Rock of luuuurve
Sometimes, just before I hit the sack, I like to switch on the TV and lie in bed watching something mind numbingly brainless and unintelligent (because who wants to go to bed with their mind fizzing with the unanswered questions of university challenge, although I may fall asleep WHILST watching that programme). At that time of night, there’s plenty to choose from, and ‘Rock of Love’ seems to end up being the grey matter gloop inducing show I seem to keep coming across. It’s not because it’s clever, or because it’s that intriguing, but purely because I just… don’t… get it!
Ok, for the uninitiated, it’s a reality TV show where a gaggle of women (some of whom are old enough to know better) strut, pout, cat fight and bend over backwards (literally, and probably in very short skirts) for the affections of some unknown rocker. I say unknown, because I have no clue who he is (apprently the lead singer of Poison), but the girls in the house (where they all live together whilst competing to become mister ‘I wanna be Axel Rose’ Bret Michaels’ girlfriend) seem to think he is Steven Tyler and Slash all rolled into one. Seriously, it’s painful to watch. Each week, the girls compete in a task to get a date with Bret. Last episode, the eyeliner wearing rock god gave the girls (seriously, I use this term loosely as a couple are old enough to be my Mum) cropped belly tops and dinky sports shorts and bundled them all into a stretch hummer to a football pitch, where he announced ‘Welcome to my Super Mud Bowl!’. Yes, the girls had to split into two teams and play a game of American football, on a mud slick pitch. Bret of course joined in, admiring the brawl that ensued, as the girls slid and slipped around scrabbling for the ball in an obvious female mud wrestling match.
I just don’t get it. Why would anyone fawn over a guy who is playing tongue-tonsil hockey with each and every gal in the house on their one to one ‘date’? They actually fight for his attention. One even insists on calling him ‘her boyfriend’ every time she refers to him. It all seems so demeaning. Surely one of them would have the balls to say ‘how about I don’t snog your face off’ and let the intrigue and anticipation make him pick them to stay at the weekly elimination? And do they not understand that if they DO happen to become the eyeliner wearing bandana adorned Michaels’ girlfriend, that it’s quite obviously NOT for ever as there’s been THREE series so far? Which means he’s picked ‘the girl of his dreams’ twice over already and is back for more? The girls all sit around the house moping when the winner is out on a date, complaining that they’ve not had the ‘me’ time with him, and that they HAVE to let him know how they FEEL… resulting in thirty-something women (who really need to read a copy of ‘he’s just not that into you’ if you ask me) leaving harried hand written notes on Bret’s door, imploring him to give them a few precious minutes of his time because they HAVE to speak to him urgently (and declare their undying love). Sad to say, it’s got me guiltily hooked, in the same way you can’t take your eyes off a car crash even though you know someone’s gotten hurt.
I… Just… Don’t… Get.. IT!
But I keep watching anyway. Because in a way, if they’re game for making fools of themselves, I’m game for laughing.Wonder when it's next on....
Ok, for the uninitiated, it’s a reality TV show where a gaggle of women (some of whom are old enough to know better) strut, pout, cat fight and bend over backwards (literally, and probably in very short skirts) for the affections of some unknown rocker. I say unknown, because I have no clue who he is (apprently the lead singer of Poison), but the girls in the house (where they all live together whilst competing to become mister ‘I wanna be Axel Rose’ Bret Michaels’ girlfriend) seem to think he is Steven Tyler and Slash all rolled into one. Seriously, it’s painful to watch. Each week, the girls compete in a task to get a date with Bret. Last episode, the eyeliner wearing rock god gave the girls (seriously, I use this term loosely as a couple are old enough to be my Mum) cropped belly tops and dinky sports shorts and bundled them all into a stretch hummer to a football pitch, where he announced ‘Welcome to my Super Mud Bowl!’. Yes, the girls had to split into two teams and play a game of American football, on a mud slick pitch. Bret of course joined in, admiring the brawl that ensued, as the girls slid and slipped around scrabbling for the ball in an obvious female mud wrestling match.
I just don’t get it. Why would anyone fawn over a guy who is playing tongue-tonsil hockey with each and every gal in the house on their one to one ‘date’? They actually fight for his attention. One even insists on calling him ‘her boyfriend’ every time she refers to him. It all seems so demeaning. Surely one of them would have the balls to say ‘how about I don’t snog your face off’ and let the intrigue and anticipation make him pick them to stay at the weekly elimination? And do they not understand that if they DO happen to become the eyeliner wearing bandana adorned Michaels’ girlfriend, that it’s quite obviously NOT for ever as there’s been THREE series so far? Which means he’s picked ‘the girl of his dreams’ twice over already and is back for more? The girls all sit around the house moping when the winner is out on a date, complaining that they’ve not had the ‘me’ time with him, and that they HAVE to let him know how they FEEL… resulting in thirty-something women (who really need to read a copy of ‘he’s just not that into you’ if you ask me) leaving harried hand written notes on Bret’s door, imploring him to give them a few precious minutes of his time because they HAVE to speak to him urgently (and declare their undying love). Sad to say, it’s got me guiltily hooked, in the same way you can’t take your eyes off a car crash even though you know someone’s gotten hurt.
I… Just… Don’t… Get.. IT!
But I keep watching anyway. Because in a way, if they’re game for making fools of themselves, I’m game for laughing.Wonder when it's next on....
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