St Rocketcool Nation

The title pretty much says it all, “I am ashamed.”  Throughout my 25 years on this earth, I have been ashamed of a few things I have done.  Things like not stopping at car accidents I have witnessed or holding the door for someone who is older and having a hard time managing, but recently I have been indulging in something that I know is bad for me, but like heroin, is fucking addictive as shit.  

I have watched the first six episodes of A Shot at Love 2 with Tila Tequila.  God help me.  The worst part is, I haven’t yet hit bottom. For you see, I foresee watching the rest of the episodes and inevitable reunion episode that MTV is so fond of.  

How’d it begin?  Like all things, I started innocently enough and is now rapidly spiraling out of control.  One night, five weeks ago, I couldn’t sleep and was channel surfing (do people still call it that?  Somebody ask “the kids”) and landed upon the show.  I watched until the first commercial break, at which point I looked at my dog laying next to me and said, “This is fucking retarded.  Who are these people?”  The dog just groaned and went back to sleep.  Now, like any self respecting, hetro-identified male, I switched over to SportsCenter and tried not to think about the brain cells I would never see again.  

But in the words of one Michael Corleone, “Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in.”  That’s right, my willpower/dignity packed a duffle bag, complete with toothbrush and Q-tips and caught the first train out of town.  I flipped back to MTV and thus began my torrid love affair with Tila Tequila.  

Sure, at first I played it off.  I thought, “I can write a witty piece for the blog about it.”  Sure, that is why I am watching it, for the jokes.  But the jokes didn’t come, or were just to obvious.  The show itself is a joke.  Tila crying and getting emotional about just wanting to find love and having her heart broken on the last go-round.  Wait, hold the phone, she didn’t find love on a reality show?  It is such a tried and true method for finding a soulmate.  Obviously it worked for The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, the fine folks on Joe Millionaire and Temptation Island, didn’t it?  They all found committed relationships and the loves of their lives, right? Hell, everyone that ever went on The Love Connection is married and still making whoopie, thanks to Chuck Woolery and Cialis.  

Somewhere along the line, I started to see girls kissing and coincidently started caring. Why can’t a rare flower like Tila find herself a man/woman.  She isn’t even eliminating half the population from her dating pool, like most people.  If you walk on two legs, have opposable thumbs and even the most rudimentary language skills, you have at least a shot (at love) with her.  She thought she had found it, with some guy named Bobby from season one, but their love flame just burned to hot and to fast, and it was Tila, who got burned in the end.  (MTV if you need someone to write cheesy/trite/cliched/ descriptions for the website, consider that last sentence my resume.)

Sadly, her little bi-heart was broken.  But she is back on the horse and ready to let down her guard one more time.  She picked up her phone, called the MTV producers and said, “Get me a house.  Fill it with as many douche-bag guys and hot lesbians as possible and lets kick the tires one more time.”  MTV obliged and even threw in a stripper (which seems to be the MTV’s modus operandi this year, because they also broke the stripper barrier on The Real World: Hollywood, too.  Strippers for everyone!) for good luck.  

So how does she go about finding love?  Physical Challenges!  The whole show is based upon the notion that people will do anything for somebody they find attractive.  Why did Clyde Barrow rob banks?  Because Bonnie had great tits.  Why did Shakespeare write such lovely sonnets?  Because as talented as he was, his dick wasn’t going to suck itself.  So what, pray tell, will people do for an Asian chick with tits that are only proportionate with her gigantic head?  They will eat a pig’s vagina.  What the fuck?  Really?  Does nothing else say “I love you” like eating a pigs vagina? (If so, Hallmark give me a call, I have an idea.) If I was a contestant on the show, I might view that as foreshadowing (actually, if I was a contestant on that show, I probably wouldn’t know what foreshadowing meant) and start to wonder how much Tila’s box and pig vagina have in common.  

The real geniuses of the show are the producers.  They, somehow, managed to get 20 people to appear on television and vie for a chance at contracting Hepatitis.  The kicker, she isn’t even that hot.  She has nice tits and a flat stomach, that is all!  Her neck is going to snap from the weight of her watermelon sized head, any second.  I just don’t get it, but sadly, I cannot stop watching.  

I hate you MTV.  When I was growing up, you used to give me quality masturbatory TV.  Great shows like The Grind and The Real World Seattle.  Shit, even House of Style had Cindy Crawford, who was an actual goddamn supermodel.  I would’ve eaten a pigs vagina and taint for a shot at her, but Tila Tequila?  I wouldn’t wouldn’t eat a ham sandwich for her (I would eat it for me, though, because I love ham sandwiches.)

So, that is my confession.  Hopefully one day, I will be able to put this whole thing behind me and move on with my life.  But, this is more likely to be just one infected, herpified pustule, of many, on the long shaft that is MTV original programming.  I just need to ask this favor:  If I were to have an embolism and die while watching this show, could someone please change the station to the Discovery Channel and tell everyone I died watching MythBusters?  Thank you and try the veal. 

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 21st, 2008 at 9:13 am and is filed under Essays, Writing.You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.