Delusions: Go Big or Go Home

Once upon a time, I had a dream. No, not that one about all men being created equal. The one where I got hired to design paint jobs for Lil Wayne’s signature line of guitars. His little paw shook my little paw, he looked down at my cut-out Tuk lolita boots and I looked down at his spotless Adidas, and an understanding was reached.

You don’t understand.
You weren’t there.

Nearly two years later, I’ve expanded on the bizarre fantasy and my subconscious has come along for the ride in its own annoyingly prudish way. Lil Wayne and I have gone grocery shopping (“baby, grab some of that trail mix”), but we still haven’t gone all the way…to goth night, that is.

My ultimate fantasy is that Lil Wayne and I roll up to goth night in a black Escalade. Two footmen hop out of the back seat bearing tiny step-stools which Weezy and I use to dismount our pint-sized selves from said Escalade. It is comically badass. That is to say, it’s the weird combination of the comical and the mildly unsettling. This is the language we speak. Diamond grilles and weapons charges aside, this is why it works.

My friends have been enabling this delusion. When I tell them this fantasy, they pause for a second, then respond with “that’s perfect. Perfect.” Sure, Weezy’s presence in my life would mean that my friends would have an endless quantity of what is probably the world’s best weed, but this goes deeper. They know that I require someone who is frank, weird, elfin, and greater than the sum of his parts. Someone who can be three apples high, silly and still scary. Someone who whimsically wrinkles his nose when he laughs, but who knows at least twenty people who would shoot you just because he asked. Someone who works hard. Someone who can look you in the face and tell you to fuck off and you still won’t know whether to love his frankness, call the cops or make out with him. In short, someone who is different from me in every obvious way, but very much like me if we were put in a blender and pureed down to our nuts and bolts. Someone who would write a line about spritzing you all over the wall in a pink mist, and then chuckle maniacally. Is he serious, or was that hyperbole? Well, there’s the fun.

Long as we’re being delusional, I’ll tell you how it’s going to go down. Like so many delusions, it starts on Vh1. I go on Tough Love to be coached by Public Domain Fred Savage. It doesn’t help me find Mr. Right, but it does land me my own show, For the Love of Evil. I get just famous enough to weasel my way into the VMAs, where Weezy and I meet, shake little paws and come to an understanding. He and I combine or parallel work ethics, and I add secret sauce via piano to his next album. The bizarre combination of melodramatic, goth piano works well next to gangsta rap. The album is lauded for its new sound and Weezy and I joint-collect the Grammy: he in a fitted tee; me in a metal-boned corset.

All we’re missing is a show on Vh1.


It’s all fun and games…

until somebody gets dismembered and stuffed in a suitcase.

You all know by now that I’m a huge fan of Vh-1’s reality shows. Oh, the fun of watching a bevy of skanks vie for the opportunity to contract “famous herpes,” instead of the same “regular people herpes.” It’s all good, crazy fun watching women who have postponed their careers in stripping to fly to L.A. for some camera time in hopes of crossing over into actual stardom. Nobody on any of those shows ever become legitimately famous, but you have to milk what you can milk while you can milk it, I guess. Besides, if you do really well, you may get your very own Vh-1 show. Perhaps one where Vh-1 provides you with what you most desire: rich men who will buy you things.

Then again, there could always be a clerical error. You could end up with a future murderer amongst the suitors. You could make him a finalist. Then, purely hypothetically, after you don’t pick the would-be murderer, he could go on ANOTHER Vh-1 show and win the grand prize.

Megan goes on Rock of Love 2. She “loses,” but her penchant for bikini wearing and bitchy behavior lands her a role on…

I Love Money, where she loses, but makes a bitchy enough impression to end up on…

Rock of Love Charm School, where she continues to carry a chihuahua and state her career goal as “Trophy Wife.” At the reunion show, Megan flings her bitchiness at Sharon Osbourne. Sharon yanks out a chunk of Megan’s hair, prompting a lawsuit and putting Megan’s next show in peril. Vh-1 (allegedly) says they’ll continue on with the show if Megan drops the lawsuit. The lawsuit disappears, and in its place we find…

Megan Wants A Millionaire, where Megan is given a selection of suitors from which to choose. One of the more attractive (yet manipulative and douchey) contestants is Ryan. He reportedly ends up becoming a finalist but “losing.” He then gets cast on I Love Money 3 and wins the grand prize.

You’re never going to see it, though.

Sometime in between filming Vh-1 shows, Ryan had time to meet a swimsuit model, marry her, kill her and multilate her body in hopes of making her unidentifiable. He forgot one little detail: breast implants have serial numbers.

The body is found in a suitcase, Ryan becomes a “person of interest,” flees to Canada and then hangs himself in a hotel room.

Vh-1 is denying responsibility because, while they bought the show, they didn’t make the show. The 51 Minds production company made the show, just as they made many show for Vh-1. As for how the production company could have missed Ryan’s history of domestic violence charges, I’m guessing that was the “clerical error.” If, by “clerical error,” you mean “our intern played Pet Society instead of actually running the background checks.” As for the concept of 51 Minds being a company that just licensed a show to Vh-1, perhaps we should run down their portfolio which consists of (and ONLY of) Vh-1 reality shows:

Charm School
I Love Money
I Love New York
Flavor of Love
Rock of Love
Real Chance of Love
For the Love of Ray J
The Surreal Life

This may be the event that makes Vh-1 say “hey, the train is derailed…we can’t do this anymore.” This may be the event that puts the 51 Minds production company out of business. Then again, this may be a hiccup that will be forgotten as quickly as “Back Flip Mike” from Daisy of Love. Nobody knows, but 51 Minds’ casting company, Iconic Casting, is looking for people for For The Love of Ray J 2 and “The Entertainer” of Love just in case.

Tough, Cranky, Bitchy Love

Ladies and gentlemen, I have spent the last two days on, watching season 1 of Tough Love. Why? Morbid curiosity, masochism, and a deep and abiding love for trashy reality tv shows. I have been indicted for loving reality tv ever since season 1 of The Real World. I am an habitual voyeur, at best being a student of the human condition, at worst being someone who just really loves to watch skanks rip out each other’s hair extensions. I also watch PBS and read a lot. I tell myself that they cancel each other out.

I didn’t immediately seek out episodes of Tough Love because it just didn’t seem to hold a candle to, say, an ex-stripper sliding down a pole to hit the floor in a Chinese split (seen on For The Love of Ray J). There was also some little part of me that knew watching Tough Love would piss me off. It’s a similar feeling to when one has to place a service call to Comcast or, God help you, Dell.

The premise of Tough Love is that a group of women who are attractive but seem unable to find fulfilling relationships move into a house for a sort of dating boot camp with a matchmaker who bears a striking resemblance to Fred Savage. He tells things as they are, often with the help of a panel of straight-talking men, his mother and, in one case, electro shock devices. Anyone with half a brain will have these women pegged and categorized ten minutes into the first show: there’s the career woman, the tough gym rat, the gold digger, and the stripper. To make our lives easy, the stripper even admits to having daddy issues which lead her to constantly seek male validation. Please to enjoy some choice male quotes.

Episode 1: “You’re Smiling And Approachable!”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there’s something to the great dating theory that smiling makes people more attractive and confidence is sexy. I just don’t subscribe to the dating show theory that women should do everything in their power to appear to be giant balls of fluffy, non-challenging cotton candy just because someone in the room happens to have testicles. In fact, my logic tells me that someone who actually HAS testicles would like someone who doesn’t feel the need to behave like a benign pageant contestant. I should alsopoint out that I am single and have a cat, thus I am clearly defective, unlovable, insane, and nothing I say should be taken seriously, according to Public Domain Fred Savage.

Episode 2: “I don’t ask girls what their dreams are unless I’m really interested.”
I’ll give you a clue, Scooby. Our dreams are to be referred to as women, not girls. Not even Public Domain Fred Savage got the memo on this one. He repeatedly refers to the women on the show as “the girls.” I’m not a feminazi; I would have accepted “the ladies,” but “the girls”? Sorry, P.D. Fred Savage, I must question how well you know women.

Episode 3: “Her breasts are too big to be sexy.”
Allow me to translate: “I say things like this so women will think I’m highly-evolved and will have sex with me.”

Episode 3: “A man isn’t capable of being truly compassionate until he has a child.”
No word on who the hell is being stupid enough to have a child with someone who hasn’t yet displayed compassion, but I know it happens. I’ve seen Maury.

Episode 4: “She wasn’t difficult…she was easy.”
Oh, well. Thank GOD Taylor finally realized that she has to be blindly non-challenging. God forbid she disagree with anything her date says or present herself as anything but a warm, maternal dick cozy. “Really? I ALSO don’t think the Holocaust happened! We have SO MUCH in common!”

Episode 5: “You’re going to get raped.”
I feel for Arian. She’s had a rough time with guys and it sounds like she was named by white supremacists. Thus, when Public Domain Fred Savage tells her that he fears that she will get raped by acting slutty, I understand her outrage. Did she overreact by knocking over some lights? Maybe. Should a man who is a professional matchmaker know better than to use the dreaded “r word?” Yes. No matter how you phrase the sentiment “I fear that you will get raped,” it sounds a lot like “if you got raped, you’d probably have deserved it.” Say “I fear that, by acting this way, men may think you’re a good person to try and take advantage of” if you must. See? I am the least diplomatic person on Earth and I just rephrased that for you. I will be eagerly awaiting a thank you card from your non-kicked scrotum.

Episode 6: “Cute or Crazy.”
Public Domain Fred Savage puts the ladies on a mock game show, where an audience of men votes on whether the ladies’ quirks are cute or crazy. I’m not saying that owning five different tiaras shouldn’t set off the proverbial lights and sirens. I’m just saying “judge not, lest you be judged.” As the audience of men held up their paddles reading “cute” or “crazy,” I watched, picturing various men burying neighbors in the crawl space, keeping condoms in the fridge, or having a giant tub of Crisco under the bathroom sink.

Episode 7: “The world is not your stripper pole.”
Remember when PDFS said that thing about Arian winding up getting raped? Well, it’s come-uppance time, baby. PDFS has invited Arian’s mom to town, hoping that Mom will talk some sense into her daughter. He has, unfortunately, forgotten this he’s just invited the woman who named her daughter a homphone of “Aryan.” Mom shares Arian’s sense of humor, and thinks it’s hilarious when Arian “talks about fellatio.” She thinks it’s even funnier when PDFS says “fellatio.” PDFS responds to this by kicking Arian off the show. The “girls” respond to this by letting PDFS know that they don’t particularly care for him. PDFS, in turn, gets his mom to defend him. It’s like somebody put white bread and ego in a blender and decided to make a Los Angeles smoothie. Is “Los Angeles Smoothie” redundant?

Eventually, we are led to a season finale full of happy-jolly endings where even the ladies who didn’t get matched with a suitable guy say “but I just learned so much!” The post-finale follow-ups reveal that most of the women who left Tough Love with promising relationships wound up back home with relationships not quite working out. Oh well, ladies. You didn’t get married and push a human through your sex organs, but you DID give birth to some damn fine television.

“Would JOHNNY DEPP fight for his woman?”

For those of you who haven’t been classy enough to be watching Daisy of Love, I’ll give you a brief set-up:

There was a guy on there who was under the impression that he…
1. is God’s gift to women
2. looks like Johnny Depp
3. has a coherent thought in his head

The words in the subject line were uttered by the delusional “Fox” during a challenge when Daisy asked the guys to spar for her favor. That’s reason #83,829 why I will never live in L.A. Only in L.A. would someone DARE to compare himself to Johnny Depp. I’m not going to say there’s not a casual resemblance (fostered by the delusional subject’s tendency to emulate Monsieur Depp’s hair and fashion), but…well, well I look at Daisy of Love’s “Fox,” I see “La Bamba-era Esai Morales.” Allow me to demonstrate:

Have you SEEN Esai Morales recently? There must have been something in the water on the set of La Bamba because both Morales and Lou Diamond Phillips have held up remarkably well. Kudos to you-dos.