One of the great things about people is that if you put them on TV, they'll do anything to win. Sometimes they're not even sure if they're on a show with prizes, or what the prize is--they will debase themselves and taunt their own god to win. For proof, three different groups of women have competed to let Flavor Flav inside them, and he looks like something that crawls out of bogs to replace our babies with changelings. To put it another way, if you were on the Price is Right and your Showcase Showdown was Flavor Flav on a dinette set with his dick out, you would pass. And the second contestant would bid one dollar and still go over. Because it's no longer medically legal to sell that dinette set, and buying dick from Flavor Flav... why, that's like trying to buy a rain cloud. That's why on game shows where the prize is a person, TV producers had to come up with a whole new system for winning and losing. The Rose Ceremony - Why the Current System Doesn't Work The Bachelor developed the rose ceremony and, since then, all dating reality shows have used a slight variation on it. It goes like this: You line up the people trying to win you and hand out roses until you're out of roses. Then the remaining people emotionally break down as it hits them that they're not even in the top 17 people that Flavor Flav would allow on his furniture-tainting dick. The problem I have with rose ceremonies is that they're never appropriate for the contestants. Why give out roses to women who would benefit so much more from protriptyline? How is a rose supposed to undo what their fathers have done? Then there's the dull anticlimax of eliminating the leftover girls after you run out of flowers. "I'll keep you, you, you, oh, I'm out of roses. Looks like all that's left in this flower basket is fuck you and get the fuck out." This antiquated system takes so long that during one

Flavor of Love elimination, a girl had to relieve herself on the floor. It was like this epiphany hit her--when you lose all dignity, you can just shit where you stand! Or maybe her sphincter saw its one opportunity to express its opinion of the show and took it. Luckily, using the sorcery of imagination, I've gone through several popular shows and suggested some improvements to make the rose ceremonies more appropriate to the contestants. Rock of Love Bret Michaels was in the best band of the 80s, and I imagine that was an unfortunate decade for groupie sex. Bret Michaels has gotten so many blowjobs from 80s girls that his belly hair is permanently moussed. If it was 1987 and Bret Michaels came into a bar and said, "Our bus got a flat tire, we need six naked girls for sex," your girlfriend would start taking off her pants and ask you to set a block for her. On his show, Rock of Love, it's pretty clear that fucking his way through the 80s has destroyed the part of the brain that can distinguish between hot and dude-in-a-tube-top. Most of the girls on this show are reasons to stop drinking. And then there are the inane activities they all have to do--I mean, this is a guy who filmed himself getting off with Pamela Anderson, and now he's making busted strippers with 5 o'clock shadows go-kart against each other to win miniature golf time with him. New Rose Ceremony: Test Results from the Clinic When Bret wants to keep a girl, he gives her a backstage pass. Do these girls need another reminder that their future boyfriend has so much anonymous sex that attendees need a badge to get near his junk? I don't know if Bret is truly attracted to anything that probably has a vagina or if his body needs to be industrially milked every few hours. Either way, I think everyone on the set would feel more comfortable if the girls Bret chose to keep received some kind of medical clearance to be near other people's eyes and mucous membranes. If you burned the

Rock of Love house to the ground, looking at the ashes would give you AIDS. More to Love More to Love is the Bachelor, only everyone is obese. Which means it's the saddest show on TV. They didn't cast this show for sassy, fun-loving big girls. They cast for tragic insecurity. They found girls who knew going in that no one would ever love them, and they just needed someone to film them crying between snacks. I always wonder when they're producing a show like this, who stays back to watch over the inner sanctum of Hell? New Rose Ceremony: Putting Your Mouth on a Pressurized Gravy Cannon If the nozzle in your mouth blasts gravy down your throat at 200 psi, you are free to stay. If instead your mouth is misted with low-calorie cooking spray, you will be pan-fried and eaten. I'm not saying this to mock these people's struggle against the doughnut, I'm trying to fatten up the girls and help the guy. Because if a 240-pound woman is sexy, just think how good a 560-pound one will look. Man, you could soak that girl up with toast! Daisy of Love After not dying from sex with Bret Michaels on Rock of Love, Daisy was given her own show and the Congressional Medal of Impossible. Her show is exactly the same, only in reverse. On her old show, women emulated Poison groupies to hook up with Bret Michaels; on her new one, men emulate Bret Michaels to hook up with a Poison groupie. Here's where it gets weird, though: They all seem to prefer the early era of Poison when the guys in the band were hotter chicks than their groupies. Every episode is a bizarre activity sandwiched between a montage of the guys putting on makeup. Like, actual women's makeup. Maybe they read on Daisy's Facebook that she's impressed when a dude's lip liner matches the tape he uses to tuck his penis. New Rose Ceremony: Daisy Gives You Your Penis Back This concept is very simple, and completely feasible using simple office supplies. As a contestant, you go up to Daisy and ask for your penis back. If she says yes, she takes it out of the cooler and the two of you leave. The remaining contestants then do situps and giggle about how no one makes a truly waterproof mascara.

Shot At Love with Tila Tequila Tila Tequila is famous for almost showing her tits on Myspace. For a woman, the only thing more ordinary than that is having Bret Michaels' abortion. Tila tried to angle her cleavage-showing into a singing career, but the world kicked her in the ass so hard with apathy that she still tastes thong every time she hears shitty music. She's bisexual, which is what guys call themselves for a few months before they say gay, and what girls call themselves when they can't interact with people without fingering them. That means that on her show, guys and girls both compete for her attention, all of them covered in tattoos, filled with genetic mutation and desperately clinging to their teen angst. I think they based Shot at Love on a special issue of the X-Men where they teamed up with the Campbell Soup Kids to fight syphilis. New Rose Ceremony: Tila Hands Over the Ultimate Nullifier Speaking of Marvel comics, a lot of people don't know about Tila Tequila's previous work as Uatu, the Watcher. I just want to know how shitty this dimension must be if they let the Watcher leave his observation post and have his own bisexual dating show on our version of Earth. My Antonio Of all the people used as prizes on game shows, Antonio Sabato, Jr. seems the most reasonable. He's a handsome older gentleman with rippling abs and a successful modeling/acting career. Normal women would be happy to settle down with him. Too bad the casting department used their leftover resumes from Flavor of Love. The show is made up of horny teen sluts half his age, but with combat-veteran vaginas that have witnessed the horrors of war. Their desperate sexual antics make Antonio look like a Mormon grandpa. Antonio: Let me ask you, can you see yourself building a future with me? My Antonio Contestant: I can fit a fire hydrant in my mouth! Ew, this wine needs more Sprite in it.

New Rose Ceremony: Gift Certificate to Tower Records? As it is now, every girl on My Antonio gets a covered dinner plate, and you get to stay on the show if there are flowers inside yours. It's either insane, or maybe he's testing them to see if they're stupid enough to eat flowers. All I'm saying is that if I was a teenage girl trying to date the guy my mom watched on Melrose Place, maybe a card with some money in it would be a more appropriate gift. Megan Wants a Millionaire Megan is another girl from Rock of Love who got her own show, only on this one, wealthy douchebags battle for the opportunity to buy her. Try to imagine how bad a millionaire has to be with women that he has to go on TV and humiliate himself for the CHANCE at paying for sex with a six. That's how awkward these guys are around girls. They couldn't get laid if their wangs cured yeast infections. I've seen Christopher Walken play games of Russian Roulette that were less nerve-wracking than watching these creepy assholes talk to a girl. And once again, while you wouldn't hide her from your friends, Megan isn't exactly disarming. There's no reason to be so nervous unless they're all Poison memorabilia collectors desperate to add Bret Michaels's herpes to their collections. New Rose Ceremony: Blindfolded in Front of a Firing Squad There's only one way to end this show--line all the contestants up, give them a cigarette, and invoice each of their families for the cost of a .30-30 cartridge. Bidding on a white girl isn't a TV show concept--that's a situation that Mad Max would come across just to remind him how fucked up the post-apocalypse is. One contestant built his fortune stripping; another wasn't even rich--he was just trying to buy Megan with the money he'll probably have when his dumb, stupid grandpa finally dies. This entire show is so amoral that it had to be pulled off the air after one of the contestants murdered and dismembered a woman who later had to be identified by her breast implants. And what's crazier than that is that given a choice, he wouldn't even be the first one you execute. Megan Wants a Millionaire is a Greatest Hits of man's inhumanity to man. They probably burned down an Indian reservation to build the set, and during a few scenes you can see the altar of panda bones where Megan has congress with the Beast. I just hope the millionaire that won her knows that her resale value is worse than a Dodge Durango. And that sex with her is like fighting a bag full of poisonous snakes. Seriously, of all the women in the world, why buy the one that lights on fire when medicine touches her skin?

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