Supposedly, we are losing two guys this week, SUPPOSEDLY. Getting rid of three would be fine with me but then what would I do with myself next week?
Not have to look at London’s tongue ever again, that’s what.
The truth is that we’re going to have to wait two weeks again because VH1 is airing a clip show next week since they didn’t get as many episodes out of this trainwreck what with all the guys that took it upon themselves to skedaddle.
As we all know, one of the skedaddlers is back and he’s in the kitchen getting ragged on by 12 and Flex. TT isn’t saying a word, no doubt because he can’t believe that he’s made it this far and doen’t want to mess it up. Or he’s just drunk again, or it just sunk in that his little buddy is gone.
Or he just likes to smell his knuckles in peace.
12 and Flex want JOSHUA LEE, REAL PERSON, to prove how badly he wants to be there by doing a shot of Tabasco, which he promptly does. What a man. Ha. I knew a guy in college that would down entire bottles of Dave’s Insanity without blinking an eye or drinking water afterwards. So snort a line of Wasabi powder or something, then we’ll talk, big guy.
And while you’re at it, mainline some Irish Spring.
It’s drunks around the fire pit time again and Daisy’s been hitting the Ripple already because she comes out meowing. I think I heard her do a bird call as well, some kind of Booby no doubt, the not-so-rare Pink Crested Yellow Weaved Booby of Sunset Strip, I think, and who will she shine her bright light of attention on tonight? It’s TT!
I told you she was wasted.
But not that wasted. It’s not like she actually makes out with the guy, she only allows him to touch her cheek with his Nicole Kidman pre-surgical enhancement sized lips. I doubt that she even felt it.
London is sitting right next to them, watching and waiting his turn like a good little prodigal douchebag, then letting her know that he needs, he wants, he must have some one-on-one time with his future sugar mama. They tumble onto the grass, mumbling their barely articulated feelings to one another, a merry-go-round of love proving and spit swapping.
TT is not going to be pushed aside so easily, oh no, he hast picked two beautiful flowers from yonder hillside for our lady faire, and lost his magic ring in the process! He bemoans his tragic situation to the other two knights and they promise to form a fellowship in the morn’ and trace the path of his precious to the bitter end.
In other words, it’s probably a five dollar freaking skull ring he bought off some street vendor in Venice Beach so get over it, you asshole.
Maybe if you ate some of your daily intake of calories instead of drinking them, it wouldn’t have slipped off in the first place. Now, pull up your damn pants.
It’s safe to say that his stupid flower ploy didn’t exactly move Daisy to stop massaging London’s uvula nor does it keep her from asking London to eat TT’s pathetic flora to “prove his love to her.”
By the way, I think that I’m going to add that quote to the list of phrases that you will never ever hear come out of your Twunty’s mouth. To say it is to admit defeat and I would have already been on the third guy after him by now, not that I’m a slut or anything so let’s move on.
Flex says that he doesn’t see any sparks flying around between the two of them and he’s right in a way. How sexy is it to watch two people that are so drunk that all of Southern California is spinning around them, try to bob and weave their way to each other’s mouth? About as sexy as watching Michael Jackson kiss Lisa Marie Presley, that’s how.
TT observes the flower eating and stamen swapping and all 98 pounds of him are about to go off, and 98 pounds of angry hipster rocker is a really scary thing, I tell you! He smashes a guitar that he found hanging on the wall which is a good thing since it leaves less stuff for London to pawn later, and he throws eggs in the house, hitting one of the cameras and camera guys, I assume.
I’m sure they’ve both seen worse.
12 Pack and Flex laughed at him the entire time, like you would giggle at your little brother’s half hearted and really lame attempt at showing his wee anger. That’s okay widdle TT, it will all be bettewr in the morning, I pwomise…….or will it?
The Daisy diary comes out, letting the fellas know that it is time to meet the exes. They are gorgeous, by the way. Classy in that Audrey Hepburn kind of way, articulate as Hillary Clinton and as reserved as Jackie O, especially TT’s ex, Ashley. But we’ll just call her the poor man’s Tara Reid.
After a little too much American pie.
Just a little, Gasmii, just a little. I know, I’m mean.
All the guys are nervous because who knows what an ex will say. You could think that you ended things on the best possible terms only to find out later that she’d been telling everyone that you’re a child toucher who gave the Clap to half his younger cousins, all while faithfully attending those Klan meetings where you suck off the Grand Wizard in exchange for Nazi memorabilia.
Or- you could have fought every single day of your relationship, cheated and lied, stole and cajolled, and she’ll blow sunshine and HoHos up your ass, cook you dinner when you’re low on funds and pity blow you when you can’t get laid to save your life. I’m not saying that either one of these scenarios are neccessarily bad bacause we’ve all been in one or the other at some point, but you never know which person will show up.
Here’s 12 Pack’s ex, Cathy. I hate her immediately for one very, very good reason.
She’s not Heather.
They’ve known each other since 12 was just a 6 Pack, dated briefly and she looks like half the sorority girls that I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing, overly hair sprayed and underdressed.
Next up is Flex’s ex Kia Sportage. She is rocking a scarf and tank top, tight jeans and a pretty tight body. They probably met at FitWorks where he spotted her and she gave him inventory blowout pricing on her latest model.
And something tells me she could point you in the direction of a dealer near you.
I was expecting them to wheel in the vomit covered couch that London’s been calling his girlfriend for the last few years but instead we get this chick named Natasha. She is a Joan Jett wannabe and what’s worse, a Paris Hilton’s BFF castoff. Yet another disgusting fame seeker! You have Herpes by association, and you are not even his ex! You’re “just friends.” When did they meet? In the VH1 casting offices when they made eye contact over the unzipped pants of the producers they were going down on? And that’s not even the worst of it.
Kate Gosselin called, she wants her hair back and returned in it’s unnatural color.
Daisy wants to have lunch with the girls and get them properly lubricated so they’ll spill some beans. Chatty Cathy must have opted for some coke instead of booze because she won’t stop talking 12 Pack to the skies. She has nothing bad to say and Riki is NOT having this love fest. He’s bored out of his mind and wants some dirt, dammit, so bring it, bitches! Well, it turns out that London’s been “seeing” somebody.
The funny thing is that earlier London said that he has never cheated on a girl. This could mean any number of things in his ‘write your morals as you go’ world, like it isn’t cheating if I never actually called her my girlfriend or hey, baby, threesome opportunities don’t come along every day- can we make an exception, just this once?
And why couldn’t they locate one of his exes? I have an idea. I’m sure that there are tons of them but the problem is that you’d need a damn good P.I. to find a chick based on her last known squat.
Natasha also informs Daisy that London is never without a girl. This takes me back to the brutal honesty of Motley Crue’s “The Dirt.” Every guy in that band was poor, hungry and smelly when they first started out. The only thing that got them through the hard times was a girl like Daisy. She’d provide them with booze, drugs and a place to crash, maybe even some wheels, if they were lucky. So when Natasha says that he’s a sex addict I only half buy it. I think that every guy loves sex and he’s a serial dater by neccessity. If he ever gets famous or self-sufficient he will dump whatever Civic driving manicurist he’s been shacking up with and get himself a Penthouse Pet. Trust.
Our little blow-up doll is looking forlorn, even the Champagne bubbles (Oooo, they tickle my nosie! hee hee) can’t slow her wilting face until something sadder comes along. Sorento’s sob story. It turns out that Flex was her first love, they dated for two years and when he dumped her she had to move out, which has got to suck.
He broke her heart into teenie tiny pieces and she doesn’t seem like she’s over it yet. Hooking up a year later couldn’t have helped, after which he didn’t take her calls or return her texts. Raise your hand if this hasn’t happened to you or you haven’t felt like a cowardly asshole for doing it to someone else. I want to hate the guy for hurting her but I can’t. It’s part of the minefield of dating.
All in all, not a lot of dirt to go on. Chatty Cathy earns her two seconds of fame by running her mouth some more about what a great guy ‘Dave’ is, but you better watch it girl, I think I spotted an earpiece in your ear and a microphone in your bag. 12 Pack totally orchestrated her appearance. There was no way in hell he was going to allow another girl to come out on national TV and call him a fag in front of the entire world, so he paid her in blow and a gift certificate to his favorite waxer.
TT didn’t think that far ahead because Tara Reid 2.Ho whispers that she has something she needs to tell Daisy. What could it be? Does he have no discernable cock and balls? Did she catch him with Peepers jacking it to Gossip Girl? Does he use plastic applicators instead of the more eco-friendly cardboard?
“Do you ever get that not so fresh feeling?”
Why yes, yes she does.
Does TT ever get physical?
Why yes, with his pillow at night, sure.
No! Like with you or your face?!
What, what what?!?
Oopsy, the Chinister One hauled off and clocked Tara in the mouth one night when he was drinking. Ya don’t say! I am positively shocked! A guy the size of Gary Coleman has anger issues? AND he hit a girl? This cannot be! So once again, he looks like an asshole and this little story of hers goes a long way to explaining her busted face.
Too bad he didn’t knock any pretty into you.
Thus endeth our luncheon and because Riki hasn’t been abused enough, it’s time to see a psychic. Not just any psychic, but Daisy’s very own personal soothsayer. She is, shall we say, rather LARGE.
“You guys got any spare Tarot cards lying around this place? I ate mine.”
I say that with love. No, I lie. I’m with Riki, it’s a load of crap. A friend of mine once talked me into seeing some ten pack a day hacker with Lee Press-On nails whose only credentials were that she predicted Claus von Bulow’s aquittal. I spent 250 bucks for the privilege of finding out that I had been my exes mother in a past life and that I should marry the most boring person I’d ever met because he had a few million in the bank. I might like a guy who has a little extra jingling around in his pocket but I will not watch my life fly by while my snooze inducing husband talks about his collection of rare South American sea slugs for the millionth time.
So yeah, psychics suck.
First up to the stupid table with it’s crystal balls of nothing are 12 and his puppet. Clairvoyent McMysticpants says that in past lives he’s been a person of great responsibility, taking care of those around him. Then she says that he would never hurt Daisy because any relationship that they have, she’s in charge. Sure, yeah, okay. I ain’t buying what she’s selling but did you get a load of what Riki wore this time? He’s looking a little Karl Maldenesque, only a flannel shirt instead of a trenchcoat.
‘The Streets of Seattle.’
Next up is Flex and Optima. She brings up the booty call and the lack of calls afterwards which was surprising to her since he told her that he still loved her. He’s all, “But I’m not IN LOVE with you,” and it’s like listening to an old married couple go at it. Boring.
“You didn’t call or write or even change my oil regularly!”
“You know that wasn’t in the warranty!”
Moving on to London. Sylvia Browne von Eatsalot takes one look at his scuzzy bedroom eyes and pronounces to all present that he really, really likes women. And pawnshops. And eyeliner. And Valtrex, when he can afford it.
He has lots of sex with lots of women but it’s mostly just friends with benefits. Got it.
Daisy does not get it. She asks if it’s true that he’d been shtupping a ho before coming to the house and he admits it. She wants to know if he’ll go back to the chick he’s been banging if she sends him packing. Uh, yeah. Natty Light doesn’t pay for itself, plus if she says goodbye it means that she doesn’t want him anyway.
See, we are right back to the old London. Manipulating and confusing our Daisy. She is unable to get what she’s thinking into words so I’ll do it for her. If she kicks him out of the best gig he’s ever had in his entire life it will be because she doesn’t trust him, not because she doesn’t want him. In order to “prove his love” he damn well better be foresaking all others. But honey, how will he eat? It’s a big old Catch 22. This will not end well.
She leaves the room to untangle her brain before her head explodes leaving Champagne bubbles and bad weave splattered all over Riki and Portly O’Poltergeist only to come back to hear the charlatan say that London is the guy for her and he’ll never cheat on her and are you guys paying me in KFC or Boston Market, I can’t remember?
On to tramp abuser TT. Dionne Warwick’s finest chuckles, then cackles as he walks in. She’s remembering that she ate more food than he weighs the last time she showed up at the Old Town Buffet but recovers nicely by telling him that she gets a “bad boy” vibe from him. No, that’s what his mommy said to him before he came here because he wouldn’t eat all his vegetables. It’s also very similar to the name of a movie he didn’t make it all the way through because there was too much bad language.
She calls him selfish and says that he wants things his way at all times no matter what Daisy or anyone else wants. Sounds like a spoiled brat with anger issues if you ask me. Daisy brings up what trashier Tara said about him hitting her and he replies that it was just some horsing around that got a little too rough. She buys it, I’m not sure that I do but I’m happy with this turn of events because it’s high time he was gone. So if a meth head gets cracked a couple of times in the mouth, so be it.
She also says that TT is definitely not the guy for Daisy and ranks them from best for her to worst. 12 Pack, London, Flex, and TT at the bottom. I do not agree but then again I am a rational human being who does not base her decisions on a card she’s turned over so yeah, it’s a shock that we don’t see eye to eye.
Everybody heads outside for what may be our last drunken binfire. Sniff. Flex is being awfully flirty with that used South Korean compact car of his and everyone notices.
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“There’s a Lube Stop just around the corner, baby…”
Uh oh. It’s looking like he and TT will be heading back to the void of their untelevised lives pretty damn soon. But Kia, she’s a sneaky little ride and she tells Flex about London and the special friend he was sharing his crabs with before coming back into the house.
He tells 12 Pack and so on and so on, and he’s very happy to get a chance to vent his anger all over London. Spittle goes flying, there’s a moment of ass kicking threats, some fighting words and stares of death. Tara lights up a cigarette to watch the fun and who wouldn’t? She must be used to seeing this kind of behavior because it barely phases her. If she gets an accidental elbow to the face, no big deal.
It already looks like she has two black eyes anyway.
12 Pack and TT are laughing because once again Flex is the one taking care of their dirty work and if he does throw some punches it’s buhbye Flex, hello finale for at least one of them. London is trying not to look like too much of a wimp by saying that Flex is twice his size which is true but he can’t be winning any points with Daisy. Or is he? I don’t know what to think since unlike her, I don’t make life decisions based on what the fortune cookie from Panda Express says.
We need a break in all this macho posturing tension and it comes in the form of the wheels falling off the Kia. She flips her Rio right onto the table of food and spirits. A small price to pay to the party Gods.
Don’t worry, honey. Smirnoff and cocktail wienie stains wash right off of Hot Topic wife beaters. Just ask Tara.
Riki tells the exes that it’s time for them to shuffle off into the night with the exception of Natasha who owes one of the producers yet another blow job, and Daisy chases down Kia (I ran out of all the names of their cars, I think) to ask her a question.
“I’ve got this not so fresh feeling…”
“Yeah, there’s been a lot of that going around lately.”
She asks her if she’ll want to get back together with Flex if Daisy eliminates him and she says no. Kia has seen the way that Flex gazes lovingly at Daisy and it reminds her of the way he looked at her when she was fresh off the showroom floor, no jizz stains in the back seat and no cigarette burns in the upholstery. Those were the days, Kia, those were the days.
The girls finally leave and Daisy, having moved on to White Zinfandel (whatever happened to the pink crazy straw? Did she ditch it when she realized that it wasn’t the most efficient utensil for snorting her coke?) and chats with the guys about the crazy stuff they do when they’re drunk and upset. That’s about 75% of the time so I’m sure they have a lot to talk about but 12 Pack decides to tell her why she shouldn’t be with the other guys, even ratting out his buddy Flex for getting cozy with Kia.
We’re getting close to the end here and he’s putting into action the plan he’s formulated by watching people like New York and Heather first hand. Little does he know how well it is about to work, and he doesn’t have to do a thing.
Flex is still giving London shit, it’s back and forth, back and forth. Flex baits London, London tells him to go ahead and hit him, and Flex tells London exactly how he feels about him, a la Perez Hilton. You’re a smart bunch, read his lips:
Geez, this is getting old and poor Daisy is getting pissed. She has to scream over their bitching in order to be heard and tells London to quit falling for Flex’s baiting, he’s got nothing to prove to the other guys, it’s her that he has to “prove his love” to. Voooooommmiiiiiiiit!!!!!!!!!
Thanks, Daisy. All my barf buckets are full now.
What am I going to do for the finale? I’ll have to resort to plugging the laptop in next to the toilet, I guess.
Things finally quiet down and she asks all of them who should be in the final two, assuming that the one who is answering is one of them. They all pick 12 Pack. Unreal. And unbelievably stupid but nobody ever said that boozing for a month straight would grow you any more brain cells, now did they?
Since every single one of the guys thinks that it’s such a good idea, who is Daisy to argue? She makes him one of the final two right then and there. He dances a little jig because his plan is coming to fruition and the other dunces basically threw it right in his lap.
At eliminations, do I even need to say it? Flex is all painted up again. I think that he saw those fake pictures of Uncle Oscar that popped up on the internet a while back and assumed that cross dressing was the way to go.
Daisy is in her skankiest little black dress and Riki has traded in his flannel detective look for some serious Vegas lounge leopard print. Whoa, lordy! Is it sexy in a sleazy off-duty pit boss kind of way? Or is it sleazy like a sexy mob boss in his mistress’s bathrobe? I’m confused.
Daisy tells 12 Pack that he will be accompanying her to Maui, no surprise there, and then London starts trying to explain the difference between a girl that he likes who lets him hump her and a girl that he really likes that might let him hump her in the very near future. So, to hear him tell it, dating someone and having a girlfriend are two totally different things? It must be nice to live in that everything’s-a-grey-area world of yours. Asshole.
He’s all faux sincere, mumbling about how he wants to be with her and she tells him that she’s afraid that he’s going to hurt her, but she has Daddy issues so he’s in like Flynn. Just like I thought. I’m right there with Flex as he rubs his temples in pain. Now, go pummel the guy. Please.
Do you know what her logic was for letting him stay? That she was kinda sorta dating 19 (wasn’t it 20?) guys on this show so what does one girl in London’s bed matter? Okay, but this is Daisy of Love, not Pick the Biggest Whore to Take Home to Your Non-Existent Family.
Did Flex get all made up for nothing? Is TT going to cry? No and yes. She decides to take three guys to Maui and calls TT up to her. He can barely look up from under his jauntily askew cap as she sends him packing.
He’s all weepy and sad, saying that he’s crushed and hopes that maybe, just maybe there’s someone out there that will love him.
Dude, HIS NAME IS PEEPERS. You’re welcome.
So Flex gets to go to Hawaii with 12 and London because her lady bits tingle when a boy is willing to fight for her, not that she condones violence or anything, we all know that. Plus, she likes the fact that she’s a shinier, newer version of Kia but that’s a bit like being the brandest newest bestest five dollar bike at The Dollar Store, no? Only after riding it you won’t end up with makeup on your pillowcases and filthy weave in your bathroom sink. So, here’s to one more episode of this mind numbing spirit sapping douch-a-thon. Load up on the Previcid, I think we’re all going to need it since there’s a good chance that London is going to win. And in the words of a certain gladiator, this can only be redeemed by one thing.
This guy unleashing Hell.
Love and Kisses,