Another episode, another huge bill owed to the liquor store that is supplying the booze for these bozos. How I wish I owned the place that was lucky enough to sponsor the drinking on this show, I’d be on my fifth massage at the Four Seasons by now.
Somewhere there’s a PCP dealer planning his retirement right now.
We open this week with guys lying all over the house in various stages of their hangovers, some still drunk and some still showing off their superiority by using their itty bitty bed for bicep curls. I’m looking at you, 12 Pack. Daisy will be so impressed when she sees that you can lift a partical board bed from Ikea with one hand. I know I am. If you can’t lift your weight in cheap furniture in the Twunty household I’m sorry, but we’re never going to make it. I’m strict like that with my standards.
“For an encore I’m going to bench press my ego!”
Another thing that tickles my fancy, and my fancy is almost as fancy as Daisy’s fancy, is a guy who will clean up after a party. I’m impressed when I see Weasel and Mr. Peepers clean up the buffet of empty cans and vodka bottles that are strewn over every available surface of the house, except the ones covered by drunk men and vomit. My elation doesn’t last very long once I realize that they are only doing it so that they can get to whatever alcohol is hidden under the mountain of red plastic cups.
“I’ll never let go Jack, I’ll never let go!”
And the drinking starts all over again, though I’m not entirely convinced that it ever stopped. Somehow, they all managed to get reasonably cleaned up and are doing shots in their Ed Hardy and Ed Hardy knock-off t-shirts. Why would a guy wear that crap? Hasn’t DB1 and his mockery on the Hot Chicks With Douchebags website taught them anything? I guess that there are still some girls out there that don’t own computers but even my seven year old niece knows what a douchebag is- any combination of the following; bandana, orange spray-on tan, tattoos picked out of a catalog, any manscaping whatsoever, a fauxhawk, knowledge of every look from Zoolander and breaking out “blue steel” whenever a camera is around, bulging HGH/steroid enhanced muscles and the aforementioned Ed Hardy gear. Whew. I apologize if I left anything out.
Riki Fonzarelli arrives to announce their first challenge. It’s perfect and right on their level- a variation of “Show and Tell.” There is a table with props that they can use but whatever they do, it has to show their personality. What I want to know is why are there half dead roses under a silver room service platter? Do they share a prop department with The Bachellor?
They all look completely confused because “personality” wasn’t one of the requirements when they signed up for this gig and you can’t just pull one of those out of thin air. What you can do, however, is grab a blow-up doll that has chest hair and a vagina to express yourself, as Flex has so wisely done. Huh? Is there an eleven year old tranny producing this show? I am confused.
“You and me got some bidness to take care of later. Mmmm Hmmmm.”
Most of the guys are writing stuff down and stunt-tard Flipper tells the other losers that he wrote a rap about them, enhancing their not-so-favorable qualities. The boys are just thrilled with that little nugget of knowledge and attempt to wrestle it out of his pocket, especially Sinister, or as I call him, Tattle Tale, so he will henceforth be known as TT. Luckily, Flippy’s pants are tighter than Daisy was in the fifth grade right before she lost her virginity to that security guy at Juvey Hall, so there will be no pocket rape today.
“OMG, this is one of my top ten fantasies!”
Daisy waits for her pupils in a makeshift classroom complete with desk chairs and a chalkboard. She cracks her ruler across the desk and tells them that the best boys will get a date and the worst will recieve detention and punishment of some sort. I could make a joke about how being on this show is punishment in itself but I don’t want to get reprimanded for stating the obvious.
Weasel is up first and he gives her a white daisy ring, no doubt from the one of those bubble gum machines he ran across in the arcade where he plays video games all day while waiting for Skeezer Joe, his dropout buddy from High School, to finish fixing the outboard motor on his “boat.” Daisy looks at it like a kitty looks at a shiny, shiny new toy and is almost as delighted as she was last week when those tests came back negative from the doctor.
“You spent five dollars on me? That’s more than I charge for a blow job!”
He’s taking the “Show and Tell” thing a bit literally by showing actual pictures of himself that he brought from home. The first one shows him popping a wheelie on a crotch rocket, the second one has him flying through the air on a dirt bike and the third one? You guessed it- Weasel in traction in a hospital bed from when he broke his back after popping too many wheelies and flying over too many mounds of dirt on his moped. Daisy likey. Daisy stoopid retahdid.
“Nurse, can I get some Jack in this IV?”
How on earth is Fox going to follow a real stone cold risk taking fox like Weasel? Du-uh! With a rose and a dildo, of course! Raise your hand in the air if you agree with me when I say that it is tragic, no downright evil of God to make so many cute guys on this planet dumber than a guest on Jerry Springer crossed with a baby-daddy on Maury. And I love his use of the phrase, “gift that most resembles myself.” It is perfect. After all, he is something pretty attatched to a dick.
Just what she wanted. A Hello Kitty vibrator.
As if that little performance wasn’t bad enough, here comes Professor. He got all excited when he saw the classroom and decided to give everyone a lesson in…….Epic Dork Failure times the Speed of Light. Or, as he put it, A Lesson Plan in Love by a dude that may or may not be a mormon with an endless supply of Xanax. Notice how I capitalized xanax and not Mormon. Now you know where my true religious leanings lie.
Just when you think it can’t get any worse, it’s London’s turn to impress Daisy. He starts off by saying that he’s really hungover and his lyrics are unfinished and not ready to be unveiled yet. If you can’t write when you’re hungover, when can you write? When you’re passed out drunk on the floor in a pool of your own vomit? He admits that he only wrote two lines, one of which he stole from Daisy’s MySpace page. Dude, when a girl who is one part silicone, one part collagen and two parts epileptic muppet is a more prolific songwriter than you, you might want to rethink that singing career.
Even Daisy agrees with me.
Flex drags his blow-up doll to the front of the class and he has painted a red heart on its’ chest. He rambles off some drivel about it representing how he has a broken heart and supposedly Daisy is his salvation. He comes off just as badly as that sounds and even he has to admit that he looked like a douche.
“But do you see my biceps? Please look at my biceps…?”
12 Pack has a dozen dead roses which he says represents his past. He killed his last twelve girlfriends and Daisy will make it a baker’s dozen? What? For someone who seems to drink way less than everybody else, he really could have shown more effort. It’s not like it’s his first time to the rodeo, unlike the rest of these guys.
Big Rig shows a picture of his son, his pride and joy who will no doubt drive a truck one day like dear old dad, and then Cage steps up with his cage fighting belt. Daisy doesn’t understand how it could possibly be a real belt since it is way too big to fit through a belt loop. Kind of like your tops are so small that they couldn’t possibly hold up those knockers of yours? She has got to be joking. No one is that dumb.
“I don’t understand! It always works on the other mentally retarded girls.”
Brooklyn has written her a poem. His delivery is like Lenny Bruce reading Penthouse Forum, only leaving out the dirty parts. Cable Guy plays the sax with as much skill as Bill Clinton, TT does a Michael Jackson impersonation (I am NOT lying) and Stripper-Hawk Tool Box strips. 6 Gauge is a man after my own heart when he utilizes his bartending skills to whip up a pink cocktail for her and then Mr. Peepers comes along and ruins it all.
“…and then my dad died but don’t feel bad cuz Tattle Tale blew me in the waiting room. It was AWESOME!”
It seems that ChiChi’s dad died in his arms. That’s a pretty horrifying thing and everybody looks suitably empathetic except for TT who cries right along with him. I get it, they’re roommates back home and know each other really really well and honestly, who doesn’t cry when their boyfriend gets all weepy? It just wouldn’t be right if they he didn’t.
Flipper McLooneypants is next and he reads his rap/diss of the other guys in the house and it is an instant classic of beat-down proportions. What an asshole. He is lucky that his rhymes are so lame or he’d be lying bloody on the floor right now. I wonder why none of these meatheads take a shot at him anyway and then I remember that stuff like that will get you kicked off the show. These guys may be stupid but they are not dumb enough to shorten their one chance at the limelight because of some kid with Tourrettes and a death wish.
Daisy dismisses everybody except Weasel, 6 Gauge, Mr. Peepers (top three), Fox, Flex and London (bottom three). She takes the losers to a room where everyone else is waiting and tells them that they have to strip for three of her friends. Whoever does the best job gets to go on the date with her and the winners. Out come the three friends and it looks like someone is cloning Vicki Lawrence from Mama’s House because they are all older women in spinster drag. I pity the one who has smelly London writhing all over her with his doughy belly because he is really into it. REALLY into it. If things don’t work out with Daisy, I think that Betty White is still single, buddy.
I see London, I see France…..Shit, I’m gonna throw up.
Fox and Flex do okay but London wins deservedly. At least the fix isn’t in for Fox. He better be careful though, and not let his stupidity show so much. He’d be well served to stick his tongue or his dick in her mouth whenever she opens it to ask him something.
There’s more drinking to be done before the night is over and the guys gather by a stone wall in the backyard and start dissing Flipper and his rap from Hell. Tattle Tale opens his mouth to talk trash until Flipper steps up behind him and he totally pusses out. What a little punk-ass punk. Somebody needs to bitch slap him before he starts to grow teats and a clit. Actually, that was too insulting to women everywhere. To paraphrase Woody Allen, his yellow streak doesn’t run down his back, it’s all the way across.
Flipper climbs up on the wall and yells at everybody but who does he single out? Possibly the most laid back out of all of them, Cable Guy. 12 Pack is right when he says that he is playing it safe by not going after one of the larger guys who are waaaay more pissed at him. He gets in Cable Guy’s face and makes fun of his wonky eyes and when Cable tries to talk to him he begs Cable to hit him. When he doesn’t, he smashes a glass over his own head. Blood pours down his face and he continues to rant like Vinnie Barbarino on uppers and downers at the same time, all slack jawed and bug eyed.
“Touch me, touch me, I dare you!
“Dude, I’m not gay.”
Here’s where he is sooo lucky that the guys intervened. He pushes Cable off of the wall. Granted, it’s only about two feet above the grass but you could tell that Cable was going to have to stick up for himself at this point and I’m sure he breathed a sigh of reief when all the guys got between them. Flipper runs off but not before showing them his ass and Little Flipper. Thank you, producers, for putting those little faces in front of his nasty bits. I don’t think my vision could take it.
Special Olympics delivery.
After cleaning himself off, Flipper decides to pay a visit to Daisy. She’s drinking on a chair by herself, sans pink curly straw and she asks him what’s wrong. He tells her that he has to leave because his stash of ludes and amphetamines is running low and his dealer is all the way out in the valley and he doesn’t make house calls, plus now that the triplets are gone there are no cute girls left in the house and the only one who understood him was Torch, they could click together in the corner for hours and I’m totally lying here but he does flip her off before he leaves the room. Keep it Klassy, concussion boy, I’m sure that Charles Manson is keeping your padded cell warm for you.
She slams the door after he exits the room but I, for one, would be jumping for joy to have such a batshit crazy guy leaving. This looney tune puts the Jackass guys to shame for sheer insanity. Here’s hoping that he’s playing dodge-em with cars on the L.A. freeway as we speak.
He grabs his bags and says that he has to get out of there ASAP (before someone kicks his ass for reals) and tells Mr. Peepers to fuck off on his way out. Can a person be this nuts? I feel like we are all getting punked and it’s really Ben Stiller playing a character called Flipper to prepare for some role in a new movie about realty shows called Tropic Thunder of Love. Ohhhhhh, my head hurts.
Mr. Peepers fills everybody in on what just happened like the little gossip girl he is and then finds the neon green shoes that Flipper left behind in his haste to avoid the Wrath of Cable. Big Rig pees in them, then Flex. Wow. Two weeks and two episodes in a row of brainiacs peeing on a hill. James Lipton must be salivating in his ballet shoes to book these guys on The Actor’s Studio.
Jokes on you, dude. Flipper pees in those shoes all the time.
If you are like me, and for your sake I hope you are not, you have been waiting for our first case of drunk dialing. Well kids, this isn’t just any drunk dialing. This is drunk dialing of Lindsay Lohan proportions. Brooklyn decides that it would be a good idea to call his girlfriend back home who didn’t even know that he got on the show in the first place. AND she’s on speaker phone. She tells him that if he does anything it’s over. He shushes her (girls LOVE that) and tells her repeatedly to lower her voice and then he hangs up.
The entire conversation echoed through the house but it seems like Flex is the only one who heard the whole thing. Here comes the “he’s not here for the right reasons” speech.
Whatever, the phone rings every hour on the hour with the chick telling whoever answers that Chris (Brooklyn) has a girlfriend. Who stays up all night to call a number over and over again? When did Courtney Love move to Brooklyn and shouldn’t she be blogging on MySpace and tracking down all those people who bought property falsely with the Cobain name and sponsored her financial ruin? Well, whoever it is, maybe she’s a basement dweller like Brooklyn and has no idea what time of day it is. Finally, one of the guys answers the phone pretending to be the producer and gets her to stop. All that fuss over a major dufus. He has GOT to be packing.
The next day the sun rises all beautiful and hangover hazy and it is time for the date- drunken surfing. Don’t try this at home unless you are a professional alcoholic. Fuzzy heads and big boards do not mix. They all zip on wet suits except for Daisy because it is in her contract to be showing a certain amount of skin at all times. She is wearing a bikini not fit for a toddler and manages to keep it on by riding the surfboard face down. The guys flail around but like all experienced drunks, they manage to come out unscathed. You know what I mean. You hear about these horrible drunk driving accidents and the only one to survive is the drunkest bastard in the car. And usually he or she is driving. But I’ll save that rant for another day.
They sit down to a nice lunch on the beach and all Weasel can do is ask if there is any Jack Daniels around. Just eat your sandwich and STFU, Jimmy Buffet. I like you and I don’t want her to kick your loser ass off before I’ve used up all my white trash Jersey jokes. Daisy asks him what he does for a living and he basically admits to being a bum. How that pays for motorcycles and boats is beyond me. Hmmmm.
Since Mr. Peepers helped her with her surf board he gets a one-on-one with Daisy. She asks him what his ideal girl would be and he describes her to a T. Physically. Big boobs, platinum blonde hair. When is someone going to show up with some game? Everybody with eyeballs that work know that she has big boobs and fake blonde hair. He should have lied and said that he respected her artistic ability and compassion and sense of humor, then and only then should he have told her that she is hot. But she’s stupid and naive and eats it up like the superficial dingbat that she is.
He also likes her because she is tiny and so is he. He weighs 130 pounds. I weigh 130 pounds. I am 5’8″ and a good eight pounds of that is boobs (thank you, genes) so he can’t be more than 5’4″ since I am actually skinnier than he is. That’s niether here nor there but damn, I bet I could bench press him.
Gosh, I hope that ten of those pounds consist of cock.
They swap spit, I turn away to the barf bucket at the side of my bed and make a mental note to cover my eyes next time. I totally forgot to run to CVS for that Maalox. Oopsy.
For some reason, Weasel gets some alone time with our little muppet as well. She keeps asking him how he supports himself and he admits that he was married for eight years to a chick who supported him. Aha! He says that she grew up and he didn’t (shocker) and that he was a lasik technician (he calls it optical engineer or some such bullshit). I couldn’t quite understand what he said he does now but I think it invilves blow jobs on the Jersey turnpike for gas money to fill the tanks of his growing battalion of junk cars, boats and mopeds. He gets a peck on the cheek, which is wise since Jack breath is not a fun experience.
In the limo ride back to the house it is 6 Gauge’s turn to rat out Brooklyn. I still think that it’s a bitch move because who is even remotely threatened by the guy, but he does it anyway. When they get there she takes Brooklyn aside and he lies and says that the chick that called all night is a crazy ex. She has no choice to buy it because this is the same crap that she pulled with Brett Michaels. And why is she drinking an energy drink that is bigger that her head? Hasn’t she heard of Adderal?
I will spare you the snoozefest she sat through with Prof because he could put a spider monkey on speed to sleep. He told her that he’s a passive person but he more than made up for it by being aggressively boring. I second her eye roll.
Holy shit, I found someone more boring than me. Ugh.
It’s elimination time and Daisy rolls in wearing a red dress that is basically a yard of fabric that barely covers her cootch and the top of her nipples. Once again, a vision of beauty and taste. Mr. Peepers gets his star first and Riki Fonzarelli makes fun of him, calling him a Care Bear that has rolled around in the gutter. You give him too much credit, my friend. It’s still the best day of Mr. Peeper’s life outside of that time that he and Tattle Tale held hands on the water ride at Disneyland and shared an ice cream cone while coyly staring into each other’s eyes and giggling like schoolgirls.
London is next, followed by everybody but Prof, Weasel and Brooklyn. Oh no, not the Wease! And why is Cage wearing a dead Persian cat on his shoulders? Was that his last opponent?
“You don’t understand! It killed my brother! In prison! After it killed my dad!”
Anyhoo, a drunk, a liar and a bore. Gosh, gee willikers, what a hard decision. Weasel’s balls are sticking to his pants (no, I did not make that up) and she sends him home. I am not happy. He was silly and a goof and so easy to make fun of. But who knows, maybe one day I’ll spot him across the pier in Asbury Park and we can share a Jack and Coke while reminiscing about the days of drinking 3.2 beer in the back of your buddy Ted’s big brother’s brand new TransAm. Sigh.
I hope that the Gods of New Jersey forgive you, Daisy, cuz I won’t.
But wait. There is only one star left! Someone else is going home and Daisy asks Brooklyn point blank if he has a girlfriend. He says no and everyone including Fonzi knows that he is lying except for our little muppet. I guess that looking like a hypocrite wasn’t something Daisy was in the mood for this week. They are both equally boring but the most surprising thing is that even with three guys gone this week, the douche factor has not gone down one iota. So goodbye Prof, go bore the kids in your classes. I’m sure that they are used to it by now, unlike us viewers.
And then the psycho phone rings. Aww geez……
Please, please let her call out Brooklyn next week and bring the Weasel back! I have more Jersey jokes!
Love and Kisses,