Tuesday, December 18, 2007
I Love New York 2: The Stooch In Review - "The Final Four"
It's only fair that we give proper shine to the four finalists of "I Love Flavor Flav's Leftovers 2." (In order of departure) The Entertainer: Frankie the Entertainer really showed his garlic knots before his time was up. He held the Guido back for as long as he could but the arrival of his parents was the marinara on the fettuccine. His pops was cool; far cooler than I'd expect from, you know... Eye-talian guys. I saw "A Bronx Tale." I could only imagine what kind of parmagiana Tony Ravioli would make out of his talking eggplant queen. ManBearPig may have been right on her assessment of Frankie as unstable, volatile and threatening, but she had no reason to foul on his parents the way she did. Susta Patterson ultimately said "Fuck you, Frankie and the Olive Garden you came from." What ultimately did him in was that he worked for fucking UPS and lived with his parents. There wasn't any amount of toe-sucking that was gonna make up for the fact that he was some kind of triclops gnocchi monster trapped in the basement. With that said, New York and her mother set black women back farther than the "Tip Drill" video by lambasting The Entertainer's parents with a unified front of indiscriminately disrespectful behavior. They were one head short of Ugly Bitch Cerberus. Throw Dionne Warwick up there and you got three heads. I'm sorry. New York is gonna look like Danny Glover when she's her mother's age. I don't know if there was some Reparations sentiment behind that shit or what. Them bitches acted like they found the family that used to own them back in the 1700s. I thought it was pretty cold to make the parents stick around for the elimination to hear those terrible things from that delusional, battered stripper. I never noticed his third eye until the clip show. Then I became more frightened than Sammy Davis, jr. walking through his neighborhood without Sinatra and Dean-o. Ron Mexico enters your establishment through the fucking front door, you hear me? Punk: I guess Punk leaving second-to-last afforded him the ability to do what he really wanted to do with his lawyerin' degree and frosted-tip S-Curl. But really, Punk. What the fuck, holmes? What, you on SMACK DVD as a manwhore for hire, David Otunga? Whose dick did you plan to suck in that limo? "Look at me! I'm taking Moet to the head! I just bagged Buckeey. That wasn't hard at all." I wonder who everyone at Ciara's party thought this man was. This party wasn't long after the show first aired, right? Eh, I'm sure no one could tell. Punk probably ended his night doing a line off Ne-Yo's dick. I ain't never seen so many shots of a nigga dancing by himself with a bottle of Mo'. Before we all found out he was a party boy, Punk seemed like the safest, most responsible option of all of the guys when he wasn't a greasy cocaine gorilla. Unfortunately, Tiffany doesn't want anything to do with anything rational, responsible or safe. She bought the Spalding Never-Flat titties. Her nipples twist out to little silicone pumps. It's truly horrific. Speaking of nipple twisting... --So his mother's an old Jewish lady? I'm not seeing the resemblance. I see it between the mother and his sister because they look like the same type of touchdown. That would mean that she did, in fact, climb that gefilte fish up onto the African soupbone at some point... which is hysterical. His name is Otunga. That sounds pretty African. He's light-skinned enough to have come from a white woman via natural birth, though. I'm guessing he's the type of privileged African halfzie that could go to a good enough school to do the lawyer thing. ...or they're just adopted. P.S.: You should have let that giant deadly dodo bird rip New York's intestines out. Buddha: Buddha's dad was pretty much exactly what I expected. He's an Uncle Ben-ass, preachy-ass, self-righteous Farrakhan style motherfucker. I guess the bean pie doesn't fall too far from the mosque. Strangely enough, the G-Unit wifebeater model's game wasn't apparent to our veteran judge of character. Miss New York ate up every monosyllabic word he threw at her as long as it came with that chocolaty velvet fog of his. He almost fingerbanged her at the dinner table in front of Punk and Taylor Dane. Luckily for New York, she denied his appendage entry as it probably just came out of the cank stooch of Miss Vietnamese. You don't want too much going on in the petri dish. You don't wanna end up with a Princess Clara. I don't know why Punk and them thought he was flirting. That little Asian girl is part of the room package. Buddha's analysis of New York's preferred erotic stimulus was pretty damn accurate. Homegirl gets off on drama, not penis. With that understanding, one would have thought Buddha had the competition in the bag as he provided more than one man's share. Unfortunately we're dealing with a capricious, ignorant pill-popping cum muppet and the producers that control her every move. Say hello to Mark Cronin and Cris Abrego, everyone! We might as well. They've kept me in business for over 2 years now. Tailor Made: We'll give Miami's big winner and Jamaica's big loser the due he deserves when we put the touches on this series later today.