I promised myself the first column I wrote this semester would not be about “I Love New York.” When my friends asked me whether I would be writing about New York (Tiffany Pollard), I told them no. And here I am writing about the calamity known as “I Love New York.”
I can’t for the life of me understand (a) why anyone with an eight grade education would go on a reality show looking for love, and (b), after watching “Flavor of Love,” what straight man would really want New York?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying New York isn’t a good catch, but come on.
In the first episode, New York introduces her bachelors to her mother, Michelle ‘Sister’ Patterson and her personal assistant Chamo, who I think is trying to sleep with 12 Pack, but I digress.
Watching New York and Sister Patterson shuffle through the hopeful men with their cigarettes attached to their fingers made me cringe.
You have Romance crying over his dead dog Princess, Rico calling New York ‘little black girl’ and Mr. Boston needing a translator for his speech impediment. I want to know, who chooses these men for the show? If this is the cream of the crop of men vying for New York’s love, heaven help the ones who were rejected before filming.
In episode two, the men participated in a “Mangeant” -a pun on man-pageant-with the three winners winning a date with New York.
There were three parts to the competition: dance, swimwear and question and answer, normal enough. I knew things were taking a turn for the worst when Mr. Boston decided not to wear swim trunks but a “man-thong”. There were two problems I had with Mr. Boston adorning a thong, the first being his top half didn’t match his whiter bottom and he had the thong on the wrong way and claimed the man who wore it before him stretched it out. I may not be an authority on pageants, but wearing another man’s underwear is so wrong on so many levels.
Needless to say, the Mangeant went off without any real problems. Pootie wore some purple/pinkish panties that made his backside shake better than Deelishis’. I loved it when Sister Patterson said, “If you had my daughter and Pootie standing next to each other from the back you couldn’t tell who was the woman.” Clearly New York doesn’t have that much back.
In the end, Whiteboy won. Twelve Pack, who came in second place, received a pair of New York’s panties in a frame, which is hanging over his head.
My choice for the winner is Chance. I want him to win not because he’s the smartest, best looking, richest or really there for New York, but because he seems the most “straight.”
Categories:
Memoirs of a Couch Potato
January 26, 2007
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