Daisy of Love: Meet The Alpha Fails

It’s been a whole month, kids, and I’ve missed each and every one of you! We’ve been through a homoerotic jizz fest and drag queens together and now it’s time for a show that is centered around a real girl! Well, if you don’t count her lips, nose or boobs.

Brett Michaels passed on this???

To bring us up to speed, let’s take a look back at the Emmy worthy career of our little muppet. Thus far she made it to the final two of Rock of Love 2 and lost out to a soccer mom with zero personality and sex appeal. Word is that Brett couldn’t ignore that burning sensation any longer and the only cure was to douse his privates in Ambre’s cold yogurt flavored lady parts. I’m talking the plain kind folks, fat free with no taste. The kind that goes moldy in the back of the refrigerator once you realize that there are some with actual fruit in them. Little Muppet got the last laugh though, because Brett jettisoned that piece of cardboard, hopped on another merry skank parade and is now being studied at John’s Hopkins because of his ability to survive so many STDs while gargling alcohol and insulin.

Anyhoo, after a stint on I Love Money, which I did not watch, (I was over my trash TV limit that month) the geniuses at VH1 decided to continue their Shakespearean ‘____ of Love’ franchise with everybody’s favorite blow-up doll come to life, Daisy de la Whora.

Now we are up to speed.

We open with a sweeping view of a Hollywood Hills mansion and a gaggle of douchenozzles standing on risers in front of it. For a nanosecond I thought I was looking at the Riker’s Island Glee Club but the voiceover tells us that these are Daisy’s potential suitors, a bunch of outcasts, rocker boys and a dude from New Jersey. Perfect. Only the announcer calls them “Alpha Males.” Wrong. These guys were chosen mostly because they are fuck-ups and losers and they all make Daisy look like a rocket scientist, for a moment, at least, because then we get the opening credits where Little Muppet is filmed whoring it up, probably behind some filthy club on Sunset, like some kind of back alley Bratz doll.

And just like that, I am in love.

Back at the mansion, the boys are in various states of nervous anticipation when a stretch Hummer pulls up. Out steps, not Daisy, but Riki Rachtman. He used to host the Headbanger’s Ball on MTV and has been a fixture on the Hollywood rock scene for over two decades. Cool, I guess, but why is he sporting Fonzi’s hairdo? Is that the new look for WeHo hipsters? If it is then I’m glad that I live in Ohio.

“Ayyyyyyyyyyy, I’m still not the douchiest guy here!” Yeah, but you have jumped the shark, dude.

He gives them a big brotherly lecture on how they better be there for Daisy and not just for TV stardom. Cue the close-up of 6 Pack. He is one of the biggest famewhores in VH1 history, a fact obviously not lost on the editors. This is a good sign that they will be messing with him on a regular basis and he probably doesn’t even care.

As long as he keeps his herpes to himself.

Riki Fonzarelli sends the guys into the mansion to meet Brett Michael’s sloppy seconds and they crowd around a stage that has as it’s centerpiece a larger than life picture of Daisy which she proceeds to shimmy in front of to her new single “Heartbreaker.” Hmmm. Who’s the TV famewhore now? Enjoy it while you can sweetheart, because no amount of studio magic is ever going to make you sound like anything other than the screeching alley cat that you are. And there aren’t enough pleather corsets in the world to distract from the guacamole that has started pouring out of my ears.

Kim Kolziak, you’ve got competition.

They all whistle and holler at her fine performance though I have to take their opinion with a grain of salt. Most of them may be in bands but if they were any good, wouldn’t they be getting famous the old fashioned way? Like with talent? They should know that sleeping with Daisy will only get them so far. The only way for a guy to sleep his way to the top in the music world is if he is in a boy band. Just ask the Lou Perlman fan club.

It’s time for the guys to settle into their rooms but there is more important work to be done beforehand, like drinking your weight in Yukon Jack in half an hour. The only ones we see finding a bed are 12 Pack and two dudes that say that they are roommates back homo, I mean home. Let’s hope there’s a camera in THAT room 24/7.

This next part is my absolute favorite in a show full of so many wonderful warm and fuzzy moments that it really was hard to choose just one; the Triplets. Three blondies from Scandanavia that formed a band they called ‘Snake of Eden,’ only because ‘Poison Apple’ was too much like ‘Poison’ and we know how hair bands like to be original *cough, cough.* They are unbeleivably difficult to understand so the producers gifted us with subtitles that include misspelled words and umlauts. But remember, they are big in Sweden which gives them twelve more fans than the rest of these rock star wannabees. That makes them bonafied stars in this rarified atmosphere. Unfortunately, that kind of stardom doesn’t pay the grocery bill and the trio head off to the kitchen where they ingest raw hot dogs (insert gay joke here) dipped in salsa and whatever else they can get their hands on. But they are BIG IN SWEDEN, don yu fahgit zat.

The rest of the lugheads are busy getting drunk and obnoxious in the living room. The dude with the purple/red mohawk says he’s having a great time but, “All we need is bitches, yo!” This sends the roommates into a tizzy of indignation. “He’s not here for Daisy!” Dude, none of you are so get over it.

You know that this slip of the tongue is going to bite him in the ass and whoever rats him out gets the title of Biggest Bitch In The House. I hate tattle-tales.

Obligatory nickname designation time arrives so let’s finally meet our Alpha Fails, shall we?

First up is crazy Mike. He is a stuntman and he is certifiable. Daisy tells him that she’s thinking of calling him ‘Nuts’ so he shows her his. He has a lovely tattoo of puckered lips on his ass and does a backflip so she calls him ‘Flipper.’

This next guy says he’s a singer and sounds like a screech owl. He has a mohawk and guyliner so she calls him ‘London.’ He looks like Jared Leto after too many hits off the crack pipe so I was think more along the lines of ‘Turd Wanker,’ but it wasn’t to be.

Next up are the triplets and Ricki Fonzarelli has to step in and help her out on this one since she can barely understand English let alone a Swedish accent. He calls them ’84,’85 and ’86 since those were the last years that their look was in style. Ooooo! You got owned by a dude with a 70s hairdo that was already a throwback when Henry Winkler wore it! Way to keep it real, Rack Man. Here’s one of them:

The next dude is one of the guys who are roommates back home. He’s a midget Nikki Sixx and he’s clad all in black so Daisy calls him ‘Sinister.’ I’m sorry but this cracks me up. You wanna see sinister? Honey, come visit Twunty when she’s riding the crimson wave, not this jack-off that would probably cry if you took his Manic Panic black hair dye away.

Up walks the dude who drinks a case of Milwaukee’s Best in his garage every night in New Jersey while sitting on a half busted lawn chair bragging about the last toothless hag he picked up at The Rose Lounge out on Route 666. Daisy must have forgotten her glasses because she tells him that if he put on a bandana and a cowboy hat he would look just like Brett Michaels. She ends up calling him ‘Weasel’ because he’s laid back in a Pauly Shore kind of way and his real name just so happens to be Paulie. Of course.

This guy may think that he’s being different with that hair but his type is a dime a dozen. She names him ‘Torch’ and he ties with Weasel for the oldest at 36. He’s the guy that is totally harmless until you get some booze into him, at which point he reverts to the behaviour he learned back on his home planet of Retardus.

‘Drop Out’ is so named because he is taking a break from school right now. He is the consummate loser. Sad sack stoner slacker face, shapeless knit cap. I read in his bio that he broke up with his last girlfriend because they both had DUIs at the same time and couldn’t drive out to see each other. Just kill yourself right now, dude. Until then, I shall dub thee ‘Droopy Dog,’ and you should take it as a compliment because he is waaaay cooler than you.

This hunky guy is a High School teacher from Texas so she names him ‘Professor.’ He’s bland, the male equivalent of the hot chick you only sleep with when you’re trashed since she’s so boring. Moving on..

Here’s another male bimbo. He’s a gymn manager with huge biceps so he earns the name ‘Flex.’ In his bio he says that he has a huge package so maybe Daisy’ll keep him around for a while. They can lose themselves while staring into the bottomless empty depths of each other’s soul. Then they can reproduce and continue the downward spiral our gene pool has been on since reality TV was invented.

This guy gets named ‘Chi Chi’ because he’s from Chicago. That’s Spanish for what? Cootchie? Help me out here, I’m a WASP. Anyway, he looks like Mr. Peepers to me, after Will Ferrell cleaned him up and taught him rudimentary English.

We have another Texan on our hands and it’s the guy who made the ‘bitches’ comment earlier. He’s an exotic dancer and tool and ‘Tool Box’ is what she names him. I have absolutely no problem with that.

So Droopy Dog doesn’t feel lonely, we have another loser on our hands. He lives at home in his mother’s basement, likes the taste of dog food and broke up with his last GF when she got pregnant by another man. She names him ‘Brooklyn’ and everyone from the Heights to Williamsburg hangs their head in shame. Or just hangs themselves, I’m not sure.

Finally, we get an African American guy. He has braided chin pubes and a CornerShop tshirt which means he’s technically not a brother, plus he’s a ‘Cable Guy,’ hence his name. Really, VH1? That’s the best you could do? I’m getting a Hootie kind of vibe from him and that is not good.

Redneck time. This bullet headed root-a-tootin’ bag a meat drives 18 wheelers so he is christened ‘Big Rig.’ He is also a UFC fighter so please God, please, let him be on steroids. And let him take an instant dislike to Sinister or at least mistake him for a girl and crawl into his bunkbed one night. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Yet another guy from Texas, ’6 gauge’ has a lot of piercings, even one in his pee hole. Yeah, I knew a guy with a Prince Albert once. He told me that he took it out because no girls would sleep with him because they were afraid of it. Plus, he peed in six different directions at once. Urinate on a guy bigger than you one time too many and you too would rethink that piercing.

The birds are tweeting and unicorns, rainbows and tingling lady parts converge on what has to be our front runner, ‘Fox.’ He looks like a Latino Chris Cornell and he’s a hairdresser, folks. You got to believe that he can work the ladies. Yummy, but he looks kind of dirty too. Perfect for our Little Muppet.

Last but certainly not least is 12 Pack. Daisy crushed on him during ‘I Love Money’ but he hooked up with her arch rival Heather instead. You remember Heather. She’s the one that beat Daisy so hard during the Rock of Love 2 Reunion show that the only thing that saved her from permanent brain damage was the ridiculous thickness of her weave. Rikki thinks that he’s gay and the whole famewhore thing comes up again. I don’t care if he’s gay and I think that if you have to ask if someone is in it for the fame, you kind of have your answer already. So, everybody wins!

And there you have it. Twenty of the most intelligent, good looking, well groomed young fellas that you would be proud to take home to Mom. Soooo jealous. What’s she got that I don’t got? A lifetime supply of Frederick’s of Hollywood and a really neat pink curly straw, apparently.

She decides to fraternize with her man-harem, no doubt to figure out who to invite to the gang bang later, and has a nice little chat with Big Rig. Bloated muscle boy tells her that he got his heart broke by a bitch that couldn’t keep her legs closed (cue the hillbilly music. Thank you, producers). Before he can go into any more detail Cage pulls a ‘roidus interruptus to show her his tattoos of dead relatives. Hmmmm. I saw a preview clip of a cage match and let’s all hope it’s between these two steroid popping good old boys.

Cage tells her that he would have included dear old Dad in his arm eulogy, only he died in prison so he didn’t really get to know him so well. Awwwwww! He’s so sensitive! Daisy likey. Daisy big sucker.

And here’s where your name goes after I kill you for sleeping with 12 Pack.

Moving on to the triplets! They have an adorable conversation where they admit that they are there for the free booze and food. Duh! Is anyone shocked? No way! Everyone knows that if it wasn’t for girlfriends/strippers/anything with a vagina and no self esteem, the streets of L.A. would be riddled with dead boys with teased hair clutching at invisible guitars while a homeless guy pulls off their skin tight black jeans and leather jacket to sell to the guy at Flip on Melrose. They look like they weigh 90 pounds and if they have to pretend to be interested in a Muppett to get some chicken wings and Corona, so be it. This is the way it has always been and always shall be, Amen. Daisy shouldn’t be surprised if she read ‘The Dirt’ by Motley Crue. I realize that she probably reads at a third grade level but I’m pretty sure that it’s on Books on Tape by now.

She moves on to someone she can finally understand, someone who gets her, someone who’s game I’m a little disappointed in, Mr. Fox. He goes on and on about how her name suits her, oh Daisy, you are a daisy, the epitome of a daisy, until she shuts him up with a round of tonsil hockey that forces me to look away before the taste of bile fills my mouth. I think that this is just the beginning and I better load up on the Maalox before the next episode.

Sinister decides that it’s time for him to be a jerk and rats out Tool Box for his comment about ‘where the bitches at.’ Gossip is for chicks, buddy. If Tool Box really wanted to know where the bitches were at he would have to look no further than you and your tool of a roommate, Mr. Peepers.

When we become famous, we’re totally out of the closet, right dude, right?

Daisy falls for this yahoo and confronts Tool Box who says that it was all in fun. She tells him that she is not that kind of a girl, dammit! She’s a whore, not a bitch and he better learn that quick or he’s going to be out on his technicolor mohawked ass!

By the way, anybody else get the feeling that Riki Fonzarelli is already over this shit? He has the look of the teacher that always gets stuck with the assholes in detention. I hope that they’re paying him well.

And now for the part where Torch makes Canadians look bad. He’s talking complete nonsense and Daisy retreats into her pink curly straw, hoping that if she gulps down enough cheap Champagne his crazy won’t rub off on her. Brooklyn interrupts with a lame sincerity speech but the crazy that is Torch cannot be squelched. He speaks in clicks and calls it Swahili. I call it, ‘dude can’t speak when he’s drunk.’ Supposedly he spent some time growing up in Africa and maybe this is his way of impressing her with his worldly knowledge of exotic languages. I’m wondering if there’s a lot of peyote in Canada. I’m also thinking that the producers should interview these guys when they’re drunk and weed out the truly insane. Oh, what am I saying? He’s cuckoo bananas and deserves his own show.

On the other side of the pool, someone is feeling a wee bit neglected. Flipper needs some attention so he squeels and calls out Daisy’s name, “Look at me! Look at me!” He climbs onto the rigging that the show’s lights are attatched to and does a backflip off the top of it. Cut to commercial right after Daisy’s eyes bug out and a splat sound fills the air. Bah! They were yanking our chains because he lands in the pool with no problems so we are cheated out of seeing a Flipper pancake by the side of the pool. Too bad. They could have used the footage in a PSA about the dangers of douchebagging and drinking.

Meanwhile, someone is peeing off the side of the hill, Weasel is drinking like Mel Gibson with 12 hours to live, I think that Droopy Dog and London are hitting on one of the triplets and all is right with the world until London realizes that 80-something isn’t actually a girl, and he heads off to the bathroom to puke in the sink. Fortunately, he leaves a trail of vomit behind him, no doubt so that he can eventually find his way back to his dignity. UN-fortunately, he only vomited halfway to the bathroom, so he and his dignity fall asleep on the hall carpet.

Daisy is still drinking her Andre sparkling wine through a straw (is she from Jersey? I’ll have to ask Yenta) only now she’s wearing a black coat made from the scalps of failed rockers she picked up in that alley behind The Whiskey.

Droopy tells her that his real name is Tristan which she mistakes for Triscuit crackers. Same difference. Both are colorless and more often than not, topped with cheese. He calls her babe which she says is “Key-yuuuuute.” She is so getting rid of this loser.

Back in the hallway of shame, Flipper is trying to revive Brooklyn. When his neon green shoes aren’t enough to shock him into consciousness, he pulls out a whistle. A whistle. Why on earth does he have a whistle with him? Is he hoping to indulge his train conductor fantasies with Daisy later? Speaking of trains, we’re back to the triplets. They tell her that if she takes one of them, she takes them all. She looks thrilled. Anyone out there want to hop on that ride? It could be spectacular, like gang banging the anorexic version of Nelson. Plus one.

Instead, she let’s 12 Pack work his lame game on her. He tells her that he went out of his way to be on this show with her. Translation, Gasmii? The ‘I Love Money’ paycheck ran out and those chest waxes at the local salon are not going to pay for themselves. She laps up the attention then licks his face.

And a new STD is born.

Uh oh. Daisy has an announcement to make. Somebody has to go. Right now. I am beyond sad when she says goodbye to the triplets. Think of all the weight they could have gained if she could have kept them around just a little longer. Riki feels sorry for them and lets them take all the food they can carry, which isn’t much when your arms are 90% tattoo and 10% muscle.

Weasel time! Dude is beyond blacked-out. He drank two bottles of Jack Daniels which is a nice change from the Benchmark he’s used to drinking, and he just couldn’t help himself. He needs to sleep it off, plain and simple. Only you don’t sleep off a drunken stupor in a house full of other drunken idiots without expecting some kind of repercussions. The other guys hit him with pillows and draw on his face with markers. That’ll learn ya, Jersey Boy! Pathetic. I don’t know anyone who’s done that since college. Then again, we’re talking about guys in their early 20s here, with IQs in the early 70s.

I thought you were my friends, brah?

Elimination time. Three down with two more to go.

One of these guys knows all the words to the songs in ‘A Chorus Line.’ Roommates? Anyone?

Daisy has dressed for the occasion in a blue booby mini dress, conjuring up images of Brigitte Bardot if she just finished a Hustler pictorial after a week long meth bender. In other words- gorgeous.

She calls out Weasel for the Sharpie marks on his face and asks him why he didn’t look in the mirror before coming into the elimination room. Sweetie, honey? Have you looked in the mirror lately? Or do they all crack when you walk by? I will admit that she has a slammin’ body, but that face. Truck stop hookers should not be your ideal of beauty.

The first chain with a big star on it goes to Fox. Because he’s her rock star. Get it? The rest of the guys better be planning to mess up that pretty face with whatever markers they have left because he is obviously their biggest competition.

The next chain goes to Flex, then 6 Gauge, Chi Chi, Sinister, Big Rig, Flipper (who does a flip and falls flat on his ass), 12 Pack, Cage, Proffessor, Cable, Brooklyn and Tool Box. I was right about Droopy Dog because she sends him home next.

I told you the dog was cooler.

Who’s left in the bottom? Three drunks- Weasel, Torch and Brooklyn. Weasel stays, and drunks on lawnchairs in Paramus, New Jersey jump for joy. Torch goes home so no more dolphin clicks from the nut job. Don’t feel bad. There must be some kind of demand for a dude that can talk to sea mammals. That means that London stays so Daisy must be used to guys passing out on her. No biggy. When dudes are in black-out mode they often forget that you screwed Brett Michaels and have the face of a bargain bin blow-up doll.

Daisy has gift for the remaining fifteen suitors, and it’s a flask. Because that’s what you give to a bunch of raging alcoholics.

I’ll drink to that!

God bless us, every one.

What did you think, Gasmii? This orgy of losers is just what I need in these tough economic times. It puts a smile on my face and a spring in my step and all my little problems just fade away. Kinda like the Lithium.

Love and Kisses,

Twunty McSlore