Mucus Wins RockDorks: SuperTroopers

Well, well, I never would have seen that coming. The now infamous Muskrat And Paraplegic Midget Lukas (AKA “Mucus”) took the big “prize” of becoming the new front man for “supergroup” Supernova last night. This proves, once and for all, that clothes do make the man. I think Jason, Gilby and Tommy Pee [no, not a typo] picked Mucus because he looks like he wandered into the wardrobe department and decided, just for yucks, to try on absolutely everything. It’s like Hot Topic exploded on him. “Big white belt, long black coat….ta da…the boy’s a dime bong!” Hee hee.

On the show, Mucus sported a weird raccoon faux-mo on top, which was also dyed black and white, and loaded up on so much big spiky jewelry and cunning gloves with rivets that it’s a wonder he could walk without tipping over. Wait a minute, maybe that explains his performances, which were mostly comprised of one part high decibel emo mumblings and three parts cerebral palsy satire. Lather, rinse, repeat. Our boys in the “band” kept saying that Mucus’ performances were “getting better and better dude”, but I couldn’t see it. His routine never varied from: grab mic, knock knees together, fling back left arm, squint, and then emit sounds better suited to a badger in heat. I guess he’s got, you know, emotions and stuff. However much I didn’t like him, I liked Supernova even less. Did you hear how crappy their “song” was? Um, “be yourself”? (You can see from the excessive use of quote marks how miffed I am.) Still, metal-detector wet dream and rock and roll pixie Dilana made it to second place, and no one, especially her, really expected that. Rockstar: Whatever is a pretty sexist show. Did you see how the producers were stacking the front of the stage with hot chicks? Jerks.

And finally, at least until next summer when Rockstar returns, and I, in spite of my better judgment, watch it again—Tommy Lee must put on a shirt. I know Mr. Lee has so many tattoos that he already looks like he is wearing a shirt, but damn, man, we don’t want so see your naked, diseased and self-abused flesh anymore. And “Tommy Hawk” (I just barfed) if you do take off your shirt, please, for the love of god, put on some high waisted pants. I really don’t need to see your pubes. Now I have to go scrub out my eyes. And barf some more. At least I don’t have to look at Dave Navarro anymore. Dork.

And in Other TV News
On Project Runway, Vincent and Angela were brought back from the dead to compete again, only to prove once more why they were kicked off in the first place by creating cocktail dresses so hideous that the judges had to wear special eyewear to view them without injury. Oh yeah, and Pregnant Dominatrix Ice Maiden Laura cried, threw a minor hissy fit, and trash talked Angela right to her face. Wicked. Laura did win the runway show though, with a dress that, had it been a tad longer, would not have looked out of place on Phillis Diller. Cheerful ex-fat boy and Drag Queen Wannabe Kayne was given the boot, boo. Now I’m sad. Philistines.

However I can cheer myself up with the thought that the Evil Granddaddy of All Reality Shows (USA division), Survivor makes a triumphant return tonight with Season 13: Race Wars, the most Controversial Show Ever Made, We Swear! Not really. Now, if they had someone from Lebanon and someone from Israel on there, then we might have something to talk about. We know that the Survivor producers will dick us along for one or two shows before merging back to the traditional two teams, like they always do. If they made the big prize five million dollars, then you’d really see some bloodshed. One million dollars is not really enough incentive these days, but “EVS”. I’m still watching Survivor, so what does that say about me? It says that I am Mistress Squidia, Media Whore, taking one for the team (that means you, dearheart). Read about my viewing habits and tremble, puny humans. Excelsior!