Yesterday, reader Gabe was kind enough to share a steaming pile of donkey dooks with me. Gabe wrote the following:
“File this under Almost as bad as a John Travolta line dance but slightly better than a Guy Fieri frozen dinner.”
Always up for a great trainwreck with a side of cash-grab, I clicked on the link.
What I found was a new song by Bret Michaels, the 80’s hair metal icon with a penchant for bedazzled cowboy hats. It seems that in a last-ditch effort for relevance, Mr. Michaels decided to
panhandle outside of the Grand Ole Opry, release a crossover country song.
Because most of you tramps are hungover and doing everything you can to GTFO of being productive, I’ve decided to share this aural cold sore with you.
“Cold Beer, Hot Chicks, both feel good when they hit your lips.”
Thanks for the wisdom Shakespeare 2! Unfortunately, the only thing that has hit Bret’s lips is a hastily delivered syringe full of collagen.
I can’t believe I’m saying this but, I really miss the days where Pop Country had integrity. Girls in Bars makes Honkey Tonk Badonkadonk look like Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. Whatever happened to poetic lyrics like: “Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” Sorry Bret, but Blake Shelton and his side-piece turned wife,
Rode Hard Kristen Chenoweth Miranda Lambert are the f*cking Beatles compared to this tripe.
Fun Fact: If you click on THIS LINK you’ll get to see the OFFICIAL(!) video. I dare you to watch and drink in Bret Michaels’ newest look: Classy Country lady at the Halloween Hoedown dressed as Capt. Jack Sparrow. I’m not implying that the party girl eyeliner and maybelline lipgloss make him look like a washed up nightmare, but let’s just say I’ve cleaned hairballs out of the shower with more sex appeal.
You know some tweaked up meth-heads are going to be pissed off that Bret’s trying to horn in on Kid Rock’s bread and butter, simplistic faux-country anthems about regular chicks acting like strippers. Oh who am I kidding? Kid Rock is firmly secured in the pantheon of dirt bag heroes. Bret is but a Valtrex bottle on the floor of Kid Rock’s Urine soaked bathroom of success.
Oh Bret, you had it all, lost it all, and got it back thanks to your VH1 reality show where you bedded lusty skanks who thought dental floss and pasties counted as formal wear. Free the ferret pelt you call a hair piece and embrace your inner Pay Day Loan spokesperson, because at this point, you’re one fistfight at a Waffle House away from being mistaken for Trace Adkins’ sassy older sister.
This song is so terrible, Bret’s managed to make me beg for the days when Taylor Swift was putting the C U Next Tuesday in Country music. Remember when Swifty was a country western sanger!? LOLOLOLOLOLOL.
Somebody head down to the nearest sewer and pick-up CC DeVille, homegirl needs to rock some sense into Bret Michaels. Ol’ girl should hang up the Cowboy chaps, and GET BACK TO TOURING LOCAL AMPHITHEATRES WITH POISON!
via (Thanks, Gabe!)