Rock of Love Bus? Yep.

Everyone has a guilty pleasure show, and for me, it's Rock of Love. I don't quite know why; maybe it's because even at 50-odd years old, Bret Michaels is still infatuating girls half his age. Odd? You bet. But if nothing else, the unintentional comedy he draws is off the charts. I couldn't catch the premiere last night, but VH1, as predicted, is showing this every few hours, so I'm catching up now.

In my official SAK view, I am about 75% sure 9, possibly as many as 13, of the 20 girls starting out on this show vying for Bret's love and affection are completely full of silicone and leftovers of other plastic surgeries. To be fair, there are a few semi-real looking women on the show, and those are usually the ones who make it close to the end, but looking at some of these women is almost a carnival sideshow. We're not talking Tim Tebow's girlfriend's chest here; these girls almost make mockeries of what were probably decent-sized chests to begin with.

And fittingly enough, the first girl we meet is an admitted former porn star! But wait, she's got a singing voice she can't wait to show Bret. Oh Rock of Love, how I've missed you. What will I do if Bret actually finds love this year and the show ends? This is I Love New York without the screeching high voice of the woman we're supposed to hope finds a boy toy! To paraphrase Barack Obama, can we rig this show so I can continue to be amused for the rest of my life? YES WE CAN!

Other interesting women: A Hindi woman from Appalachia, a former Penthouse pet who actually hesitated to show more than a thong, and several women who claim to "never have done this sort of thing before." Only one girl, though, actually goes nude in the trademark photo shoot at the beginning of the show. After the shoot, the girls are divided into two busses by the one and only Big John, and one woman describes everyone rushing to store their luggage as "a barrage of stripper heels." And herein lies the first argument, as everyone has a way of loading the bus that is different from everyone else's. Hilarity ensues, and one girl is accused of being on drugs. Her response: "EVERYTHING I'M ON IS LEGAL!"

So one bus, which is pink, is full of the generic blondes pumped full of silicone, and they immediately pop open the Coronas and start catfights. The other bus, which is blue, contains the semi-wholesome girls who think they're too good for drama, when in fact they're on a reality show competing for the heart of a man twice their age. Here's the conflict that happens every season: The indecent sluts versus the snobbish bitches. Take sides, all!

The busses head to Louisville, Kentucky, where Bret's band has a concert that night. And the Penthouse woman is "mortified" by the sight of a woman licking another woman's silicone on stage. She claims herself to be the classiest one here. Guess the photos in a globally-distributed softcore porn magazine were just mistakes, huh?

After the concert, naturally, everyone gets blissfully smashed. Well, not quite blissfully, as we get an argument over whether a pair of dark brown Uggs or a green and black excuse for a dress is uglier. Personally, my vote's for the dress. Not like it matters, though, as drinks fly, naturally all outside Bret's view. Of course, once he enters, unintentional hilarity ensues as a smashed girl serves a shot from...well, between her legs. Classy. This seems to set everyone off, and the party sort of dies, which may very well be a first in ROL history. Bret talks a girl thinking about leaving into staying, and that ends just another day in paradise.

The morning rolls along, and Big John cracks the whip to do roll call. The busses move out, and the women get relocated to another hotel. They get bored, and suddenly the party starts up again. I'm personally surprised half these people made it through the night without a Corona IV, but I digress. Anyway, the blondes criticize the brunettes for not being trashed, Miss Penthouse once again thumbs her nose at others, the Appalachian Hindi teaches the former porn star how to belly-dance, and a Brazilian hammers down one shot of tequila after another before spending an inordinate amount of time crouched over the toilet. Seriously, how can anyone NOT love this show?

So Bret comes in, and immediately gets a French kiss from the woman who just threw up. At least he recognizes it in an edited-in sound byte that her breath smelled of vomit. On the other side of a commercial break, Bret woos one of the brunettes, and is moved to tears by the news that he was on her list of people to have sex with during her marraige. Touching. In other news, Bret names some of the silicone-stuffed women the "Blontourage." Witty.

All's going fine and well until, to quote the immortal Joey Styles, CATFIGHT! CATFIGHT! A drunk throws a bottle at the Brazilian, and insulted by her treatment of alcohol, the Brazilian chokes her. Bret calms everyone's moods yet again. Must be his mystical baldspot. He lays down the law, outlawing physical violence. Oh, rats, I was hoping the blonde would throw the macadamia nuts next.

Instead, we go to eliminations. 15 stay, 5 leave. Bret calls out his first 13, and takes his time with the next 2. Notables kept on: Miss Appalachia, Snobby Penthouse Pet, and several members of the Blontourage (but not all). The Brazilian is lucky #14, undoubtedly because he likes to be choked in the heat of the moment. She immediately goes off to drink more tequila.

This leaves several left for the last pass, including the former porn star and the one who stuck a shot up her snatch. Indeed, it's the porn star who gets the last pass. Those left off: The legal drug addict, the exhibitionist from the bar, and a few other assorted blondes.

A montage airs of what to expect this season. Laughs, cries, fights, stripteases...yep, this is Rock of Love. Good to see you back.