Photo Credit: VH1
It doesn't get more trash-tastic than "Rock of Love with Bret Michaels."

It is with similar sheepishness that I acknowledge my complete addiction to VH1's latest "celebreality" show, "Rock of Love with Bret Michaels." And once I begin describing the program, you'll know exactly why I've been hesitant to say anything at all.

The premise is simple: completely rip off VH1's hit, "Flavor of Love," insert Poison frontman Bret Michaels in his stead and replace Flavor Flav's hip-hop loving trashy contestants with rocker-chick trashy contestants, all of whom are bitterly fighting to win Bret's heart. Place them in a California mansion, add plenty of booze and stir.

Ta-da!

I know, it sounds like a recipe for disaster and boredom. The thing is, though, it's not. Quite the contrary, actually. Sure, every episode is full of women degrading themselves by fighting each other for Bret's affections, getting sloppy drunk all over the place, and fulfilling every single preconceived stereotype about tattooed, hard-rock chicks with big hair and lots of makeup. And believe me, with the exception of one or two, they absolutely do. Yet every week, I find myself looking forward to each new episode.

My favorite thus far is the third episode, which features a motocross competition. Motocross, you see, is one of Bret's favorite hobbies. (Yes, we're talking about a 44-year-old father of two. Can you say "arrested development"?) It is Bret's sincere hope that whomever he ultimately chooses will share many of his interests, including riding hell-bent for leather across a course made up of lots of mounds of dirt.

What a romantic!

Needless to say, when they begin to race, many of the women don't do very well. Fuschia-haired animal-lover Lacey barely gets out of the gate when her bike stalls out. Fur-and-leather loving Dallas has even worse luck, gunning the engine so much that she crashes and burns, literally. Bret's concern that Dallas may actually be dead is touching (not). Meanwhile, the rest of the girls cackle and chortle and curse their way to the finish line.

I don't care what the rest of them say, none of these women are as happy to spend time with Bret as Rodeo. Yes, her real name is Cindy, but why would she stick with such a dull moniker, especially when she's a Southern gal in a cowboy hat? Rodeo, who appears to be closest in age to Bret, is clearly ga-ga over him. Plus, they have ever so much in common, since she's the mother of a 7-year-old boy and Bret has two young daughters (here's hoping they never see their father swapping spit with some of these women). Plus, they're both overly fond of cowboy hats (of course, Bret probably dons his in an attempt to hide is bad hair weave, but hey, that's just my guess). Alas, Rodeo is not longed for the rocker world. By the fourth episode, she has a breakdown over missing her little boy, and Bret makes the painful decision to send her packing. C'mon. Like she ever really, seriously stood a chance against these young blonde things.

Rodeo's crying jags and crazy laughter are just the tip of the iceberg with this bunch. I also love to hate Brandi C., a recently eliminated, daft young'un who constantly refers to Bret as "my boyfriend" and feigns sensitivity when another girl calls her face "meth-scarred"; the aforementioned Lacey, who instigates fights with others in order to get them eliminated, and Heather, the boob-implanted stripper who cattily makes fun of Erin the Hooter girl for her "circus boobs." Am I the only one to see the irony of one boob-implant recipient calling out another boob-implant recipient?

I don't hate so much as pity Tiffany, the drunken train wreck who, whenever struggling for words to mumble, falls back on her tried-but-true "Don't threaten me with a good time!" (Bret apparently tired of that line, too, and sent her home.) I don't find Erin entirely unlikable, but just like Bret, I find it hard to focus on her face. Magdalena the Amazon is pretty in an exotic way, but her disconcertingly deep voice distracts me — and Bret, no doubt — from the bigger picture. Of the entire bunch, the only one I'm truly rooting for is quiet, introspective Sam, who spends much of her time questioning Bret's sincerity as the rest drink themselves into oblivion.

The main reason "Rock of Love" works is simple: Bret is in on the joke. He's totally aware of his own superficiality and shallowness, as well as the women's stupidity and willingness to completely debase themselves for 15 minutes of fame. He also knows they may not be interested in him in the slightest. But he plays off of that, and pokes fun at himself as well as them. In fact, while pondering whether or not to banish Lacey from the house, he says, "She'll either make passionate love to me or stab me while I'm sleeping."

I've barely scratched the surface of this trash-tastic extravaganza — the fifth episode of the 10-episode series airs tonight at 9 — and I'm already gunning for more. Right now I content myself with catching reruns as VH1 airs them. But what will I do when it's all over?

I don't even want to think about it.