Rock of Love

You know those chocolate cherry bon-bons they carry at most drugstores in the good ole US of A? They're cheap, tacky, nasty, but somehow undeniably irresistible?

I've found the reality TV equivalent of those syrupy maraschino delights: VH1's Rock of Love. Good gawd, I'm loathe to admit it, I admit, but this is one of the most gosh darn brilliant train wrecks of lip gloss and silicon valleys and overuse of the bitch word on record.

The premise: the lead singer of the '80s hair metal band Poison, Bret Michaels, is longing to find a true lady love. So all these gals occupy a nondescript mansion for a few weeks and attempt to "rock his world" for the ultimate backstage pass. Like all the dating en masse shows, it's disgusting with its multiple hookups and catty competition—yet I can't look away.

Since I don't know anyone else who is watching, I've been left to gasp and gag on my own. Now Bret Baby's down to two girls: a Cameron Diaz-esque smarty pants, Jes, and a stripper with a heart of gold (and a freshly inked "Bret" tattoo on the nape of her neck), Heather. I think Jes just wants to be on TV, but Heather is head over spiked heels for the do-ragged rocker.

Some might scoff at Bret choosing a stripper to take home the big prize, but it was just such an exotic dancer who broke his heart back in the day—becoming the inspiration for the megahit "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." 'Nuff said.

The thought of which inspires some heartfelt lyrics in me, as well:

"Some say the pole is mightier than the guitar,
But those folks would be wrong by far.
They both take the stage with big hair and leather,
She wears a string of G,
He strums the chord of the same letter.
Yeah, when a stripper and rocker fall in love,
It's sheer heaven, until he bites the head off a dove."