We'll start out by saying we've never really been a Dancing with the Stars person, just like we've never been a cat or coconut person. Not that we aren't amenable to garish talent competitions—but there's something so pungently desperate about this particular affair, so, "Look at me world! I've found my Z-list celebrity purpose again!" that it manages to exceed even our vast capacity for brain-smoothing frivolousness. That said—what a show!It kicked off with the familiar kaleidoscopic opener, the viewing of which lulls the audience into a light trance, rendering them pliable to host Tom Bergeron's kinky sexual bidding whenever he utters the word "Bruno." That was followed by a series of political attack spoof ads, the twelfth as funny as the first, plus an encore performance of Lance Bass's sultry Tango del Eyeliner. Sadly, it was Rocco DiSpirito who danced with Death last night, its rhinestone-encrusted scythe falling on the comely chef who ultimately proved incapable of locating the soul inside a samba the way he does his Mama's Meatballs. At least he can go home with his head held high, knowing Mario Batali would never have been able to pull off that fuchsia sleeveless number.