You know I love me some Rock of Love. But c’mon Bret. Stop trying to pretend you’re looking for love or any kind of serious monogamous anything. Bret is such a douche, I often wonder how he says what he does with a straight face. Last night, on the same episode of Rock of Love Bus where he kicked off Jamie, probably the least psychotic (and thus, least watchable) of his bizarrely crafted final three (because she kept oddly insisting that she didn’t want to get married,) he also reamed Mindy for “not-rolling-with-it” and being grouchy about having to put on a “Carnevale” (read: Vegas Whore’s) outfit that was so skimpy, they had to use the black bar over her boobs for the few minutes she actually wore it.
Bret. Dude. Not that I don’t watch religiously, but you gotta know this whole show is one crazy oxymoronic experiment. You (and your weird braids) complain about not having found love in the first two season’s of Rock of Love, and then you go and put a bunch of strippers, penthouse pets, and porn stars on a bus, and bang them all in front of each other. That hardly seems like the start of a healthy relationship. Then you bring their ex-boyfriends on the show, so you can flex your aging rock-star muscles in an odd show of “anything you can do I can do better”, a stunt which has cost you your front runner on TWO separate seasons now. (Although you have to admit it was kind of hilarious to watch Ashley ride off into the sunset with her baby-daddy while you fought back the tears.) Sure, this year you didn’t install a stripper pole in the living room of the house, but you did make pole-dancing an event at the truck stop games – so I guess we all know where you fall on the famous Lacie/Heather season one argument of “would Bret ever really date a stripper?”
I look forward to they day (maybe soon, if you pick Mindy) where a jilted contestant gets crazy enough to rip off your bandana and takes your wig with it. Face it, Bret: You’re old. You don’t have hair any more. You don’t look like you did when you made that OTHER video with Pamela Anderson. The credit is yours for finding a way to get younger hotter chicks to bone you, rather than the same old washed up Sunset Strip trash that you’ve been sticking it to since the mid-80’s, but showing a preview for next week’s episode where you’re holding some kind of ring box in your hand? Well, that’s taking this whole charade just a little too far.
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