In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey

So I watched the new episode of Rock of Love. I even tried to do a running diary. But it sucked. I’m a funny guy. More so than most. Sitting there watching it, you see everything coming ahead of time. It’s hilarious, if you realize that they’re scandalous at best, white (or whatever color each one was) trash at worst. It’s highly entertaining as long as you understand that between the dozen or so of them, maybe there is enough brain power to change the channel. Also, you can count on two things every episode: 1) someone getting drunk beyond belief and 2) someone rocking the stripper pole. If you didn’t get both of those, return the episode for a full refund.
Because of this, I’m scrapping the running diary column. But for those wondering what happened in the most recent episode, I’ve got a couple thoughts on it. Most notably, the fact that one of them, Sarah, is there on a dare. No joke. Who shows up to this on a dare? I say that, but really, if someone offered me one hundred dollars to go on I Love New York, I would do it without hesitation. Really, it would all be fine until I had to make out with her. Then I would be regretting taking the hundred dollars. And having lips and taste buds. But I would also be very thankful for one heck of an immune system.
I also would be remiss if I did not spend at least a couple lines on Angelique, the French chick with zero inhibitions and a comparable IQ. She barely, speaks English. No really, I tried to understand what she was saying without reading the subtitles. I’m pretty good at this, but I’ll tell you, I had to strain to put together what she was saying. It’s not as bad as trying to understand conversation underwater, but it’s slightly worse than handling a phone call while watching a movie and talking with the person next to you. Yep, right in the middle of those two is where you’ll find understanding her. Worst of all, you know she’s making at worst the top seven, at best the top four. That’s a guarantee.
That’s really all you needed to get out of the last episode. I spent about two pages keeping a diary, only to give a once over and realize that anyone who saw it would laugh remembering it, and anyone who hadn’t would be lost and think the show sucked. I couldn’t handle having viewership drop because of me. Bret would never accept that from me. Instead I’ve replaced it with an entry on the Sunday spent at Mike’s house.
This was Conference Championship Sunday, or what it will likely come to be known as, Brett Favre’s last game. He put up a valiant performance for sure, but I can’t help but leave the game feeling scammed. His first scoring drive is a 90-yard bomb to Driver for the go ahead TD, and everyone was thinking, this is it; Favre is going to light up this secondary. I spent the rest of the game under the delusion that he was the Favre of the late 90’s. He’s not. He’s still better than the majority of quarterbacks, but he’s done. I hate to say it, but it’s time to hang up the spikes. Simply put, when the game went into crunch time, he didn’t get it done. He threw a pick in OT, on his own side of the field, on an underthrown ball. I’m not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last, but I’m adding my name to “He’s done” list.
We’ll get back to football in a second, but first off, you know who needs to take the spikes off the wall and get back to work? Lauryn Hill. I don’t know how long I’ve been saying this, but how do you go from pulling down five Grammy’s for her debut album only to fade out of the spotlight? I would personally put up five hundred dollars to see her put together a new album.
Ok, so two thought came to mind as soon as I set that number. First, five hundred dollars could probably only afford 3-4 minutes of quality studio time, so she would have to nail it on the first take. Second, it means I value a Lauryn Hill comeback only five times as much as the dignity I would inevitably lose by being associated with I Love New York. Both are true, and I stand by my comments.
Nope, we’re not getting back to football. That was just a dirty trick. Peace.