Last week, I said that Ashley Parker Angel is the luckiest man in the world. I need to make a correction. Flava Flav is the luckiest man in the world. Why? Well, watch Flavor of Love and you’ll understand. It’s “The Bachelor” on crack. Really.
Twenty some-odd women in all tight dresses with tons of make up are flocking to a man who looks like the bony homeless guy who plays the tambourine in Penn Station. Why? Because they LOVE him. They vie for his affection, attention, and his love. Why? Because they LOVE him. His fame and fortune must have nothing to do with any of this. Because he’s such a looker and a loveable guy at that. I mean, Bridgitte Neilsen thought so, so it must be true.
FF gave all of the women nicknames. So instead of referring to Courtney and Patricia, he calls them things like Pumpkin and Clambake. And who knows the difference between Hottie and Honey and Sweety? I surely don’t. And they all LOVE him. For his looks and personality.
And how could you NOT love that personality? How could you not love someone who shouts out his own made-up name every five seconds inappropriately and randomly? The conversations go something like this:
Clambake: I love you, Flav.
And then they make out and we need to have close ups on lips and tongues and gold teeth that may fall out any minute.
The women are eons worse than the worst on The Bachelor, a show that I never watch because I thought it showed women in a bad light. Correction again: Now THIS show probably depicts women in a bad light. Why?
Take New York for instance. The woman truly thinks that Flav is her soul mate and she keeps explaining in her interviews how they were meant to be. THEN she goes nutso when this other Southern chick starts kissing Flav right in front of her. Only to start weeping and then refusing to speak to anyone. And when I say weeping, I mean on the verge of hyperventilation weeping. At every elimination ceremony, she holds her hands in prayer and then, when she gets to stay, she practically cries and then caresses Flav’s head. Ew.
Then there’s the woman who put an entire raw chicken in the microwave to cook it. Gizzards and all. Oh, but she added veggies to make it healthy. She hit the chicken button and served it up to FF and his mama. She’s not playing dumb for the camera. She’s just a special kind of crazy who lives in her own world. And you’ve gotta love the Sound Effects people—every time she blinks, they play a sound that’s a cross between a bicycle bell and a cash register drawer dinging. She walks around telling people that she’s a size two when she’s really a sixteen or so (which is perfectly fine if you’re honest about it). AND she was on the dating show, Blind Date, being a gold digger. So when Flav finds out, he lets her go because unlike all the other women, she’s there for his money. That dinging is quite hollow because her till has got to be empty.
Pumpkin is a blonde white girl who knows nothing about Flav or his music. But she loves him. She psychotically claims that she wants to get to know him and she not there just to make out with him, yet, what does she try to do every chance she gets? She makes out with him. Plus, she’s constantly got this stupefied look on her face because she never understands a word Flav says. She says it’s because he speaks in slang. I think it’s really because Flav mumbles and then yells incoherently. Don’t worry, Pumpkin, you’re not the only one who doesn’t understand. And she constantly talks trash about the New York girl. Cat fight to follow. Over the guy who still looks like the homeless tambourine man in Penn Station.
One by one, the women fall. Why? Because they don’t know what time it is. That means that during the elimination ceremony, they don’t get a clock with their face on the face of the clock to wear around their necks. Instead of a rose (The Bachelor) or a necklace (Joe Millionaire), these women get big-ass wall clocks on a rope to hang around their necks. And FF says, “You know what time it is!” while wearing a velvety, furry king’s robe, crown, and clock of his own. These women long for a clock. Why? Because they LOVE him.
Oh, and the best part is that after every elimination, Flav serves champagne. But before they can drink it, he pours some on the floor in honor of the gal he just let go. Kinda like what the gang members do with their 40s to honor people who have been gunned down. Only they do it on a street corner and Flav does it on a five thousand dollar carpet.
Wait a minute—I almost forgot. That’s not the best part. The best part is the Flavor Flav Commentary. He narrates parts of the show so between the completely idiotic segments of the gals fighting and licking him, we see him jumping around, yelling his own name, showing off his gold teeth, and informing us about what’s going on. And—he wears a VIKING HAT! Complete with horns!
[b]And THIS is why I love reality TV[/b]: The crazy comes out and the love of money can be thinly veiled as the love for Flava Flav. And then the crazy increases to the point where every woman becomes a caricature of herself, so that not all women are depicted in a bad light, just the ones here are. Phew.