Devotees will recognize this post from my first stint on Luke’s now neglected and soon to be resentful baby thingsifuckinghate.wordpress.com

I know it’s cheap and lazy to recycle material but I have added a great picture not included in the original. As for any newcomers you can now enjoy my tirade against Flav restored here in all its former glory.

The Flavour of Hate (Redux)

Oh Flav, why couldn’t you just stay in your soggy cardboard box under the bridge? Who played Fear of Black Planet backwards and uttered those magical words of hype that awoke you from your crack slumber? Who has doomed you to walk the earth like the slow witted mummy you are? Whoever it was (VH1) I hate you almost as much as I hate you, Flava Flav.

Now, I’ll admit that irrelevant pop culture would be lost without the antics of Flava Flav, and am especially not here to criticize his (ahem) musical contributions to Public Enemy. I’m just sick of this bum on my TV making millions of dollars for slobbering over poontang with the restraint of an erection. Has anybody seen his so called “shows” before? He first appeared on the moderately popular and reasonably entertaining program The Surreal Life where the nation watched his frail naked body get cradled and groomed by the mighty Brigitte Nielson. This is lovemaking? It looked like and Amazonian warrior princess nursing a baby spider monkey whose mother had left it to die.

These images were so otherworldly that Flav and Brigitte were even granted a spin off called Strange Love. Strange love indeed, Brigitte and Flav continued their impossibly unjust sexual exploitations while traveling the globe as ambassadors for the Western World’s marital and coital traditions, and man was it awkward. The two of them in the throes of passion looked like a gender confused seven year old vigorously mashing his Hulk and Barbie doll action figures together desperately trying to recreate what he saw mommy doing to the mailman. I am not one for censorship but if it weren’t for the irregular blurs covering their Chernobyl’d boils and genitals every six seconds (basically the premise of the show) civilization may as well have been handed over to a couple of humping dogs. Now take all this and set it to the tune of Flav’s incoherent babbles and Brigitte’s soap opera babbling incoherents and you have a basic idea of how offensive this show could get.

The highlight of Strange Love (It’s actually the only episode I ever saw) was when Flav and his behemoth Brigitte (remember this is woman who pleasured Rambo in the sack) somehow squeezed into a tiny basement bathtub, buck naked of course. Flav tried to pour them champagne but his crack addled motor skills caused him to shatter everything and surround the tub with broken shards of glass trapping them in the tub. The camera crew refused to help and after four minutes of starvation Brigitte was eyeing Flav like the little tootsie roll he is – I will never forget the fear I saw in his eyes.

Which brings me to VH1’s latest pestilent and third Flav instalment, The Flavour of Love. After shit went sour with Brigitte, (Shame, they’re offspring would have been straight out of a mythology textbook, half Titan half bat turd) Flav began his quest for true love again only this time it was obvious he had completely lost whatever lingering cob web of a mind he had left. This show encapsulates everything that is wrong with everything. It features Flav, adorned in royal robes, Viking shit and clocks the size of tractor wheels as he stoops around a gigantic mansion complete with obedient black butler, sizing up a group of whores who either want to be on TV or are hopelessly insane, definitely both. Flav looks like a fifteen year old boy who won the lottery and has surrounded himself with shiny things and boobies, he has become motherfucking Caligula.

Remember, this was once a notable personage in the rap community, a staple in one of the most socially conscious and important musical acts of all time. And now? He spends his time rubbing off on the legs of mildly attractive delusional skanks as they tear each other a part for his googly eyed approval. It is the ghetto Playboy Mansion on crack cocaine. Flav is so mystified by what he must believe is an acid flashback of a life that he cannot even remember a single girls name and so he gives them nicknames like Buckwild, Hottie, Bootz, Lik Dat, Toasteee –I wish I was making this shit up, he can’t be fucking serious…what he is? WHAT! HE NICKNAMED ONE OF HIS GIRLS “SERIOUS”! Mother of God. The only thing that even falls out of Flav’s mouth anymore is worthless non cohesive constants that he drawls out as if to somehow amuse himself and alleviate his sadness until he can get his wilted bighand wet. Flav you are no longer a human being, even Chuck D, a man who no doubt once saw you gobbling ecstasy like tic tacs while banging prostitutes in medical waste in your hay day thinks you’ve gone too far. Stop for the good of humanity. I know you might be a little strapped for cash, but don’t you think it might have something to do with your irresponsibility towards drugs and sex? Don’t you think these shows that are geared towards getting you laid by multiple gold digging delusional self depreciative (or possibly brilliant) women is counterproductive? I know you’re having money problems and that can’t be fun….when you got 99 bitches and 99 sons! Serves you right you miserable idiot.

I was also going to try and incorporate Bret Michaels from Poison into this for I hate him and his show Rock of Love way more than Flav but I’m done here. It’s the same format anyway: Bret Michaels putting on mascara and Bret Michaels banging skanky plastic mothers of three who he claims to have seen at a few of his shows in the 80’s. Let’s hope Chlamydia turns out to be the Antidote and Bret shrivels and dies.

Oh one last thing. Remember those great celebrity odds of death in the back of MAD MAGAZINE. I half assed one for Flava

Flava Flav Odds of Death

1 -1: Flav goes digital and electrocutes himself as well as all his whores when he hops into the hot tub. Remarkably, Flav’s charred corpse is hot wired to sporadically vibrate and cane jungle booty ever so often. Viewers are fooled and the show carries on to finish off the season. Last words? “Yeeeeaaah Boy!” Moments before his cannonball into the water.

1-2: I kill him. Straight up murder that piece of shit. Probably with a math problem.

1-16500090: Brigitte returns because she couldn’t stand being apart from his impressive social skills, handsome face, and robust physique. She fucks him into a fine powder and discovers just a dash of it hypes up any dish, starts a cooking show –The Flavour of Flava Flav.

1 – 4559908358589: Finds God who immediately strikes him down.

1-485774887959498490458500000: Dies in the loving arms of a wife, surrounded by loved ones out of the public eye. Last words? They’re spoken in English.