Because according to Da Brat, her agent ASSURED her there’d be no “has-beens” on this show, and we can’t really classify any of these people (with the possible exception of Brat herself, and America’s First Next Top Model) as “still ares” now, can we? Yes, Estee, and the maybe three other reality fans out there watching, it’s time again for the Surreal Life, a show which at least lives up to its name while bringing you moments of entertainment Dali-ism (and that’s definitely Salvadore, NOT the Lama kind) unrivaled for sheer *boggle*ness in the genre today.
This season’s crop of weirdies includes:
1. Da Brat. Hip Hop Singer (duh!) and dead ringer for the buddha sculpture they made into a water feature on Designer’s Challenge last week. Her claim to fame is having “dropped” (see, I’m down with all that hip hop vocab) the first hop hop album to go platinum. Whattevah!
2. Peter Brady. Okay, he’s really Chris Knight, and I happen to know he’s even really-er Chris Cozempleck, because his aunt used to be a substitute teacher at our school when I was in 6th grade (just after the invention of the horseless carriage) and everyone knows Peter was the cute Brady, not Greg, so we got the whole inside scoop way back then on all things Peter Bradia. He’s this year’s Daddy, successor to Full House (“I can’t believe ‘You Oughtta Know’ Is About Mild Old Me”) Dave, Paunch, and Hammer. That’s right, in the first season, the voice of Paternal Reason was a guy who used to be able to hide small emerging nations in his balloon pants, back before Chapter 11 and, subsequently, God arrived in his life.
3. Chyna. A/K/A “The Chyna Doll.” A/K/A Paula Something. Obvious fairly successful tranny. Fills the 6’8” alcoholic-shaped void left by Gitte.
4. Verne Troyer. You and the rest of the world know him as Mini Me. After this week, I will refer to Vern as Mini Bar.
5. Adrienne Herman (BTW, I really couldn’t care less if I get the names spelled right, or discuss anything else with accuracy, so if you are here for some sort of bizarre Surreal Life “spoilers” or something, you probably just wanna move along). Adrienne captured many of our hearts during the first season of the inimitable America’s Next Top Model. Strangely, Adrienne has yet to become the household name that, say, “Kate Moss” is. So here she is, neither a has-been or a still-is. Guess that would make her a wannabe. Or a tablecloth (but more about that later).
6. Some male model who was in Calvin Klein ads, and apparently Britney’s pants, awhile ago. The guy’s pretty but waaaay too boring to go and Google his name. If you really care, you can find out and let us know. He has one of those completely unidentifiable amalgamated European accents (perhaps he’s from Lichtenstein) so I can’t understand most of the three sentences he utters anyway.
7. Jane Wiedlin of The GoGos, who sparked the “has beens” comment from Da Brat and whom I am delighted to see but less delighted to hear. Let’s just say Holly on Survivor had a sexy, basso profundo drawl compared to Jane. Jane sounds like Betty Boop (sorry Bebo!), on helium, doing a Cindi Lauper imitation. She also, if we are to believe the season previews, knows her way around a cat-o-nine-tails. But I digress.
Also, Cathy Griffith made a brief, and uncharacteristically understated, cameo appearance as a cab driver. Phew! You were worried we would be stuck with Cathy all freaking season, weren’t you? But no, the good news (read it in today’s “Star”) is that Possibly The Most Annoying Quasicelebrity On Television Today is only driving Miss Cast to the familiar (well, to some of us, the us that have been watching this hopeless dreck for – dear lord – three years now) Hollywood manshun. One of the first to arrive is Mr. Doll (come on, I live in San Francisco; it’s NOT just muscle development, people!), who jumps claim to a room wherein the closet, the bed, the toilet, pretty much all features have been scaled down to about 20 inches in height. Given that Doll’s approximately seven feet tall, this seems an odd choice, unless she likes picking bureaus out of her toes. Speculation among the houseguests (well, Peter speculates, because he’s the only other one there at this point) is that this might be the room set up for Verne. Because Verne’s vertically challenged. Doll does not appear to be moved by the suggestion that it’s a little mean to make a midget climb a ladder to reach a normal-sized sink in a different room, and refuses to budge.
Which becomes problematic when Vern shows up, majestic atop his motorized scooter, quickly identifies what was to have been his chamber, and realizes that Someone’s Sleeping in Mini My Bed. Ultimately, after frenzied calls to ineffective agents are made and Chris Knight uses his best Mike Brady school of diplomatic brak brak brak (you know, Landru made that up) arbitration, Chyna moves her 19 tons of depilatory products and other girlie stuff into the girls’ room (ha!), Adrienne (who is free from the burdens of modesty, but more on that later) moves in with the boys, Mini Me moves into the Mini Suite, and peace is, temporarily, restored. And thank goodness, because who among us wanted to see Verne sink his tiny incisors into China’s calves as she bashed his brains out with her cosmetic case?
The only other noteworthy event this episode was dinner, which, per the supermarket tabloid-style “newspaper” the housemates receive each day, was On Adrienne. Meaning, dinner was sushi, served on FCC-mandated bamboo leaves, ON Adrienne. On Adrienne’s nipples, on Adrienne’s toes, and everywhere Adrienne in-between. Jane dives in (okay, there’s a really bad muff-related joke I could make here, but I always attempt to maintain the family-friendly standards of this forum) and Mini Me’s agog. One can hardly blame him; Adrienne has a lovely body, and just one of her aureoles is twice the size of Mini’s entire body. The culinary force of Adrienne’s personality is just too much for Verne, and he gets a little wasted.
Actually, he gets INCREDIBLY FVKCING SH_TFACED. So much so that Peter has to carry the tiny, inebriated Me (in a bizarre shot reminiscent of Raphael’s Madonna and Child) back inside the house to sleep it off, if you call barking, screaming, and humping the pillows “sleeping it off.” Me (who, as promised, will hereinbelow be referred to as “Mini Bar”) does spring to life, at least figuratively, again when he takes a midnight cruise about the manshun on the Motorized Scooter, entirely nude. Yes, folks! Mini Bar finishes the premiere episode sh_tfaced AND completely starkers! Try to erase THAT image from your imagination! Certainly, Da Brat, after gently attempting, to no avail, to dissuade the derelict dwarf from pissing (from his scooter) into an untended corner of the living room (“Baby? That’s not the restroom!”) is doubtless locked in a small padded room somewhere, still screaming. Let’s hope her agent does something about this situation, real soon.
Next week: VH1 has the temerity to introduce CHILDREN to this gang of freaks, and we explore further the realm of Go Go sadomasochism. Don’t miss it!