a skanky ho who would love to be in an open relationship with other women.” Heather denies it, and tries to change the subject...then she tries to turn it onto Jes and starts in on her age.  Punky’s response: “You’re 31 years old and you’re still stripping.” OK, first of all it’s more like 41.  Or 53.  But yeah, Jes has a point and Bret totally had to pull a cough into the hand move to avoid laughing.  Grandma is all “I’m so sick of the stripper thing.” So don’t be a stripper if it bothers you so much.

“Hey doctor, it hurts when I do this.”
“So stop doing it.”

- Douche tries to get anyone interested in the meal...yeah, not working.  Bret explains the next couple days.  One day with one girl, one day with the other, then back to LA for the decision.  Commercial.

- We’re back, and Heather gets the first date.  A note, which is dumb as hell.  Grandma is all “I hope Jes has fun by herself.” Like you will tomorrow?  Dummy.

- The date is out in the desert to ride dune buggies...and “It’s gonna kick ass.” See?  Two adjectives.  Then Douche gets sick and needs to eat something.  In confessional he’s saying that the partying is catching up with him.  Heather wants to drive, and because he’s a doofus, he doesn’t actually say ”I feel sick, I need to eat something to raise my blood sugar now.” He hints around at it but Stripper don’t get it.  I don’t blame her for this one at all, even though the editing is designed to make her out to be the evil uncaring whore.  She’s not Lacey.  This whole thing is totally set up.

- Picnic time.  Oh jesus Christ..."I finally feel like I’m not going to go into insulin shock.

OK, fuck you, douche.  First of all, the only reason your health is flagging so much right now is because you’re an ass who insists on drinking like you aren’t a diabetic.  That;s not Heather’s fault.  Also, you refuse to simply say “Hey, Heather, diabetic over here needs to eat.  Let’s stop the dune buggy and go get some food right now.” Or, simplify it: “I feel sick.  I need to eat right now.” Instead she’s supposed to intuit this from a few cryptic statements and his rubbing his belly.  They aren’t that frigging close yet, neck tattoo notwithstanding.  This is typical reality show editing, and as much as it pains me, I feel like I have to stick up for Grandma a little.

Now back to the whoring.

- Back to the hotel.  “Tonight, a dinner.  It’ll be awesome.” OH MY GOD.  There are more words in the frigging English language!  Just once I’d love to hear him break out with “We’ll have dinner together this evening and it will be an enjoyable experience.”

- Back to the room, and Heather is on cloud eleventeen, she decides to brag.  Jes tells her that Stripper better enjoy tonight because she’ll never be more than a fuck buddy for him.  Jes?  Honey?  Neither will you.  RUN AWAY!

Jes throws a parting shot about heather’s stripper dress, and Grandma goes apeshit, smashing the door open to yell about Jes’ outfit from last night and how it was skanky.  See, now this is like the pot calling the kettle black, made of metal AND designed to be used with fire.  Heather is the skankiest bitch I have ever seen when it comes to clothes.  She doesn’t own anything that doesn’t come from a stripper clothing catalog.  She might as well be screaming at Jes about the fact that Punky uses hair dye.  And so defensive!

- First thing Douche says is the dress is sexy.  It is, but totally in a skank way...which is what he loves.  Heather is perfect for you, dude!  Pick her!  Leave poor Punky Brewster alone!

- Stripper starts talking seriously about if he likes Punky, etc.  They tease that Bret’s going to “level” with her after the break.  Commercial.

- We’re back, and Douche says that first he bonded with Stripper Grandma on a party level, but he had his worst heartbreak over a stripper.  He’s unable to tell if she;s just a party girl or is she;s ready to stop the stripper life.

So let me break it down for you - Bret, like every other stupid fucking male who decides to date a stripper, doesn’t really want his girlfriend to be a stripper.  If you don’t want to date a stripper and carry all the baggage that entails, here’s a fucking piece of advice: DON’T DATE A STRIPPER.  Don’t start in on her to change her life.  You know she was a snake when you offered to carry her over the river, stupid.  Don’t be all “Don’t be a snake!  It’s not right that you want to be a snake!” She’s a snake.  She will bite you.  In the cock.  And give you necrosis. So, deal with it or kick her to the curb.

- Back to the serious discussion.  He’s worried that she’ll get bored.  She says that outside of work her life is boring.  Hey, if she’s not one of the drug-addicted strippers it probably is.  Strippers are NOT by definition chicks with a lot going on outside of looks.  Hell, most of ‘em aren’t great-looking, they’re just willing to show you their vaginas for a fiver.

- “I’m in love with you Bret.” “For real?” “Yes, I am.  And I want to spend my life with you.” Confessional, and she’s tweaked that he didn’t say it back.  Hey dummy: he barely knows you.  Which, by the way, is why she shouldn’t be expected to divine that he’s having a diabetes crisis unless he fucking says so.  he barely knows her, she barely knows him.

- I guess he believes her, as his confessional says that his heart “bought it.” Now, I think that means he believed her, or he’s having a heart attack due to hair plug poisoning syndrome, which is a real disease and everything.  Look for the telethon early next year, hosted by Ted Danson.

- They make out and Douche suddenly announces “Let’s go to the room and throw it up.” Err...is that douchetalk for “throw it down?” Is that code for “I would like to insert my penis into your vaginal cavity as soon as we’re in a suitably private location?” Christ, what a douche.  In case I haven’t mentioned it lately, Bret Michaels is a douche bag.

- It’s “sexy alone time” for Douche and Stripper.  Well, except for the cameras.  And the crew.  Oh look, “sex food.” Just once I’d love to see someone use a bucket of chicken as sex food instead of chocolate and strawberries.  Oh, and DiabeticMan, who was utterly torqued that Stripper couldn’t magicially intuit that he was literally dying earlier, is gonna eat all that sugar and drink that booze?

What a fucking dummy.

We get a shot of her laying on top of him and...pull back, fade to daybreak.

- She’s very happy to have been used as a container for his semen.  Back to LA with her!  But first, a confrontation with Jes at breakfast.  “Heather comes sashaying in from her date, with Bret last night, and...she look like a hooker in her clothes and her hair’s all fucked up...and...well, actually her hair always looks like that, so it’s nothing new.”

Jes for the win!

- Uhh...did they just have a conversation about being able to smell rotten pussy (meaning old cum) on Heather?  Let me tell you something.  I used to date a girl who didn’t wash after sex.  The next morning, it was like two squirrels died inside a carp under those blankets.  Jesus CHRIST did they really just discuss that over breakfast?  And Heather’s all “It’s not rotten, it’s beautiful when you love somebody.” EWW!

- Punky gets a truly horrible poem, something about being ready to jet and ready for Bret or something.  Fucking hell.  Let me guess, jet skis?  Jes reminds Heather that all Heather has are boobs and Jes can buy them tomorrow.  Which would look great if she got them done by a good surgeon, btw.  To which Heather confessionally replies that Jes can buy boobs but can’t buy wit, which is what she;s lacking.

Error!  Error.  Does not compute.  Please repeat input parameters.  What thee eff?  Is this old bag saying that she’s...not smarter, but wittier than Jes, Queen of the Rock of Love One-Liners?  Holy lord God.  Maybe the odors wafting up from her jizz cave are affecting her mental processes.

- Jes is off.  Grandma takes a shot about sloppy seconds, and Jes tries to walk away, but confessionally admits that it disgusts her.  Yeah, it disgusts us too, darlin’.  RUN.  AWAY.  He;s just that kind of dude, and you are totally getting sloppy 94ths.  He probably ate that rotten pussy you were referring to earlier.  Wanna make out with that?

Apparently yes, because she greets Douche with an “awesome” (yep, he said it) kiss.  Then he realizes they are wearing “matching” bandannas.  Well, sort of, if you are colorblind.  Anyway, and I swear to God he said this: “I was semi-awesome, now I’m awesome.”

Listen you fucking dunce, if you don’t buy a thesaurus right this god-damned minute I will find you and drive that Hollywood Taxi motorcycle right the hell up your diabetic ass.  Say awesome one more god-damned time, I dare you!  I double-dare you!  Say it again, motherfucker.

- The date is on a small yacht.  That must cost a few mill.  They strip down to bathing suits and make out.  Jes could use a sandwich, but looks pretty damn good.  Lunch is served and the talking begins.  Punky says she’s still afraid of rejection.  He’s telling her she needs to jump without knowing, which is the retarded way of saying that falling in love is a leap of faith.  Confessional “I don’t know if I can do that.” DON’T!  RUN AWAY!  No, seriously you should jump...off the frigging boat, swim to shore and run for your life as if the sexual health of your punani depended on it.  And it does, because you know he had sex with Heather and condoms aren’t 100%!  Commercial.

- Back from commercial, and we’re off the boat.  Heading straight to dinner, but DiabeticMan is feeling sick.  They’re working the drama like he’s going to drop dead on the spot, and of course Punky can see immediately that he’s sick.

Here’s a thought: how much of this is due to the champagne and fruit and chocolate last night, plus all the physical activity?  Is that all Heather’s fault too?

So he describes how to give the insulin shot to Punky, which is something he should have told EVERY girl that was with him on a solo date...I mean, how do you act like this is an imminent threat to your very existence and not tell the poeple that spend time with you how to act if you drop to the floor?  Has this come up before and they didn’t show us, or is this some editing designed to paint a stark contrast between Caretaker Jes and Self-Involved Heather?

I know where my money is.

Jes makes him promise to tell her if he’s not feeling well.

- They try to talk, but she’s a crying mess, she’s worried about him, so he moves in for kissing and decides to move this to the room.  They get to the room..."I’ve got the jacuzzi fired up.” Really, Mr. I’m About To Go Into A Coma?  The 110 degree hot tub?  Is this your smartest decision this week?  Hey, get in there and have a drink or two while you’re at it.

Jes strips off...all the way...and jumps in.  Am I supposed to feel bad for Bret now after all this medical crap?  Because I sort of hope he keels over before he gets another chance to ruin this kid’s life.

- Next day.  They are talking over breakfast, and he says (in confessional) that he knows she’s not a player.  Then he tells us that he sent the girls back to LA and wanted to spend some “real quality time alone.” What, no “awesome” alone time?  No alone time that is “kick-ass?” I’m stunned.  Of course we get the pensive Doucheface shot as he strolls out to the balcony to gaze off at the blue waters, thinking of his two...uhh..."Terrific Two” Time for a montage!  because when you need to show, the passage of time, you need a mawn-taahge.  Mon-tage!

Donna asked if I didn’t think it was obvious that he’s picking Jes...so here’s a good place to speculate.

I don’t fucking know!  On the one hand, yeah.  She’s young, she’s funny, she can party but isn’t devoted to it, she’s pretty, she seems intelligent enough...she’s still young enough to be impressed by him being half a rock star...she’s obviously good at taking care of others and will devote herself to his every whim, which Mr. Selfish requires.

But.

On the other hand, he loves a good stripper, and clearly has an affinity for road-weary, kind of...well, uglier women.  Hard, rough, kind of nasty bitches seem to get his motor running, and Heather is all that and then some.  Is his need for a 100% mold-able, devoted servant enough to override his “little brain” way of coasting through life?  I don’t know.

Plus, there’s the fact that they are very deliberately editing this show in favor of Jes right now, so it might be a trick by the producers to get us thinking Jes, Jes, Jes, when the winner is Heather, Heather Grandma.

- Anyway, the mawn-tahge was horrible and set to a Douche Michaels solo song about one more day and feeling their pain or some shit.  Bret needs CC.  Hey, Bret should name his solo album “Straight Outta Douche-ton.” That would kick ass.

- Back to LA!  Castle Douche awaits.  Douche is staring at two passes hanging on the wall, and John is with him.  You know they had some kind of discussion about who to pick, but that was all edited out.  Or, maybe they didn’t because none of this is real and the winner was pre-determined, who the fuck knows.  It’s Rock of Love, not the Zapruder film.

- Watching Douche put on the Douchesuit is a treat.  Nice.  You know how in every Batman movie, we have to watch him put on the Batsuit?  Just like that.

- Holy hairspray, Batman!  Heather pumped that shit UP for the finale!

When I think of the poor ozone layer and the carbon footprint of that hair, it makes me want to drive a Prius.  I can only hope Al Gore is watching and sells himself some extra carbon credits to offset the case and a half of AquaNet pink she must have used.

“How could Bret not take me home?  I’ve got fuck me hair...” Oh, is that what that is?  I was thinking “Bride of Frankenstein.”

- Cut to Punky who is crying, all torn up, worried about rejection, etc.  Gee, is that some editing for you or what?

- We’re at the house, and it’s decked out like the set of The Bachelor.  Punky’s nervous and worried, Stripper Grandma is confident.  Jes: “I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.  Her 80s porn hair is bad.  Really bad.” Yeah it is.

OhMiGawd.

- Heather to Jes: I’m surprised you showed up.” Jes to Heather: “Fuck off Heather.”

- Douche walks in.  “As you can see, I don’t have Big John with me.” (but he does have a douche-tastic gold velvet blazer! ) “I just have myself, and my soul, and I want this moment for us together to be the most intimate moment that I can make it...” Well, intimate as far as it can be with the 64 crew members, the guys in the production truck outside, the cameras and the fact that we’re broadcasting this on VH1.  But you know...intimate.

- He calls Heather an awesome human being, as well as calling her a friend.  He tells Jes she’s come a long way, she was there for him in Cabo, etc.

- PAUSE THE TIVO!  I call ...wait, let me smell the air...sheep?  Horse?  No...definitely cow...no, wait it’s bullshit...Douche says in confessional that he has not made a decision yet.  What. A. Fucking. Liar.  Fine, pretend that to them, in the room, but to tell us at home the same lie?  Dude, we all know what you are about to say.  You’re about to ask them to both be your girlfriend as a test, because in your douchey little brain you’re King Solomon and the right to date you is as precious as the life of an infant...if Heather says yes, your worst fears are confirmed and if they both say no, then you’re still going with whoever you already - or the producers already - have picked out.  Dick.  UNPAUSE!

- Douche-fessional - “I got one more big test for the girls.” Gee, really?  Is it a test, ya fuck?  In the room: “Is there any way both of you will be my girlfriend.” Jes immediately starts to tear up.  Commercial.

- And the exciting conclusion!  We get a repeat of the douche question.  “Heather, will you share me with Jes?” Answer: “I’d love to.” Well now.  You just lost.  Or won, depending on your perspective.  Or maybe won or lost.  I’m confused.  He might want a girl that is willing to put up with his “I’m a rockstar who fucks groupies” crap.  Or not.  And I’m not sure who wins or loses by being with or without him.

It’s all so confusing!  What I do know is it was a dumb thing to say on TV.  She confessionals that she;s willing to do ANYTHING to get out of the Vegas stripper game be with Bret.

- “Jes, what do you think?” “I can’t share somebody that I care about, it’s not in me.  If you’re mine you’re mine.” probably the right answer, and certainly the one with more integrity

Douche says he’s looking for that girl that just fits, and something about being every part of all the parts of some part of something or another, it was douchey.  He was either talking about being part of a devoted couple or forming Voltron.  “And I’ll form, the douche!”

Donna; “You write lyrics for a living, you can’t be more eloquent than that?” No.  He can’t.  Bret Michaels is no CC DeVille, baby.

- He calls Heather down.  Walk of shame...she knows.  “You’ve been nothing but a great friend to me, I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t think you’re gonna be that girl.” She takes a beat, and then just turn around and storms away.  She was either trying to figure out how to get a taxi to the airport in that dress, or thinking about how much the laser tattoo removal was gonna cost during that little pause.

Douche calls after her to not leave the house “like that.” What the fuck did you expect, dude?  This was never designed to end well.  She got your name on her neck, bro.  She’s in the limo and she’s pissed.  She said he used her, she called him an asshole, liar, phoney, disrespectful, asshole motherfucker...damn!  She turns fast.  “He’s like America’s asshole right now for doing this to me.” Uhh, sweety?  He was America’s asshole the minute he signed the contract for this douche-tastic goatfuck of a tv show.

- Back to Castle Douche.  If he asks her to rock his world, I swear I am going to throw up.  Punky’s confessionalizing that she feels all this shit and I’m getting sick to my stomach.

“I got exactly what I wanted.” Yup.  A kid who is still impressed by your fading fame who will do everything you ask until you get bored and decide one of the “superfans” needs to take her place.  Or she grows up a little and decides you’re a douche bag and she can do better.

- Cut to Heather in the limo - “Now I have a tattoo of this asshole loser’s name on the back of my fuckin’ neck.” (rips off her necklace) Fuck that.” Logo and we’re out!  It’s over.

Holy shit.  Bret Michaels is a douche bag and I will never again admit to being a Poison fan.  We’re Audi 5000 peoples.  Here’s to hoping that VH1 does something truly awful like this again really soon!

Thanks to everyone who comes to read these diatribes...hang around for other weird shit.  You never know what bizarre pile of TV crap will catch my attention next.  :)

Posted by JimK at 09:13 PM on September 30, 2007
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