For reals, y'all.
My tastes in books and movies run the spectrum from the highbrow intellectual (my absolute love of English history - especially the Elizabethan era. I can probably quote, word for word, Elizabeth's Armada speech given to rally the troops at Tilbury.) to the absolute worst, most mindless and unbelievably white trash crap there is. I will admit, I adore reality TV.
And I'm not talking Big Brother or Survivor, or any other socially acceptable show. I'm talking the underbelly of reality tv. I heart all the VH1 shows. Flavor of Love? Charm School? I Love New York? Oh, I was there. Train wrecks. Fucking comedy gold. But none of these can compare with my new all time favorite: Rock of Love. Where 25 skanks vie for the love and venereal diseases of Bret Michaels from Poison. You remember Poison, right? Yeah, they sucked ass. Worst of the hair bands.
This show is going to deliver like dominoes!
It is my guilty pleasure. It's like bingeing on pop rocks, gummy bears, snicker bars, and ho hos, and washing it all down with a big jug of grape kool aid and everclear. It makes me want to frost my hair and put on a tube top. Well, not really, but you get the idea.
Watch it. Sunday nights on VH1. You may feel a little dirty afterwards, and you may also lose a few IQ points, but trust me, it's worth it.
(In other highbrow news, I cannot wait for The Golden Age to come out - sequel to Elizabeth with Cate Blanchett. Can't decide whose a better Elizabeth, her or Helen Mirren. It's a draw. Oh, and The Tudors on Showtime? Suckity suck sucked. So historically inaccurate, it made me want to throw up. Henry VIII was not a hottie like Jonathan Rhys Myers when he met Anne Boleyn. Seriously. It was bad. )
I Simply Could Not Accept the “You’re Just Getting Old” Excuse - It’s Friday, everyone! And that means another Primal Blueprint Real Life Story from a Mark’s Daily Apple reader. If you have your own success story and w...