There’s nothing I despise more than after months of intense and grueling training, sitting in wardrobe for a couple hours waiting to be fit in full gladiator battle gear, which is even twice as uncomfortable and burdensome as it looks, before heading to hair and make-up for a few more hours of preparation. Then, when I finally get to set, under an unrelenting and blinding Moroccan sun with the camera angling for my close-up, the director yells ‘That’s a wrap!’ before I even have the opportunity to nail the most memorable and pivotal line of the script; “On my signal, unleash hell!” Next thing you know production is halted, the financing falls through, and all I’m left with are some funky tan lines as proof I was even there…

Everyone knows the two worst things you can do to a gladiator is to intervene and prevent him from finishing off his opponent, and claim that you weren’t entertained by his efforts (Were you really not entertained???). But Volume 2, or more appropriately ‘hell’ is not to be unleashed. On the upside I live to fight another day, on the downside I sit and stew until an agreeable and worthy opponent is defined by the powers-that-be. This might be what Flava Flav would call Operation: Can’t-Do-Nothin’-About-It. So I hope you’ll excuse me if today’s post is a bit aggressive as I’m still struggling to find an outlet for my pent-up aggression.

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(Whatever happened, to Pink anyway?)

Speaking of Flava Flav, the conclusion of The Surreal Life, will not necessarily signal the end of Flava’s much-appreciated comeback. He and Brigitte Nielsen have reportedly agreed to a spinoff for VH1, that would pit him against Gitte’s 25-year old bartending, fiancee, with the amazonian, chain-smoker as a grand prize of sorts. Much better idea if this was 1994, but the last 10 years haven’t been all that kind to the former Mrs. Stallone/Gastineau. Unless you like your women built similarly to Dr. Phil, which apparently Flava does.

For the record, Kansas City Chief Eric Warfield has more INT’s on the year than DUI’s…. but barely. Which just goes to show you can take the boy out of Nebraska, but…

Speaking of boys and butts, I am unfortunately still following Real World – Philly, which if recent trends continue will become Real World – Key West next year. As if housing two homosexuals wasn’t enough to make the point that MTV was for the progressive-thinking, politically correct and modern viewer, last night’s episode featured Willie picking up a toothbrush-borrowing, panty-wearing old flame with a friend named Diana—a male friend. Willie not wanting to rush into things, suggested they take things slow, before quickly hopping in the shower, and then under the covers together.

That’s actually not the most telling event of what we can expect this season. After making declarations like “It’s Gay Pride American in my house” and “I need a straight festival,” the two heterosexual males were falling all over each other to try to get a peep of the Willie-on-Daniel-Daniel-on-Willie action. Mark my words, it’s only a matter of time before MJ and Landon are doing each other’s hair and playing leapfrog in the confessional.

I still haven’t made my mind up about Sara. She is the most attractive female in the house, which is really not saying much, but she’s also highly annoying. She spent the first couple of shows throwing herself at MJ (wonder if Willie would have been any more successful) and this week dropped $150 on a pair of jeans. Like most of us, Melanie was shocked by this and couldn’t wait to share the details of the shopping excursion with others. This inexplicably rubbed Sara the wrong way, so she took a spinning class (with MJ, cuz all straight guys spin, right?) to take out her aggressions before confronting the situation. Hmmm, maybe spinning could have done me some good earlier this week—-ya know, if heteros like myself were welcome. Sara and Mel chatted, blah, blah, blah and made up. Melanie is clearly jealous of Sara’s “expensive accessories” which her parents purchased to help build her self-esteem. If only I knew of someone who’s self-esteem could be so easily and immediately improved… Though it should be said that when Melanie leans ever-so-slightly forward, she appears awfully naturally confident herself.

Next week: Kokomo, or whatever his name is, has a run-in with the Philadelphia Police Department.

Some other things that were going on while I busy saving the world, or parts of the world from themselves, earlier this week that deserve comment:

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(When Britney was just Britney…)

Britney’s wedding – Whether legit or not, it’s actually not her worst decision of the week. Have you caught a load of her new single/video? A cover, as if she didn’t learn anything from ‘Satisfaction.’ This time, it’s even worse. I can tolerate stepping on the toes of a few Stones fans, but do not, I repeat do not taint the life work of Mr. Bobby Brown. It is, and always will be, Bobby’s prerogative to do what he wants to do and live how he wants to live, not yours Mrs. Spears-Alexander-Federline.

Emmy’s – Very sad when the highlight is the sixty seconds that Conan O’ Brien was on stage. Give him back the hosting reigns already!!! And how is it that Angels in America is eligible for both Oscars and Emmy’s? Can we put this one to bed yet?

0-2 Chiefs- The Chiefs play host to the Texans this week, and then travel to Baltimore to get humiliated by Ray Lewis and friends. 0-4 before the bye week is not completely impossible. Nice off-season by the front office in deciding that a new defensive coordinator was the only thing keeping them from being a legitimate Super Bowl contender. With Priest Holmes out with an ominous sounding ‘mildly sprained ankle’ they at least now look a bit wiser for drafting a running back in the first round of the 2003 draft in Larry Johnson. Except for the fact that he simply moves from 3rd string to backing up Derrick Blaylock. Fantasy players, trade all your Chiefs for defenses, kickers whatever you can get, immediately if not sooner.

Finally, I really do feel badly that I teased you all with a second part to my controversial, and allegedly ill-conceived last post. However, I think I can get away with sharing a brief portion of what you missed without any fear of reprisal.

Sara Ward standing legs further than shoulder-width apart in a metallic looking bikini in a room that appeared very well air-conditioned, and Heather Graham lying on a couch with one leg pointed straight at the ceiling.

Just thought you should know.