"Flava" of the Month

Instead of starting my new year off right by doing my homework, helping the Lovely Mrs. G. with the laundry, or doing just about *anything* you could call productive, I’ve spent a majority of the holiday weekend sitting around watching VH1.

Yes, I too love the 80’s. Only I don’t get paid to say snarky things about it. (So I'll do it for free, thankyouverymuch.)

Regardless, while watching the I.L.T.80s marathon this weekend, I saw a commercial over and over again for a new VH1 “Celebreality” series called “Flavor of Love.” Starring this guy.

Yes, parents everywhere, it’s your dream come true. You too can send your precious daughter out to Hollywood for a one-in-20 chance of dating none other than Flava Flav.

Forget having your little girl grow up to be successful on her own merit, and get rid of those fantasies about her marrying a doctor or lawyer. Nope, she’s gettin’ down with a washed up 90’s rap artist whose last girlfriend is the 8-foot tall, formerly hot but now frightening ex-wife of Sylvester Stallone.

Now, I don’t want to seem old fashioned – I mean, Flav and I are about the same age. But honestly – who in their right mind would want their daughters to date Mr. Clock-Around-The-Neck? I mean, if you scrape the bottom of the dating barrel, surely you can come up with someone more interesting than Flava Flav as a date. Aren’t the Two Coreys still out there and available somewhere? Isn't it time for Danny Bonaduce to come up with another wife?

For those who haven’t seen the show (and I refuse to admit to watching clips online), it’s a cross between “The Bachelor” and your worst parental nightmare. Flav invites 20 women of various sexual openness to his mansion, where one by one he eliminates those whom he’s decided not to get busy with. The last woman standing (literally and figuratively) will be declared the winner, and apparently will get the one-in-a-lifetime (or 15 minutes, whichever last longer) opportunity to be Flav’s ho du jour. Or something like that.

I really can’t imagine being that desperate for 10 minutes of basic cable TV fame that I’d be willing to date a guy who thinks wearing Viking hats and a mouthful of silver teeth makes him a fashion icon. But maybe that’s just me. I’m not a skanky girl with a bad weave, fake ta-tas, and way too much lipstick.

And perhaps they’re all so loaded up on Vicodin and cough syrup that they don’t realize what they’re doing. It’s very possible they all believe they’re dating Denzel Washington, and they can’t see the gold jewelry through their drug-induced haze. I mean, there has to be a sound reason out there somewhere, right?

But still, someone must be watching this crap, because VH1 is going to play it over and over and over and over again, until everyone on the face of the planet finally screams, “All right! I’ll watch the damn show! Now please -– for the love of God and all things non-slimy -- make it go away!”

And then, someday in the future, after all of the trashy models have gone home, and after the batteries in all of Flav’s clocks have died and gone to Timex Heaven, we’ll all sit down together, turn on our 99-inch super-high-definition plasma TVs, and watch “I Love The 00s” together.

And you just know what’ll be the first memory...