Karl Klockars

I, like many others, enjoy the Guilty Pleasure that is “Rock Of Love (BUS)” on VH1.  Who wouldn’t enjoy watching strippers and tattoo pincushions throw themselves at a past-his-prime singer for the sake of a few weeks of TV infamy and endless free booze?  Like the Sham-Wow guy says, it almost sells itself.

What I can’t understand is what kind of programming VH1 input into the Bret-Tron-5000 Android to make him seem likable, caring, sensitive and emotionally available to all these scandalous floozies.  Maybe Bret has had the real heart of the rock n’ roll lifestyle beaten out of him by years on the road.  I don’t know.  But when I think rock n’ roll and lead singers, I think of completely egomaniacal bipolar nutcases in constant need of affirmation and adoration.

So when are we going to get the crazy, rampaging pissed-off, no-one-will-ever-love-me Bret Michaels?  When does the darkness come out?  When do we get the rock star, deep into a 3-day bender of whiskey and cocaine, sitting in a room he’s painted pitch black and not coming out until the blow runs out?  Isn’t that the episode we all want to see?  Try loving that rock star, ladies.

I want the episode that features real rock star activities.  You want reality TV?  You want actual truth in rock-star advertising?  I want bat-shit insane Bret Michaels and honest-to-god real rock challenges.  No more of this “mud bowl” horsepucky.  No more silly “marriage vows” in some poor church in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana.

Here’s what I’ve got so far.  VH1, let me know if you need another “associate producer” to tack onto your credits reel.

For starters, enough of this “bus” stuff.  We’re gonna pile all these women into beat-up cargo vans that you can’t sleep in, feed them cans of beans, and not let them bathe for 3 days at a stretch.  Then give them $10 a day.  Will they choose to spend their bare-bones per diem on cigarettes?  Bottom-shelf grocery store brand tequila?  Phone calls home screaming to be taken off the show?  Who knows!  The drama is endless!

And the challenges!  In case these new criteria for competition don’t drive away all the pampered skanks in the time it takes to say  “herpes simplex B,” here’s a few thoughts on what could constitute the real Rock of Sluts.  Before I deign to speak for Bret Michaels, we’ve replaced him here with the generic Rock Star until we tie up a new contract.  Bret – call me, we’ll do lunch, so on and so forth.

1)  Steal the Syringe!

Here’s the setup:  After secluding himself for months in a recording studio with his bandmates and god-knows-what-else, our Rock Star’s record is finally released and tanks immediately.  Knowing full well how dependent our Rock Star’s self-image depends on what others think of him, Rock Star descends immediately into a drug-fueled pity party.

Our Slut-testants have to try to talk some sense into our Rock Star, attempt to convince him that life is still worth living as a multimillionaire who is adored by his hundreds of thousands of fans.  They also have to remove the dangling syringe from his arm without introducing a bubble of oxygen into his vein, which would of course kill him instantly.  Maybe we should save this for the end of the season, just in case.

Of course, the Slutestant that knows how to tie him off and shoot him up in the first place would probably win no matter what.  Don’t tell her that, though.

2)  Stomach Pumping Relay Race.

Let’s face it, when seconds count and the remains of that Everclear bottle are coarsing into the veins of our Rock Star, the EMTs are just minutes away.  Our Slutestants are going to have to do whatever they can to make sure that no more alcohol makes it through the liver of our gracious host.

Will they induce vomiting?  Will they slap Mr. Rock Star about the head and neck area to get him to come to?  Will they make him eat charcoal to soak up some of the booze?  Or will she just jam a hole in his gut and turn him upside down to drain him out?  (I’m so hoping for the last option.  We’ll have an awl or at least a sharp-looking pen around just in case.)

3)  The Emotional Desolation Marathon.

Throughout the entire course of the program, our Slutestants will be subtly prodded to open up and bare their souls, sharing out the most painful and embarassing portions of their lives to our Rock Star hero host.  After sitting through each of these moments of emotional honesty, our Rock Star will shrug, mumble something and then wander away to find a beer and a video game to play.

Will our Slutestants decide that they can handle this for months and years on end?  Only the strong will survive – or alternately, the ones who thrive on abandonment and emotionally unavailable men.  Which means each and every Slutestant has a fighting chance with this one.

4)  Dealing With The Inevitable Ditching!

After almost all the Slutestants have been booted out for one reason or another, the final two have to deal with this one last hurdle.  While the producers take the last two “ladies” out for a nice relaxing dinner at the Cracker Barrel, our Rock Star stumbles out of his latest show with a bottle of cheap whiskey and takes a 16 year old girl back to his hotel room.

Whichever of the two women does a better job of defending him to the press as an upstanding individual who would never take advantage of an underage woman wins.  They must:  Deny everything, up and down, no matter what photographic or medical proof they’re shown.  Must also:  Promise to stay with him no matter what happens because “she loves him.”  Finally, must then go on an alcohol and meth fueled rampage in which she destroys everything he owns, sleeps with each of his bandmates, and sells compromising photos to the tabloids.

Bonus points if they don’t use the phrase “But she looked 21!”

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The real winner here:  Truth, reality, and whatever liquor distributor VH1 uses.  I have my fingers crossed that at least one of these will happen for next season – because we all know there’ll be a next season.  All except for the girls on this season, that is.