America, you’ve still got a shot at love. Are you interested?I’m not.
After a first season fraught with gut-wrenching emotion, thick with drunken fisticuffs and unisex backstabbing, A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila is back. Now I’m not stupid (or 14 years old), so I know it was just a reality dating game show, but there seemed to be some genuine pathos to the proceedings—the tears real, the bonds forged unbreakable. On December 31st, 2007, during Mtv’s New Years Eve Jiggle-thon, a half-dressed Ms. Tequila informed her rabid fan base, hungry for the latest on her love affair with show winner, Bobby, that she was single again and heading back to basic cable to find her next soulmate. Bobby just couldn’t handle her lifestyle, she claimed. The next week, lovelorn Bobby responded, explaining to a disinterested public that he’d been trying to get in touch with Tila since the reunion show. Oh, Bobby, you poor, dumb bastard. Don’t you know when a show is as successful as Shot at Love was for Mtv, you just gotta do it again?
Last week I saw my first promo for Shot at Love 2 (or Another Shot at Love, or Partially Clothed Twenty Somethings Drinking and Fighting: The Show, or whatever they’re calling it this time). What was once a heart-wrenching exploration of a lonely, big-boobed Asian girl’s search for self, has become yet another alcohol-fueled, semen-stained, slut-o-rama. And this time there isn’t even the “I’m-looking-for-love-for-real” candy coating. “Are you guys ready to fight for me?” Tila asks the new crop of admirers in the commercial. You can almost hear the thoughts of the heterosexual contestants, glass-eyed and leering, the faint stench of desperation and Axe body spray wafting from the television screen: “Ready? Hell yeah! Get me a tray of Jell-o shooters and call the paramedics because this shit's about to jump off, y’all!”
For all the confused gay teenagers who thanked Tila on her Myspace page last year for being such a shining example to your community, you’ve officially been punked. Sorry, kids. Tequila just wants you to buy her calendars and listen to her terrible music. She doesn’t care about you or your struggle for acceptance, but she is interested in that wad of cash you got for you sweet sixteen.
For betraying and preying upon your legions of sexually confused adolescent fans, I say for shame, Ms. Tequila. You’re very appealing on a whole lot of levels, but it’s starting to seem false, a façade that is rapidly collapsing under its own bloated self-importance. Maybe you’ll prove me wrong, but my heart knows better. I’m sorry, Tila, but I think you need to
STOP ALREADY!
