Any doubts that the second season of Rock of Love would live up to the at-least-I-didn't-do-that-on-TV glory of the first go-round were laid to rest during last night's season premiere. Much is the same in the bikini-clad mansion of love. Bret Michaels is back with hair more luxurious than ever. His lame "will you continue to rock my world" line lives on, as does his uncanny ability to stick his tongue into the mouth of anything with boobs. Big John continues to be charmingly pervy, and, of course, the stripper pole is back in full, slutty effect. What's more, it's even trashier, dumber, and less good-looking. Let's review.

The 20 groupies, er, ladies lined up outside the VH1 mansion, clapping and bouncing as Michaels arrived in a red chick-magnet convertible. He informed them that his quest for love can be accomplished in only one way: "Let's go back into this house, get completely naked, and have an awesome party." Then he picked out four girls, seemingly at random, left them behind with Big John, and invited the rest inside. The selected four were clearly disturbed until it was revealed they would be Bret's VIPs. This announcement was met with cheers of glee and a clever foreshadowing of unwarranted confidence.

Meanwhile, the unchosen 16 began drinking and eagerly hit the pole before the photo shoot. The contestants were instructed to be as unabashedly whorish as humanly possible. Some took the bait better than others. Terrifying-looking butterface Angelique was described by Bret as a "trailblazer, sort of like Lewis and Clark," for being the first to completely reveal her massive funbags. In an unexpected twist, the arguably hottest chick refused to kiss Bret before wiping the germy saliva remnants of the other 19 girls from his mouth.

Then the poolside get-together. Bret, as promised, spent some alone time with the VIP recipients. As he heard about Megan's "huge modeling career" and Erin's MySpace-induced cultural awakening, the other, non-VIPed babes separate into two groups: the really, really slutty sluts, and the slightly less slutty sluts. They binge drink. They make out with each other. They swim. They distribute lap dances galore.

And then, as a gift from the gods of trashy reality television, one drinks too much, causes a bit of a ruckus, says, "I'm fat and ugly. I don't mind. It's okay," and then passes out. Bret once again showed his soft spot for old chicks with incredible '80s groupie bangs who bring a whole new meaning to the phrase "rode hard and hung up wet." Girls got awkwardly comfortable ("My father was never there. I just want someone to love me"). Stupid flows faster than whiskey, it seems. "I'm drawn to Bret like a nun to a convent," is a proudly repeated analogy. One double-D tried unsuccessfully to spell.

Then the elimination scene. As the last "tour pass" is distributed to Jackie ("Jackie wasn't a good pole dancer. Jackie is a great pole dancer"), she confesses, in an act almost too dramatic to be true, that she kinda-maybe wanted to go home. Her pass is regifted to the southern-accented, feathered-haired Ambre, leaving four other losers. Obviously the "fat and ugly" drunk girl was an easy out, although she remained passed out and unaware. Next, was the relatively pointless Ashley, whose only line had something to do with squeezing her ass cheeks together. Then there was the equally pointless Missy, who spent the evening being ignored by Mr. Michaels. And finally, Erin, the former VIPer/MySpace fan who was truly shocked by her dismissal. So shocked, in fact, that she said the following: "I feel that America is going think that you made the wrong decision. But I'm going to move on with my life. And you move on with yours."

The only better way to end the Rock of Love 2 premiere than with drunk girls taking their impact on America much too seriously is to crack open a round of Bret's Brew (he has his own beer!) and sneak a preview of what's to come, including a roller derby, pig wrangling, horseback riding, drinking, fighting, sobbing, stripping, and guest appearances by last season's most tragic, confidence-boosting contestants. Bless you, Mr. Michaels.