And who really cares what love’s got to do with it as long as we keep having glorious Daisy moments like these:
That’s what you get for kicking your luggage down the stairs like a ten year old. I mean, it can’t be so damn heavy that she couldn’t carry it. What do you pack for Hawaii? A sarong and some bikinis? Some K-Y and flea dip for any encounters with London? The heaviest item she owns is a pink lip gloss, unless she’s fooling us all and she has the complete works of Hegel in there.
Yeah, sure, and London owns more than one pair of socks.
Aaaaaaand…we’re off to Maui, or as Daisy likes to call it- Meowi! They arrive at their hotel, looking as shitfaced as can be, which is a strange turn of events for a family show such as this, and I can’t tell if Daisy wants to play London Bridge or if she wants them to swing her between them like a little kid.
She’s about the same size as Jonathon Lipnicki, so it would probably work.
They’re greeted by a postcard of dancers and leis and Riki Fonzarelli in a Hawaiian shirt. The flowers on it kind of match his tattoos and he seems a little cheerier than normal. I’m happy for him. Soon he can go back to his normal life of hanging out with bands in cool clubs and pretend like Daisy of Love was just a nightmare of faux rockers and alcoholics. How long does it take to get the smell of douchevomit out of your nostrils?
Speaking of douchevomit, everybody gets their own drink served in a quaint pineapple, which in London’s world is a thimble, and the boys head off to check out their room. Is that London’s luggage next to him? WTF?
Your grandma called, she wants her knitting bag back.
London manages to find an extra bedroom with a nice big bed and calls dibs on it. Whoa, boy! Not so fast! The big mean bullies will not let this go unpunished, duh. It takes about a nanosecond for 12 and Flex to completely trash the pristine white sheets and pillowcases with their feet, bare asses and some Flex weiner rubs.
Dude, if you have to stuff your crotch, I think a sock might work better.
Little do they know, the jokes on them! They just made it homier for London. He wouldn’t know what to do with a clean bed. I’m surprised that he was able to identify it when he saw it since he’s never actually seen one up close before. He’s read about them, sure, seen some in the pretty magazines he thumbs through in the waiting room at the Free Clinic, but met one in real life? Never. I’ll give him props for trying something new. I just assumed that he’d spy the couch in the living area and camp out there.
Riki pays a visit to their room and he’s all pissy because they’ve already trashed it. Well, let’s see. Alcohol, boredom, the mentality of third grade summer campers and the realization that you’re on a trashy reality show? I’d be more shocked if they kept it clean. And, they should have, if only to make London really uncomfortable since that was their goal in the first place. Please, squalor is his middle name.
JOSHUA SQUALOR LEE, REAL PERSON!
Or is it Failedmusicianwhowillfuckanything? I can’t remember.
Daisy must have forgotten to pack the Hello Kitty skull diary because Riki isn’t in their room to just admire the handiwork that is going to earn them some Nair in their shampoo from housekeeping, nope, he has letters from Daisy! More letters, with words and sentences that Daisy(female producer no.1) wrote on her Love’s Baby Soft scented stationery(courtesy of female producer no.2) while twirling her hair(provided by Weaves R Us) and biting the end of her glitter pen so badly in her earnestness that it broke and spilled in her mouth and she had to start all over again. But what’s a little ink poisoning when you’ve already bitten the Poison Pen in Rock of Love, I ask you?
In Flex’s letter, she’s all, “You have a temper and I can’t condole that!” In 12 Not-Packin’s it’s, “Do you have real feelings or are you some kind of VH1 lab experiment Stepford contestant?” They both read their letters at a sixth grade level which seems about right for two guys that tested in the top one percentile of reality famewhores, but London. Oh, London. His problems revolve around more than just Daddy issues. Dude is seriously dyslexic. Riki was right. Maybe she should have drawn him pictures.
“Why’d she draw me a bottle with arrows and exclaimation points and who is this Paul Mitchell guy?”
Anyhoo, I think that the gist of her scribblings was that she can’t trust London not to leave again, I’m not sure. I was too busy laughing at him and rolling my eyes because he just keeps getting more and more attractive. What’s next? His parents were brother and sister? We know they weren’t Nivea or Purell, more like Pig Pen and Betty Ford. So, we’ll move on to my favorite part of the show- The Drunken Activity of the Week!
This time it’s Pabst-Fueled Paddle Surfing and I capitalize that because it is AACU accredited sport that I believe will be in the Olympics in 2012 for the first time, so this is serious stuff. Flex does okay, 12 keeps falling face first into the surf and wait a minute……..who gave London some board shorts? That is some serious bullshit. He’s never owned swim trunks! He’s never owned anything that goes near the water ( soap, a washcloth, yeah, you saw that coming. This is getting old).
Daisy does pretty well until a light bulb goes off and she remembers that bad weaves and salt water don’t mix and she promptly falls off her board. Never fear, damsel in distress! Sack-Lacking 12 Pack has spied your dilemma and is ready to heed your cries of help! Right after he fixes his hair.
That could take a while and by the time he picks her up out of the water, it’s only up to her waist. Such heroics. Firefighters and rescue dogs got nothing on him, and I’d rather watch this than “Rescue Me” any day:
Is that hair on her head or yellow seaweed?
As much as I could watch Daisy face plant in the sand, preferably in a continuous loop with her other falls until I die, we have to move on to dinner.
And this extra fancy resort knows a princess/muppet/tramp when it sees one, and has a special entrance all planned out for her and executed perfectly, which means she doesn’t fall. Drat. It would have been spectacular. That guy whose shoulder she’s on is huge and it would have been quite a tumble. But he’s a pro, he probably does this kind of thing with bigger female tourists, and I bet he’s the guy they call when they need someone to put the pig on the spit for the nightly luaus. So, don’t feel bad for him because his face is so close to Daisy’s crotch.
He’s used to the smell of burning bacon.
Just when you thought that it couldn’t get any more cliched, some goofy looking dude comes out for the ceremonial opening of a coconut. He’s pretty much crazy- strange uncontrolable moves, wierd yelps, frizzy hair, and I hear that fat women love him. Reminds me of somebody.
Hey! Who let Samoan Richard Simmons play with the machete again?
He leaves, no doubt to look for some Late Night talk show host to embarrass, and we have to watch Daisy do some trailer skank stripper version of a native Hawaiian dance.
They must have hooked her up with the good shit down there.
The boys are appropriately appreciative, they all still want to bang the dumb dolly but first we have to get through this atrocious dinner. I’m not talking about the food, although I never see anyone ingest anything that doesn’t have a paper umbrella in it, I’m talking about the conversation.
Here we go again.
London- He wants to undo the damage done, leaving was a mistake, he was trying to protect himself from icky scary feelings and gosh, golly geewillikers Daisy, you make a guy want to aspire to be a better person. True. All true.
Look at him. It couldn’t get any worse.
Daisy looks all concerned, gets a headache from trying to furrow her botoxed brow and then Flex ruins this special moment for her.
He calls bullshit for the umpteenth time on London’s pathetic generic rehearsed platitudes and we’re right back to the bottom line. Flex is old school, maybe even a bit of a macho sexist, but anyone with working eyes and ears can tell that Daisy is the kind of girl that needs someone to take care of her. Someone to make sure the bills are paid, that there’s a roof over her head, some one to hold her hair back when she throws up and make sure that she’s on time for her shift at The Spearmint Rhino. Someone who cares, dammit.
So, Flex wants to know, does London have a job? Yes, but he quit his job (blood bank visits) to be there.
Does he have a home? Yes, he is living (couch warming) with his guitar player (most likely a girl) in Brooklyn.
He is thirty years old, Flex is 22 and way more stable with a regular paycheck and probably some money sacked away for the future. Hell, a kid with a paper route has more money in his savings than London does. I know some infants with better portfolios so I totally understand why Flex gets so pissed.
Daisy doesn’t. She wants to know why Flex keeps attacking London. Um, because he makes it SO DAMN EASY?! It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, Daisy, and I’m not referring to London’s cologne.
That would be “Eau de Toilet.”
In the final analysis, by pointing out what a deadbeat slacker London is, Flex yells and bullies the point home that he is hot headed and mercurial. So- mission accomplished? Not so much.
We haven’t heard from 12 Pack in a while and that’s because he wants to finally share his feelings with Daisy but he wants to do it in private. On a side note, isn’t he the only guy who has slept with her so far? That we know of? I find it funny that she would bonk the one guy who can’t articulate a genuine emotion without short circuiting.
He stutters and sighs because he can’t remember the lines he’s supposed to say, so Flex butts in. He has no problem telling Daisy exactly how he feels about her. She’s crazy, independent and doesn’t care what people think, just like him. And just like the lady on Coventry Rd here in Cleveland who wears adult diapers over her pants and flips off toddlers in strollers. I hear she’s still single, Flex! Want me to put a good word in for you?
Bah! She’s ditzy, dependent and prone to making really shitty decisions, that’s who she is.
That doesn’t matter to 12 Pack. What matters is that his batteries have recharged, he’s shaken off the fog of those fifteen Pina Coladas and he’s ready to recite his love for her. Wow, this is some serious acting. He says that he’s falling in love with her about as convincingly as I say no to a second glass of wine. Where did he learn his acting skills? From Jessica Alba? Oh, that’s right, when you’re pretty it really doesn’t matter.
And when you close your eyes, it doesn’t matter what the person you’re kissing looks like.
Dinner’s over and Daisy goes to bed. What, no sex on a finale night? This sucks. New York would have somebody peeling the paint off of her chassis by now. Bret would be on his third blowjob. You need to pick up the pace, Daisy. I’m disappointed in you. Hmm. I’ll look on the bright side and assume that it’s Riki’s turn.
The next morning a limo whisks the guys off to the airport so that Daisy can get rid of one more of them. They can’t hear a damn thing that she says, what with all those loud metal cylinders flying around, and Daisy does the dumb thing and lets London stay. He hops back into the limo with Riki and we’re down to Flex and 12 Pack. She gets rid of the one that she already slept with, and that’s just sad.
“Call me when you get that penile implant, mmmkay?”
Bye, bye 12 Pack. I’m sure that we’ll see you again. If there’s no 12 Pack of Love in your future, there’s always I’m a (fake) Celebrity, Get Me out of Here, or my favorite, Wipe Out.
12 Pack acts all petulant and won’t even hug Daisy goodbye so Flex goes over and picks her up in his big strong arms. What girl doesn’t like being swooped up into the embrace of a muscular hunk like Flex? It’s like a freaking romance novel cover come to life.
Limos and Bimbos- A Love Story
12 finally lets Daisy hug him, and then she runs off with Flex to a waiting helicoptor. Cue the violins for our three time loser. How will he ever learn to trust again? Can he rebuild his self esteem and learn to love another day?
Is he secretly laughing behind that hand?
I wouldn’t put it past him. Also, I wonder if they put him right on a plane back to wherever he’s from or if he went back to the hotel to party with the production crew. They’ve got to know each other pretty well by now. He’s a salaried employee of VH1, just like they are.
I have to admit to being a wee bit jealous of Daisy and Flex and their helicoptor ride around Hawaii. I would love to fly over a volcano or waterfall. One of the best first dates I ever had was a helicoptor ride over Manhattan.
I was a *cough* virgin then, too.
They head on back to the Hotel de Tiki Torch for an intimate dinner and Flex tells Daisy that he’s falling in love. Cue the buzzer, Gasmii. Wrong move, Flex my boy! What an amateur. He should have made up some angsty story about a sordid past to pique her interest and make her think that there might be a bad boy lurking inside but he doesn’t. He’s counting on her to make sense of the situation and pick him because he’s a good guy with his shit together.
At least he’s more convincing than he was after the archery lesson a few weeks back, but when she says that there’s a PART of here that feels the same, I know that he’s doomed. That is just not good enough. It shouldn’t be for anyone unless all you care about is feeling someone’s boob before the entrees arrive or sucking all the saliva off of his or her tongue, so…..
I guess it’s okay, after all.
Meanwhile, London’s in his room putting more grease marks on his pillow and playing guitar like he’s on his tenth coconut of the day. He’s just maintaining his buzz and working out the kinks in that song he promised Daisy so long ago. You know, the one whose lyrics he cribbed from her Myspace page.
Is he going to take a picture of himself shirtless in front of a bathroom mirror too?
Sorry. I hope that you weren’t drinking anything when I put that image in your head. My bad.
By the way, I spoke too soon! It’s Flex’s lucky night! It’s off to Daisy’s room for some sexay business time with Champers, chocolates and the obligatory strewn rose petals. Awwwww, how sweet of Peepers to come back and set the scene for romance so perfectly! I guess that he was feeling generous now that he has his TT back.
Long story short, Flex has his way with Daisy, London got sick of coconuts and waiting up so he opened a bottle of Jack Daniels (Weasel’s drink, you bastard!) and Flex doesn’t leave Daisy’s room until dawn’s early light. I love the shot of him leaving her at her hotel door, shirt over his shoulder, naked chest gleaming. I think that the editors have seen too many pornos or maybe they’re just giving us what we want. Doesn’t matter, it’s hot and now that London knows that he spent the night, I am doubly happy.
See this? This is what a guy that fucked your girl looks like. Ha!
Either London is hung over or he never went to bed because he is looking ripe! Riper than usual, anyway. So what does he do? He pours himself another drink, of course. God, he must smell like Charles Bukowski’s soiled underwear.
He sits down and practices his song on a ukelele. He’s so drunk that he thinks he’s tripping and his guitar shrunk. That’s what happens when you’re not only alcoholic but allergic to sustenance of any kind.
It’s called food, asshole. Eat it.
Daisy is waiting for London downstairs and the second he gets into the limo, they start going at it. I may have said this before but I sincerely hope that cocaine has killed her sense of smell, for her sake. Whiskey breath is nasty. Almost as nasty as a non-smoker kissing a smoker. Or worse, cigar breath. Okay, I’m grossing you out, and here I thought that I’d spare you a gross out by not posting a picture of them kissing and groping each other.
She takes him horseback riding and good old Trigger gets one whiff of London and that’s all she wrote.
I think that he’d rather have Rosie O’Donnell on his back.
It all works out in the end because the horses are suffering from equine flatulance and finally something smells worse than London for a change. It’s a pretty lame date, boring, and not London’s kind of thing. Horses don’t like it when you spill whiskey on their saddle or flick ashes on them, so it’s time for them to head back to the hotel where flicking and spilling are par for the course.
They head up to her room and I sure as hell hope that this song is subtitled because I have every intention of covering my ears. Alas, it is not, so I’ll suffer along with the rest of you.
As best as I can tell he howls and moans about being stuck in the dark or running away from home or maybe he was running in the dark and stuck at home? Huh? He never looks up from his guitar and I have to wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to mess up his playing or if he knows that he’ll burst out laughing if he looks at Daisy’s face.
And will someone please tell me what Hercule Poirot’s moustaches are doing on his head?!
In the end I think that he promised not to break Daisy’s heart THIS TIME and she spouts off this crappy cheese line that she found in some old discarded lyrics at Bret’s house- “You’re everything I’ve been looking for, and nothing I can have.” Come on. Really? Talk about being plucked from a romance novel. Not even Danielle Steele would touch that one.
“Why do I keep falling for bad boys? And why didn’t I wait for the weave glue to dry before I stuck my hand in my hair?”
They don’t bang cuz they’re all sad about their tragic forbidden love and London leaves. Daisy goes out onto the balcony, curls up in a chair and wonders how many weeks she can live off this paycheck until the meth runs out and she has to hop back on the pole again. This is important stuff, people, unlike picking between two guys. That happens all the time.
One last pow-wow with Riki. The voice of reason tells her that if she’s this sad after one day in paradise with London, what does she have to look forward to? She puts on her thinking cap and says, “Next season?”
Okay, she didn’t but you know she’s going to ignore him. Common sense and Daisy go together like Ann Coulter and shutting the fuck up, if you know what I mean. And if you haven’t seen Henry Rollins’ love letter to the right wing dingbat, I recommend you run off to youtube right now and watch it. After you finish up here, of course.
Stay with me, we’re almost there.
The boys are getting ready for the final ceremony and they indulge in a little good natured banter. London tells Flex that he’s welcome to visit him and Daisy any time, and Flex asks, “Is that what you’re going to name your cat?” Oh, you two! Such cards.
There’s no fighting, they behave like gentlemen and I have to wonder, huh? No threats? Not even a sucker punch? Is Flex sober or something?
Uhhhhh, not with those eyes.
This is it. The moment none of us has been waiting for. A pigeon toed Daisy comes out, all eye rolls and deep breaths, like any of this matters. The only thing that’s sad about this situation is that she’s about to lose her father figure and the only sane man in her life. He’s glad to finally be rid of this crap and I can totally hear his inner monologue.
“There will always be room for you at the Cathouse. Stay slutty! Peace!”
Here’s how I break this garbage down.
“This one’s good for me, is funny and doesn’t smell. Does not want!”
“This one is bad for me, will milk me dry and smells like chum left out in the sun on a hillbilly’s fishing boat in the middle of August. Wants!”
Flex acts all heart broken but if he really cared he’d break London’s face. He says that it will take a while but he’ll find someone. Please. That guys been getting laid like Caligula since this show started airing. I bet that there’s another thing that didn’t take a while either.
For him to stop wearing guyliner.
So, the loser wins and we all know how that works out. They’ll burn bright for a while, fight and fade away. Wash, rinse, repeat. He’ll have to find another guitar to pawn, another town where he hasn’t burned through all the sluts yet and she’ll gear up for Daisy of Love II. As for me? Well, I’m off to Colorado for a wedding and I’m really excited. Real people! Real emotions! Real love!
And a real nice long rest for my gag reflex.
Thanks to all of you for reading my recaps, and all you regular commenters, I wouldn’t even do this if it wasn’t for you. See you next time..in a Daisyless universe.
Love and Kisses,