Was reading my weekly summaries of the tabloids (thank you Gawker! you save me $1.99 a week when I am feeling a case of the gossips taking control of me in the grocery line), and found out that our Jess, winner of the ye olde Rock o’ Love, had never heard of Brett before the show, and was faking it all. Apparently, “you can’t fall in love in 5 weeks,” she said. Wise words.
But back to Vh1 and it’s love matches–Hoopz pulled the same stunt on Flavor Flav. They did play “Every Rose has its thorn” for the finale. There is no true love to be had in celebreality.
I have to say though, I haven’t been more entertained by a diabetes crisis, ever, than watching Brett and Jess learn trust as he explained his possible insulin shock (all the more surreal since there are camera men filming his supposed medical emergency, and he was well enough to get naked in the jacuzzi after Jess wept (WEPT!) over his diabetes). And we do all know that diabetes is about the least rock and roll problem since gout.
I love reality show calamity diseases! Diabetes! Exzema or whatever Caridee “fought” on ANTM (the flesh eating disease was real and ugly, and that poor model got no props for her struggle). Now Tyra might be exploiting autism (or not, I’m not sure yet).
But I did love the white New York, Heather–all mouth and raving madwoman hurricane strength. Did she actually pull her hair out in rage? I loved her anger at the tattoo of “Brett,” and how she had “the world’s biggest asshole’s name on her neck.” She was pitch perfect, and I realized as the show ended on her car’s tail lights screeching away from the mansion, that she was an actual delight to watch. Vh1–you totally got me.
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