Bret Michaels and Ambre Lake, the “winner” of Rock of Love 2, have broken up. I guess every rose does have its thorn. And that thorn is made of total manufactured bullshit needed to launch a third season of Bret’s reality show. People reports:
Lake, who recently moved to L.A. from her native Chicago to pursue her career, also made it clear that she completely backs Michaels’s decision to take the show on the road for a third installment. This time it’s called Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels and the women vying for his affection will follow the rocker on a month-long tour across the country.
“Third time’s the charm!” says Lake, who plans to watch the new season and is happy to be a sounding board for Michaels. “I can’t stress enough that I support his decision. He’s going to take it on the road, and that’s where he spends the majority of his life. What a great concept.”
Yes, what a great concept indeed – for Bret Michaels. Has anyone ever seen the show? Here’s the formula to pretty much every episode. And if someone you know actually thinks this shit is real, you owe it to them to push them out of a moving vehicle:
-Bret packs a mansion with strippers, single moms and former Playboy Playmates. At least one of these women will look like she’s straight out of a Whitesnake video and/or used to be named Bill.
-The gaggle of whores compete in Road Rules-esque challenges that are so asinine Bret doesn’t even pretend to watch them while the show’s filming and, instead, rides his motorcycle around in circles.
-Catfights break out. Usually about who really loves Bret and who’s here to be on TV. (Hint: They’re mostly Shot of Love with Tila Tequila rejects. Except for the one psycho that’s allowed on each season to stir things up. She truly does love Bret and, if the producers cross their fingers hard enough, will stab a stripper to prove it.)
-Bret goes on a private date. Gets laid in a limo, haystack, or Ed Hardy dressing room.
-Bret eliminates a lady (Typically the one he just nailed.) while shedding a well-timed tear or two when really he can’t wait to stop filming so he can bang a hotel room full of groupies from the last county fair he just played.
I guess what I’m trying to say is: Jesus walks among us, my friends. And he wears a wig.