Monday, October 16, 2006

Bad Taste in My Mouth

I am ashamed, so I must confess: I watched the finale of "Flava of Love 2" tonight.

Honestly, I could have cared less about the outcome. I saw the entire season last year, and that silly rabbit should have known better than to go back a second time on the same show...but that takes me off topic.

I should not have watched a single minute of this show. Last year, a radio personality lamented that he lost brain cells each minute he watched, and while I agreed wholeheartedly, I still frittered away an entire hour when I had way more important things to do.

I don't need to describe the ways in which this show goes well over the boundaries of taste. Other more eloquent people have written about the degredation, the humiliation, and the pure senselessness of the show. It makes black women look bad (blah, blah, blah), but that isn't even the half of it.

If this was even possible, this show actually redeemed Flava Flav! Here is someone who, for all practical purposes, (1) posesses no real talent; (2) is, well put mildly, unattractive; and (3) is a crackhead! Why would anybody go on national TV to compete for his affections?

Sisters, is it that hard to find a good black man? Is Flava Flav--the original clown prince of hip hop--the best a sister can hope for? Have we lost our damn minds?

I get that this show is simply a parody of "The Bachelor" and that Vh1 has set out to prove that has-been celebrities are far more entertaining than the current bunch of so-called reality show contestants. But come on, Flava Flav?

God help us if this man needs another installment to find his "true love" (which I thought he had found with Brigitte Nielson a few years ago). Apparently there are all sorts of women who are willing to do almost anything in order to enjoy 15 minutes of fame. And there are millions of people like me who enjoy car wrecks.

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