Flavor of Bachelorette

Come on people, do you really think a music star is looking for love on a reality show? Yes? Can I sell you a bridge? Flavor of Love ended over a week ago with Flavor choosing Thing 2 to be his girl. Telling her she made his heart jump, right out of his chest and onto his latest baby-momma. That’s right. At the reunion he dumped Thing 2, who did not look at all shocked, and proposed to someone else. So much for Flavor of Love season four. At least the man shaved his head. He looked good. Seriously. Okay, he looked as good as Flavor Flav can look, when he’s not in his “hair straight up troll-doll mode.” That’s enough to give me nightmares.

Apparently reality didn’t work so much for Lindsey Lohan. Okay, it’s not reality, but stick with me here. In a Brit-Brit like attempt to make herself more marketable she went on Ugly Betty, and was underwhelming at best.

Hell’s Kitchen update. I can take these people, I swear it. I’ve never seen such a bunch of rubes in my life. They are also serving a difficult, but antiquated menu. Risotto is still done, but not like it used to be and any meat wrapped in pastry and cooked is not exactly heart healthy, cutting edge, or…lamb Wellington, are you kidding me? Still it’s fun to watch the clawing and scratching.

Still, nothing is currently beating The Bachelorette. What a bunch of faked out, strange little men. They are as catty as the girls, but they pretend it’s a joke, as they butt slap one another and hide children. To me that’s something to come clean with right away. “OOOO one bastard got a rose two weeks in a row. He’s got such a leg up.” Who gives a crap? Do these people really think love happens on a reality show? Okay there’s Trista and Ryan. He loves her almost as much as she does, so you know that might work.

Keeping it semi-reality.

David, David, and Kristi

This week we’re going to talk about the power of good. Not all of you will agree with me, but you won’t vote like I do in November, so deal. Two reality shows had good outcomes and I’m kvelling.

One, Dancing with the Stars. Kristi won and no, she was not a ringer. Yes she did once have a male partner for a short time, but it was pairs skating. Which is about as different from dance as running is from swimming. Different movements. She also had to emote. When she was a skater she emoted, but it was one emotion, that look of longing. Which probably had more to do with wanting that medal than anything else. On Dancing with the Stars, she really stepped it up and was more than technical. I was thrilled.

Then two - oh joy! David Cook won on American Idol. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like the other David, but I was very bothered that his father seemed to be turning into Dina Lohan and that he was so young. When he matures he’s going to be Streisand, but he’s not ready. He’s looked both sad and relieved when he lost. David Cook is ready now and not only is he ready, I’m ready to buy his first album. He was amazing and deserved this win.

Don’t worry David A fans. He will be a famous singer. It’s really his destiny. If he survives that pushy father of his. Ugh.

Snark & Bones

Lord there is nothing happening in bad reality world right now, is there? Shayne was picked by Matt, and maybe I’m a big ole idiot, but I think they have a chance together. I want them to marry and have kids and laugh together. I really like this couple. Usually I make fun of The Bachelor, not this year.

Now, out of desperation, some good reality TV: Dancing With The Stars. Christian has me loving him and hoping he pulls off a one-armed win. The Davids on American Idol: Cook. That’s all I have to say. Cook.

Now for your bad reality TV, you know there had to be some. Step it Up and Dance. Snort. Now my tragic admission is that I love, and I mean LOVE, Showgirls. Yes, the raunch, the trash, the bad fake humpins in the pool. The girl was a hoot in that flick and I have been known to pull it out when I don’t feel good and watch it. So, I had hopes for this dance fest of… There are no words. I thought they were amazing dancers based on the ads, but I’ve been disappointed week after week now. You know me well enough to know that bad TV does not mean I’m not watching it.

Now, a non-reality moment. If FOX does not want me marching around in front of their offices with a sign that says: “BRING BOOTH BACK TO LIFE!” They better not kill him off. Although, I gotta say, I never saw it coming. Booth getting shot. I love Bones. Love it. Don’t muck it up, FOX.

Snark Attack

Keeping Up with the Kardashians: Kim’s head is so far up her posterior, that she cannot see the sunshine. I have nothing against a young lady with a large bottom, being blessed/cursed with that myself. This week we found the family teasing Kim relentlessly, Bruce Jenner, yes of Olympic fame, acting like a ten year old and some crying, whining and brouhaha. Actually, it reminded me so much of my teen years I think I need to go into therapy.

2. News in TV land: Bret Michaels, having found someone to schtup for the moment, will no longer be doing Rock of Love. Rumor has it that they've hired Ritchie Sambora for Rock of Love III. Ritchie Sambora of the formerly-married-to-Heather Locklear fame. This should be good for a laugh at least.

3. Hell’s Kitchen: Oh my god, a sweet sixteen party that they spent who knows how much on? Where was my sweet sixteen like that? I demand a re-do. *I* at least, know how to cook a steak, unlike some contestants.

4. American Idol: Bye-Bye Jason Castro, yea of the dread locks and plaintive voice. It’s “in the jingle jangle morning, I’ll come following you.” Not “mumble, blush, mumble, make a strange noise, look like you want the floor to open beneath you.” Learn your music honey. Really. I know it’s hard. I’m a diva myself, and fear has frozen me many a time, but build a bridge. An idol needs to know the lyrics, unless they’re Amy Winehouse, and then they just need to know where to hide the drugs.

5. The Bachelor: London Calling. If Matt does not pick Shayne, I will personally have a screaming tirade at the TV. This brought about by the drinking game I invented where I have a shot every time someone claims to be in love after a mere five weeks of sharing someone with god knows how many other people and STD’s. Still, Shayne seems to be someone who holds her family together (and with Lorenzo Lamas for a dad, someone has to be mature) and is wise beyond her years. Go Shayne.

All I’m saying is Farmer Wants a Wife is too lame for even me to watch and Flavor of Love went so far south, it’s in Antarctica and I am all about spring, not winter right now. Won’t even turn it on anymore. I need more Celebrity Fit Club with a drunken Shortcake. Dang, now that was some interesting TV.

For the love of God, it's another Snark Attack!

“For the love of God, why?”

That would be why I love reality TV, which is about as realistic as your average soap opera. I’m sure I could give you a lot of convoluted answers that my shrink would be more than happy to extrapolate on, but the hard truth is, no matter how bad my life gets, at least I’m not vying for the love of Flavor Flav. Come on, admit it, he looks like a troll doll when his hair’s brushed up. It’s just not orange. No matter how financially challenged I am, I don’t have to eat worms to prove I should stay on the island, and I don’t have to, “dance for my life.” I can comfortably sit back on my comfy couch and point at people and make fun of their train-wrecks of lives.

Cue screeching record sound.

Really? Their lives are so awful and mine is so fantabulous? If it really were one Paris Hilton inspired part after another, I would not have to watch reality television. So it’s not that great. So again, why? Cause part of me wonders if I might have what it takes to eat the bugs, or if I took more dance and took it more seriously, I might have been able to dance for my life. Sorry Flav, it’s the troll analogy. I just can’t get into it and the whole clock thing makes you look like a dweeb. Yes, yes, Public Enemy changed the face of rap music forever and made some serious statements about the condition of life in some less than wealthy areas, but you still aren’t for me. Nothing personal. I go for geeky types and smart? Street smart, yes Flav you appear to be, book smart? Not so much.

So I sit and look at the lives of those who go for their fifteen minutes with gusto, bravado and sheer stupidity and wonder if that could be me. Maybe not in this lifetime, but who knows. If they ever have a show that tests your knowledge of bad reality television, I’m all there.

~~~
Tune in next Friday, for another installment of Reeyala T. Bytes' Snark Attack!

Snark Attack: Hell Night

Did you miss it? The festival of horribly wonderful television that was VH1 Sunday night? You missed it? Oh my, then you really missed something, didn’t you? Wait, if you missed it, you don’t know what you missed. Well then, it is my pleasure to tell you what you missed. So, without further delay, I bring you Hell Night. Oh sure, it’s a great Hell if you like cat fights, lying pseudo-celebrities, and half dressed women scrambling for their fifteen minutes, but Hell all the same.

Our first victim of snark-ness is Celebrity Fit Club. Which should be named Celebrity I’m Not Going to Do Anything But Whine and Complain About the Exercise Club. Maybe that would make too long a promo? If you’ve missed episodes previous to this, you missed Toccara, of America’s Next Top Model fame, losing her cool and screeching like a banshee. While entertaining, it was pointed out that perhaps that would not help her lose weight. Unlike some, she figured out it would best just to put your shoulder into it and work. She’s lost a lot of weight, seems very healthy now and is looking good. She’s never going to be thin, but thin is done to death in Hollywood and I really don’t like my actress/model types too thin. She’s come a long way.

Wish I could say the same thing for Dustin Diamond. He spent the entire season complaining that the resident whip cracker, Harvey, is racist, abusive and out for a suing. That Screech could, if he wanted to, make a few calls and get the guy fired. Look honey, it’s been a long time since Saved By the Bell - and you’re no Elizabeth Berkley. You made a bad porn movie, and do some blue comedy. You’re not really powerful enough to get anyone fired, and you’re too lazy to take him on one on one. So either put up, or shut up. The behavior has been appalling.

Still, as bad as Diamond is, Shortcake (Erin Moran) makes him look like a saint. Among some boozing, a bad When Harry Met Sally orgasm demonstration (which probably has Mr. C on the way to the hospital for a quintuple by-pass) she has now admitted she could care less if she loses a pound. She’s there for the money and that’s that. Lovely. She looks awful and acts worse. I’m not talking about her age here, I’m talking about her soul shining through her face. She’s jaded, abusive to the people around here and seems to drink more than she should. I’ve been pretty disgusted by her behavior and thinking that Danny Bonaduce is looking pretty good right about now.

As if the whole sorta-celebs on Fit Club were not enough, along comes the cherry on my Reality TV sundae. That’s right folks, Rock of Love had The Reunion Show. Angelique showed her hind end (seriously, I know Brett said she’s a woman, but I think he was either drinking at the time, or perhaps was having some sort of sugar-induced delusion. I swear there is an Adam’s Apple there). There were tears all around when Destiney saw a film about her dad, which was a very real and very cool part of the show. His face when he got to ride that Hog was just precious. You could tell that man loved that, and it was probably his last ride. He died of lung cancer a few weeks ago.

The best part, of course, was when Heather and Daisy beat the living snot out of one another. I should not get so gleefully joyous at a catfight, but that one was a long-time coming and dang it, why is she living with her ex? You just don’t do that. At least not in a one bedroom apartment. Not for two years after the break-up. Or am I living in the dark ages? Bret looked bored with Ambre already, and Ambre looked giggly and thrilled. She also had fewer lines around her mouth, but this reporter is not going to quibble about a little Botox.

So Rock of Love is done, at least for now. Dang. I’m going to miss those 'ladies'. They did bring a bit of a sparkle to Sunday nights.

I hope the finale of Celebrity Fit Club lives up to the season. It’s been a lot of fun, so far. Go get em Toccara.

Snark Attack: Revenge Of The Fake Hair

Your brave and intrepid reporter has been concentrating on two shows this week. Rock of Love: Two, Return to the Bad Weave, and I KNOW My Kid’s a Star. Please note, your reporter needed several shots of expensive booze to get through this drek. You all owe her one.

Let’s start with Rock of Love: Two. A recent interview with Bret Michael has revealed, 1. He wears European Hair (it’s from, Sal-ay Beauty Supply) and 2. He did not expect to really find love on the show. To which I reply: tell me something I don’t know. Ambre was selected over psycho Daisy and all I can say is: Thank God. Daisy is alright, but she has Stalker written all over her, and really needs some seasoning, maybe a new tattoo - for those of you that don’t know, she’s covered with them. She has a sleeve, which looks great now, but maybe not when she’s 80. Ambre and Bret celebrated by having “hot monkey sex” and yes, the quotes are there for a reason.

The other show we reviewed is I Know My Kid’s a Star, wherein Rocky - who is the pushiest, most evil parent this reporter has ever seen, tosses a cow and threatens to kill the other parents. I’m not sure, cause I blinked, but I think her head spun around. Her daughter seems remarkably normal, but she’s not a teen, yet. I bet she rebels by becoming a nun. Rocky wears super short skirts and very tight tops - as well as a cowboy hat. Oh, Bret - I’ve got someone to audition for Rock of Love Three: Revenge of the Fake Hair!

~~~~

Tune in next Friday for another dose of Snark Attack!

Oh, and editor's note from Mo: Bandanna-head Bret's hair ain't real? I am SO shocked!!! Next thing you know, Reeyala's gonna uncover that (gasp!) Bret's had "work done"!

Snark Attack: Oh no you did-ent!

It’s time to play everyone’s favorite reality game show,
"Oh no you did-ent." The game show where we highlight the shame of reality television and award the winners with a case of the twenty four hour flu. Please imagine the weaving head and wagging finger.

Today, our award is for: people who don’t know they aren’t famous anymore, but should be told. The nominees are, Erin Moran, who has been boozing her way through Celebrity Fit Club in a freakishly masculine way. She looks like someone you would not want to meet in a fight in a dark alley, cause she could take you. Which may be how she got cast in the first place. She had very little weight to lose.

Mark McGrath. He’s the former lead singer of the band, Sugar Ray. Who? I think I missed their fifteen minutes. He is hosting The Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious. If hosting is what you can call it. For about four minutes of camera time, he preens, announces the girls and never cracks a smile. Probably because he’s afraid he will start crying into the toilet that his career has become and run his eye makeup. Yes, he really does wear eye makeup. The liner is very obvious.

Our last nominee is, everyone who participated in Secret Talents of the Stars. CBS mercifully killed this sick dog after only one episode, sparing the American public from George Takei singing again.
George, George, George, I have six words for you: Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Don’t know what the heck this reporter is talking about?

May I suggest a strong drink, or the hit off an illegal substance before you watch that video? No one from Star Trek should EVER do an album, cd, bar mitzvah. Yes, he was dead serious when he did that piece. Thank God, Shatner is over himself and now reverting to jokes about what a jack-ass he is. This should have been a lesson to you George.

And the winner is…drum-roll…

WOW! Ladies and Gentlemen, this is not even a nominee, and yet so perfectly fits the category! It’s Danny Bonaduce from I KNOW My Kid’s a Star!

Danny would be here to accept his award, but he’s hiding in shame right now. I would be too, if I was associated with those control freak parents. Those kids are going to need years of therapy when they figure out that they’re being manipulated by people who are nuttier than a king sized Payday bar. Danny, you know that little voice that tells you that you’re still a big deal? Hunt it down and put duct tape over it’s mouth. Please.

Snark Attack!

Here are some moments that have made Reality Show Television a shame-fest guilty pleasure over the past week:

The hideous vision of Chef Gordon Ramsey chowing on raw diver scallops with caviar, capers and venison - then tossing his cookies in a curiously convenient waste basket. This reporter has to give him credit, such a rag-tag nightmare would not cross this lady's lips. Shudder in fear and run away. There’s not a lobotomy comprehensive enough to wash that from my mind.

Robyn Anton from The Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious spouting off during the shows opening that she’s the one who’s gonna make them a star. My, aren’t you special. Just have the golden touch, don’t you? Yes, lightning struck with the Pussycat Dolls, but so apparently, did the head the size of a large watermelon. Seriously, she comes off as the saint of the desperate prayers of the wannabes, but who knows what happened to last years winner of The Next Pussycat Doll? Anyone? She told Ms. Anton where to stick it and refused the contract.

Simon Cowell in a foul and evil mood on American Idol on Tuesday berating Carly Smithson for her wardrobe choices. A lot of people can say something about wardrobing. Perhaps he of the ubiquitous black t-shirt should take a pass on that. I do have a bit of a chip on my shoulder about him. I shall never forgive him for inundating our home with the Teletubbies. Yes, he is the one responsible for them. Everybody boo and toss your tubby-red purse in his direction. He really does seem to know music. As long as we’re mentioning the Terminator of every young wannabe’s dream of entering the music biz, a big ole smoocher to St. Simon’s overly petulant pout for calling little David’s dad on the carpet for pushing his son, and in some bad directions too. That comment about how David did not pick the song seemed to be directed right at that father of his, who is reported to have made his son break down and sob for not being the hero of the night. Someone needs a Valium and the Dina Lohan Faux-lebrity Ego-deflation package.

Dina Lohan. Ms Bytes watches some crappy reality television, but not the upcoming Dina Lohan Back-Pat Fest. There is not a plot line compelling enough to turn on that, nor The Hills. Maybe if this reporter smoked what Gordon Ramsey suggested one of the “cheftestants” was asked to smoke... but that’s not legal.

The looks on the faces of the captain of the Maverick and his wife when a ship sank with all hands, on the first season of Deadliest Catch. This is a top, Top reality show. It’s in re-runs now, but it’s compelling (in a way Ice Road Truckers can never be) and downright scary. I have had an issue eating crab since seeing it, though. Frightening little spider-creeps that the are.

Daisy on Rock of Luuuuuv! Crying, because all the girls are against her. Sweet-lips, you live with your ex boyfriend, just announced you supported him by becoming a "dancer,” (and I don’t think she means en pointe) and have no intention of changing a thing. Oh nevermind, you seem just like Brett’s type, now that I look at it that way.

Speaking of Things, Thing 1 and Thing 2 were separated on Flavor of Love. For those of you smart enough to avoid this volcano spew of disease and regret, the Things are twins, one of which is far more well fed than the other. Twin to twin transfusion post in-utero? They were in this as a team until one of the new girls wisely pointed out that they couldn’t both marry Flav and have it be legal. One twin didn’t care if he spent one night in her room and the next night in her sister's. Really? You think that’s what he wants? Someone needs to pay more attention to the letters section of Penthouse if they want to learn what Flav really wants and it’s not to play musical beds. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

Finally, a moment from last week's Top Chef: “Scary Erik” as Mo calls him, disses Chef Rick Bayless. You’d think that dissing a well-loved and respected chef on national television would be enough. Especially when you served crap food to said well-loved and respected chef. Apparently, it’s not. In a recent article in New York Magazine, Erik opens his mouth, inserts his nasty sneaker and spouts, “I think gourmet and Mexican just don’t belong together. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with making great Mexican food. Fine dining? Eh, not so much.” Tapping Scary Erik on the shoulder, leaning in and saying, “Topolobampo” in his ear. That’s the restaurant Rick Bayless made famous for doing upscale restaurant food. The menu of which can be found here: http://www.rickbayless.com/menu/layout?id=4

Oh rats, now I’m all hungry!

~~~~
Tune in next Friday for another installment of Snark Attack
with Reeyala T Bytes, right here @ Captured By Gravity.
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Snark Attack: Hall Of Fame/Shame

The Reality Show Hall of Fame/Shame

This is not something this reporter can do in merely one week. Heck, this reporter can’t do this in a year of Fridays. Let’s just say this is an ongoing tour that we will be tackling once a month - or so. A super big smooch and a blown kiss to Bonnie Hunt for the tour guide idea, ala Dave. She is brilliant. Everyone needs to re-watch Dave, and get a copy of Return to Me. Neither role is starring. In fact the Dave part is darn short, but she’s a treat to watch.

Ladies and gentlemen, the tour of the Reality Show Hall of Fame/Shame is about to begin. Please pay attention. And do try to keep up!

And we’re walking…

And we’re stopping.

Here we have a reality show that wrapped up its first season last night. God and Network Execs willing, there won’t be a second season. Bravo’s Make Me a Supermodel has all the excitement of watching a cat sleep. Who’s gonna win? Is the Bro-Mance real? Who gives a dirty penny? Honestly, this is more scripted than an episode of Gilligan’s Island, and not nearly as cerebral. The“Bro-mance” (their word), I speak of is between very out, and adorable, Ronnie with very-married (to a woman) and such a-crappy-model-I-cannot-put-it-into-words Ben. There is a point in the season when Ronnie offers to give Ben a kiss good morning. This had all the sexual appeal of walking in on your parents making your baby brother. An eww factor that is hard to describe. I’m not put off by intimacy. In fact, I often seek it out, but there was something about the moment that screamed “we’re doing this for TV - aren’t we clever?”

There was nothing genuine about the moment. Like the movie Showgirls, it was done to shock. Instead of being titillating, it was overdone.

I’m still watching the Make Me a Supermodel finale, though. GO HOLLY!

And we’re walking…

And we’re stopping.

I’m going to have to ask everyone to please put on their BS glasses to avoid being smacked by flying poo. Is everyone protected? Good, let’s go in, shall we? Here we have Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

Don’t have a clue on earth who they are? Neither does most of America. Kim Kardashian is famous for having a rather large posterior and making a very naughty video with her ex boyfriend. If that was not leaked by Kim herself, I will eat cat food. I think I’m safe here. She is a truly lovely woman with all the heart and hard working ability of your average three-toed sloth. She works at her store once every two months, she…well, I’m not sure what she does. She did pose for Playboy last year, at her mother’s insistence. What kind of mom tells her daughter to pose for Playboy? Sure, parents should be supportive, but push your daughter into it? I’m still shaking my head.

Oops, there’s a train coming and it’s about to wreck. Let’s get out of here.

Is everyone okay?

We’ll just duck into Top Chef Season Two for safety. I’m going to have to ask everyone to please remain reverent at all times. This is, quite possibly, the best reality show of all time. Food, foam and a boot. It’s what reality television was born to be.

The two finalists were both unrepentant jerks, one of the most talented chefs kicked off for trying to shave someone’s head, and Mia telling them with tears in her eyes that she wants to go to save another contestant. Sniff. So self serving, so tasty, so wonderful. Hand me a hankie and let me blow my nose. If only all reality shows could have such interesting drama and still focus on the task at hand. Sadly, they can’t all be this pinnacle of bad and good mixed into a wonderful blend of “Tom told you that it was too humid for your encapsulated vinaigrette,” and “Ilan is going to make Spanish food” moments. All this, and Padma Lakshmi too. She’s incredibly gorgeous with a demeanor you cannot help but like. Top Chef normally gets a thumbs up from this tour guide, but season two was beyond wonderful and I’m being serious here. Besides, who gets to the finale of a food show and serves a salad? I don’t care if your dressing stands up and sings the “Star Spangled Banner” -- it’s still a salad.

This ends our tour for today. Be sure and visit our gift shop on the way out.

~~~
Be sure to tune in next Friday,
for another exciting tour of reality TV
with our own Reeyala T Bytes
and Snark Attack!
~~~

Reeyala T. Bytes to Kristy Jo

An Open Letter to Kristy Jo:

Don’t know who Kristy Jo is? She’s the resident, or former resident, Drama Lama on, Rock of Love II, or as I like to put it: Loose Women on Parade.



Okay, I have no way of knowing if these women are loose, or not. One can only assume they are a tad, shall we say, open to a romantic involvement, because they are, after all on, Rock of Love II. I visited her “VH1 Celebrities” page, which is nothing more than a Facebook/MySpace rip-off and read a recent rant of hers. She’s upset that people are saying mean things to her and not seeing the “real her.”

Okay honey, sit your butt down and listen up, but good. Tough cookies on a cold plate. Get up, get off your whiny little, “poor me” soapbox and move on with your life. Don’t like what they say? Then toughen up, cookie-pants and deal. You’re on a REALITY TV show, which has about as much to do with reality as a blow-up doll has to do with an intellectual relationship. You put it out there, whether you’re a reality TV chick, actress, or blogger - and people are going to hate you. JUST HATE YOU! Why? Does it matter? Because you’re thin, fat, smart, dumb, pretty, ugly, remind you of their mother, sister, boyfriend, ex, whatever.... I think you see the point. The only thing ranting about people who hate your persona is going to get you is grief, and lots of it.

Most people know that what they see on a reality television show is probably partly scripted and one dimensional. We watch anyway. It’s like WWE. It’s Captain Marvelous in a tube top and it’s hard to look away. Okay, some smart people, unlike yours truly, don’t TiVo their reality shows and watch them on a Saturday night cause they have no life, but we all can’t be marhvelous, Manolo-wearing, fabu types. Some of us have to sit on our butts and watch those commercials so people like you can be on reality shows. We are not discussing my life here. I’m about as exciting as a dead rat on toast.

Look honey, as they say, put on your big girl panties and deal. If you did not want to be a super villain you should never have agreed to put your two divorces, (okay, one divorce and one, “I think we should go through with the divorce”) and two restraining orders on VH1. You seem smarter than that, but who knows? It’s not reality, it’s reality TV. God bless it.

~~~
Tune in next Friday for another hot Snark Attack with Reeyala T. Bytes!

Snark Attack

Let’s start and end with skank-o-liciousness
and sandwich some good stuff in the middle.
Shall we?

Nothing says skank like a bunch of scantily dressed women going after an aging Rapster and nothing says aging raster like Flavor Flav. This season's Flavor Of Love lacks the charm and with of Sumthin pooing on the stairs, but we all had the joy last week of seeing Bunz' buns. Missed it? Then aren’t you lucky. I had a an up-close and way too personal shot as I fell out of my chair in horror at the sight. Keep in mind she showed her goodies to a bunch of five year olds. Classy honey. What’s next? Flav in the shower with twins. Oh, never mind (see episode two). He did manage to send one lovely home who turned out to have been on Oprah as Usher’s biggest fan. Much as this reporter detests, Thing 1 and Thing 2, they were right. How do I describe the twins? Lobotomized? Wouldn’t one have to be to crawl into a tub with Flavor Flav? He’s not Denzel ya know (Denzel = drool).

Now we shall talk of more seemly matters. Whose Wedding is it Anyway? is back! WOOHOOO! Big weddings, big poof and Danny, my favorite wedding planner was on. The season opener featured a lovely and I mean LOVELY wedding between an older couple. She is a breast cancer survivor and the whole thing was done in a way only La Danny can do it. Let’s just hope that horrible woman from LA is not back this season. I would rather not deal with her drama, cause way deal with that drama when one can have,

Rock of Love!

It was not on last week and this reporting is sobbing in her beer. Red Stripe please. I have now forgiven the brand for allowing itself to be featured in a Tom Cruise movie. Shudder. Will it be plucky Aubry, or tattooed (albeit gorgeously) Daisy, who looks like you could blow her over with a window air conditioner? (see the skank-o-liciousness below)
Time will tell. One things for certain, I bet you five bucks and a Cosmo that there will be a Rock of Love III. Thank God, cause what would yours truly do on Sunday nights without her tarts–on-parade?



Toodles and till next time - keep on watching that bad TV!

Snark Attack

Welcome to a new weekly feature here at Captured By Gravity: Snark Attack, an entertaining summary of this week's hottest reality television, brought to us by our special guest correspondent Miss Reeyala T. Bytes.

Reeyalla T. Bytes dishes on Reality TV.
The good, the bad, the “Dear God, put some clothes on!”

The Good: RIP Project Runway, I Will Miss Thee

Project Runway ended last night. My favorite designer bit the dust last week, so while I was interested, I was not emotionally invested. I’m too busy crying in my beer over the departure of Chris. The fans voted that he stay, but the High Queen of the Auf, and her minions, said no. So my big hearted, drag master C, was kissed twice and kicked to the curb. My inner drag queen was devastated. Can a you have an inner drag queen if you were born with girl parts? One wonders.

Yet, out of death, re-birth. My favorite chef show of all time is coming back, let’s all have a big ole, Yippee-ki-yi-yeah, for Top Chef. My girl-crush, Padma is back in the house and there will be much joy in blog-ville as Anthony Bourdain tears these folks a new exit on the Bravo website. Oh Anthony, we bow down to thee, the God of all things food. Even if you are a conceited prig. Food knowledge is power and saves thee from the drubbing thou so richly deserves. If you’re not a Top Chef fan and love food, turn it on. There’s nothing insipid about it and there’s always someone to hate. Marcel anyone? Got Foam?

The Bad: Girlicious is Not

The Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious.
I like camp. I love camp. Camp me like Hayley Mills in, The Parent Trap. I do not love Girlicious. Why? It’s about as sexy as a pack of wet puppies in the mud. Which is not sexy, in case you have any questions about that. If you do have questions about that, may I suggest therapy and lots of it? They put these poor kids, and I mean kids, through all these ridiculous songs, which most do badly (no one should ever re-make Nancy Sinatra’s, These Boots are Made for Walking. Hear me Jessica Simpson?) and off key with out of control gyrations and too much booty-shakin. It’s got a porn overtone that is not ironic, it’s just sad. Not pathetic, but bordering on it. I want my hour back every Wednesday night.

“Dear God, Put Some Clothes On”

Make Me a Supermodel. Help! It’s one stunningly atrocious hour of television. “Walk down the runway and look hot with a ridiculous thing on your head. Wait, there’s more. Walk this monkey too. Oh, watch out for the monkey poops.” Seriously, they did this. They claim it’s to give these models, and there is only one with a stunning and unique look and they cut her bob off, turning her almost ordinary, real world experience. I get a lot of fashion magazines. I lap them up like cream. I’ve never seen a spread in W with monkey poop involved.

If it’s so horrific why does this reporter watch? Tyson Beckford baby. Roll him in sugar and put him on a plate. There’s some real Yum-O Rachel Ray.

It’s almost the weekend. That means, “Rock of Love.” My evil little heart is kvelling. Bring on the skank-o-liciousness. I’m all there.

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Tune in next Friday for another Snark Attack report from our guest reporter, Miss Reeyala T. Bytes, exclusively here at Captured By Gravity, baby!