Ruling on a Fantasy Bachelor League

All rise, Judge Zack is in the building.  In this post I play judge, jury and executioner.  Kind of like Judge Dredd (the first one) only bourbon, not roids.

Reader Bethany participates in a Bachelor Fantasy League, and an intricate one at that.  She wrote to me to settle who might be the winner of their league as Strawberry Lemonade’s ultimate failure at anything but crunches and assuming Jesus picks who he marries made this season pretty rough to watch with your eyeballs.

The thing is, the fluctuating rule set the players opted into caused chaos and an improbable comeback occured to the point that the league ended up a dead heat tie.  

I am here to settle this.  My word is the law.  May God have mercy on your souls and make you virgins again if you believe Sean that God has this power.  

Meagan and Laura finished in a tie, but to rule, we must understand the situation.  I won’t get into the details, just suffice to say I have read their league rules and being a genius, feel comfortable doling out victory.

First, let’s look at their fantasy teams:

Meaghan – Team You Never Expect the Muppets 

Desiree 
Katie
Daniella 
Tierra 
Sarah 

 

LauRa – Team Sean Is My Aladdin and Helicopters Are My Magic Carpets

 

AmanDa 

JacKie

CatheRine 

SelMa 

AshLee

 

Meagan had a special place in my heart for her team name, clearly a homage to my celebration of one of the greatest lines in BachCap history.  That said, Laura did two things right.  She capitalized a random letter in her name and all her players names because one of AshLee’s 30 parents did the same thing to her.  Additionally, her helicopter appreciation would cause me to give her a rose.

 

Next, I had to get into what happened during the year.  How did this happen?

 

LauRa got off to a very slow start in the league while Meagan came out of the gates like a rum drinking monkey that accidentally lit itself of fire and didn’t seem to give a shit.

 

The league agreed upon rule changes during the year because their original system (which included points for being the first rose, first in a hot tub, etc) got boring after a while.  I believe they all had an accord and in a brotherhood of gentleman, an accord means we accept these rules even if they come back to bite us in the ass.  You never expect the muppets.

 

So going into the final week, Meagan lead LauRa by a staggering 211 to 159.  LauRa’s slow start seemed fatal, but apparently with the new rule set, LauRa was poised for greatness.

 

The agreed upon new rules for the final episode.  Here they are:

 

Says she can “see herself living in Dallas” – 5 points
If Sean picks up a framed picture of the girl and holds it – 5 points
Parents tell Sean she’s “not” the one – 10 points
Is the girl who wrote the note – 10 points
If Sean’s little niece or nephew step on the girl’s toe – 10 points
Wears a “strawberry” (pink, berry, red) or “lemonade” (yellow, beige, gold) color dress to the final rose ceremony – 10 points

Points for guessing!!!

If you correctly guess whether or not Sean is filmed shaving in this episode- 10 points
If you correctly guess how many times Sean is shirtless in this episode – 15 points
If you correctly guess who meets Sean’s family first – 20 points
If you correctly guess the color of Chris Harrison’s first tie of the episode – 25 points
If you correctly guess any previous “bachelor contestant” who offers Sean advice (Emily does not count and one guess only)- 30 points
If you correctly guess who wrote the note – 35 points

 

A trifecta of events brought on the tie.  LauRa gained 15 more points than the also genius-level at math and science Meagan, plus gained points for Sean proposing and capped the improbable run for the tie with her having Catherine on her team, the winner of the show.

 

They sit tied in Bachelor Fantasy League purgatory until now.  I asked their league commissioner to send me pictures for the blog and to see if it helped me learn anything.  It did.  They girls are down with photoshop and probably are fun to party with.  

 

Meet Meagan.

 

 

While the Photoshopping is a little haphazard, I credit her for getting her head angle correct and the over “ransom note” vibe this has.  She has artfully replaced some of the weapons on the military grade Apache helicopter she chose to use with glasses of strawberry lemonade which works because it’s my given name for Sean, but also symbolically, as my words are so dangerous they could be used on Blackhawks in wartime scenarios.  She also showed she knows this show is a shame by adding “5 min of fame” to Sean’s intro, cognizant that he is about to fade from our consciousness.  The helicopter reference as well scored points.  She passes the worthy test.

 

Next, please meet Laura who rocked two images.

 

 

I appreciate the rose colored out outfit, the delicately drawn digital rose, the Sean cake, but mostly I appreciate that she put USC Trojans on it specifically to win my favor.  This is important because she is a Kansas Jayhawk, someone who doesn’t care about football and probably hates California, but loves this blog.  It shows the “willing to be chained to a Viking range” spirit Sean was looking for and like Kevin James said to Maggie in Hitch… It just works.

 

 

What’s kind of rad here is the homemade element.  This doesn’t feel like photoshop at all. This feels like she sacrificed a picture, cut it out and scanned it.  

 

Both of these women would make excellent kidnappers as their ransom note collage skills are incredible.  I decided that if I am ever the world’s first already-married Bachelor, a collage challenge will be a part of it.  My wife just closed the browser.

 

THE RULING

 

Without the new rules, Meagan takes this thing down like a glass of cheap chardonnay at a rose ceremony.  That much is clear.  There is mad respect for her opening it up to new rules for the final episode.  That took courage and arrogance, things I respect as a Trojan.

 

But it also made an accord to adhere to the rules.

 

Laura made an improbable comeback and what’s more, she picked the final winner.  It would be hard to penalize someone for being right about the winner and taking advantage of new rules.  

 

Think about it, our favorite heroes were opportunistic.  That’s what this show is about.  If you can steal him/her away and make out, you are doing it right.  Laura got to freak out and make out with these new rules.

 

Really, there is one main kicker.  Laura picked the winner.  I played sports in my life and learned the hard way they don’t give championships to who won the regular season.  It’s about championships.

 

So much so that the tiebreaker in NCAA tournament brackets is predicting the final score of the championship.  In this case, Laura wins, but on the good graces of the frontrunning Meagan allowing additional rules to be added.

 

So, the final ruling is as follows:

 

In all league records, Laura shall be declared the supreme champion, but with an *.  In parentheses, Meagan will be commemorated as regular season co-winner.

 

Laura shall be award all winnings associated with the league, however, she has two options to make things right.  As SUPREME CHAMPION, she has the choice of paying Meagan back her entry fee (like coming in third in a poker tournament) or spending the equal amount buying her tapas and wine, because girls love those.

 

In addition to Laura upholding the graciousness of her status of SUPREME CHAMPION, Meagan will refer to her as the SUPREME CHAMPION until a winner of the Bachelorette League is crowned and the reign is over or extended.  

 

That said, it is the SUPREME CHAMPION’S job to protect the *regular season co-winner by verbally abusing anyone who makes fun of the prestigious distinction of *regular season co-winner.  However, the SUPREME CHAMPION may make fun of anyone, anytime so long as the *regular season co-winner is returned her entrance fee or showered in tapas and wine because women love those.

 

The bearfighter has spoken.  Cheers to a good offseason.

 

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Bachelor Recap: Finale

Harry Potter and shit.  It all ends.

Never before has so much build up lead to an event more (read: less) captivating.  On a shoestring budget because Strawberry Blond found a way to be a virgin and uninteresting at the same time, this “journey” to find love felt more like a tourist bus carting visiting Germans around destinations no one from the United States would visit.  After a brief and luxurious pit stop in St. Croix, they were off to Thailand, the most inexpensive beach country they could find.  It made me wonder if Sean had a peanut allergy and they were trying to kill him with some errant pad thai.

His final decision was like a scene from Saw.  Marry the simple, Army Brat with the General dad and a horrid case of stress acne or marry a woman from Seattle with a shitty set of sisters and a dark past.  As she’s described, two people have died or almost died in front of her.  It’s like The Ring.  That and the fact that she seems as serious about getting married as I am about hang gliding.

I can’t remember a finale I gave a shit about less, but in fairness, I block every episode out of my mind.

Sean’s family arrived on the island.  His sister and brother in law made a conscious effort to buy a jumper, cut it in half and wear separate parts.  In fairness, it was lime colored so maybe, being from Dallas, they thought it was “margarita time” on the golf course.  I bet these two have had some shameful sex in that monster playhouse they keep in the back yard.

Seeing Sean’s parents, all I could think about was that it was these two combinations of hair and skin that created the most famous inverted ginger outside of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.  Sean’s dad was all about “being cool” and even the cynic in me liked this guy until they all talked about praying 200 times and I realized if they really were praying it would by for the electricity in Thailand to go out so their son wouldn’t have to marry on national television.  Hunger Games, bitch.

The mom tweaked out a little and was like “yeah, Sean, these girls wouldn’t be keepers if you met them ice skating at the Galleria Mall so they aren’t keepers in Thailand.”  Sean took her on a walk so we could see that his skin, deep V neck and shorts represented the colors of some invading alien species’ flag.  He was like, “don’t worry Mom, this will be over soon.”  His virginity, I hoped.  Oh wait, he isn’t a virgin.  Okay, his magical prayer virginity.  ::smacks forehead::

Catherine did better than Army Brat, who laughed so much I could swear a ghost was tickling her the entire time.  You never expect the ghost Muppets.

Pointless date one was with Army Brat and I swear I don’t even remember what they did other than some halfass making out so I’m skipping it because I am the overlord of this blog and you are all subjugated to my rule.

Date two was with Catherine and she got to ride an elephant.  I especially liked their elephant riding pants.  Look, I have a bone to pick with Chris Harrison, who was running veins first through the local poppy fields.  He said on his blog that helicopters were “so five years ago.”  He said the elephant was “the new helicopter.”

Fuck you, drug mule.  Elephants will be the new helicopter when you ride inside them and they sprout a propeller and fucking fly.  I know you are on an MDMA-inspired trip most of your life, but for the rest of us, it didn’t look like pink elephants in Dumbo.  It looked like two d-bags riding an elephant.

these aren’t dbags, just making a point. we’ve been there.

If you had Facebook and used it, you’d know that for five years now assholes have been going to Thailand because it’s cheaper than Hawaii and they take the obligatory “I’m on a fucking elephant” shot.  Every asshole I knew in college has ridden a Thai elephant and Instagram’d it.  Seriously, explore the “Thailand” hashtag on there.  Assholes on elephants.  Elephants are so five years ago.

To be accurate, elephants are so prehistoric ago and helicopters in a traditional sense were so 1900s ago.  Helicopters are better than elephants and may God have mercy on your soul.

To quote Moonrise Kingdom…  Harrison, I love you, but you don’t know what you are talking about.

Later on the date Catherine did her space stare where she makes a serious face and looks into the eye of death.  I blocked out all the crap they talked about, noticed the shitty body language from Sean and then suffered through that awkward saying goodnight part of the show.

Time out.  For the eighth time, Chris Harrison brought us back to the live studio audience filled with megacreeps to let us know he has LATE BREAKING NEWS about Sean that was unprecedented.  I perked up a little bit.  I mean, I know when every season is referred to as “the most dramatic season of the the Bachelor ever” that it’s what we call in the ad business “marketing hype”, but LATE BREAKING NEWS?  Get your popcorn ready.

Back in Thailand, Sean put on his most ill-fitting suit of the season.  I mean he looked like some local theater clown playing the lead in Death of a Salesman.  Too high brow?  Fine, he looked like a guy at a frat invite who bought his suit at Goodwill without trying it on.  How did they get this so wrong?  All year they make it about tight suits with skinny ties.  In the 4th quarter we just give up and go the opposite direction?  Yes, I’ll take a male mumu suit.  A sumu, if you will.  He will.

You never expect the sumu.

Army Brat came in a silver dress and being that Catherine had a gold dress, I knew Lindsay was coming in second.  I watch the olympics.  Somewhere, Little Orphan Hottie saw she was wearing bronze, said “FUCK” really loud and proceeded to pull out chunks of her hair and maybe a fingernail or two.

Army Brat had some weird dress technology going where she was able to make her boobs vanish.  Look, rule of thumb.  Want to make a man regret dumping you, have your boobs in line.  Where did they go?

She was a pro though at getting dumped, not sure if that’s good.  She just took off her shoes, total mic drop moment and peaced out.

Then, Sean gets a note that all season we’re meant to think means he gets jilted at the altar because he starts crying hard.  Nope.  Typical Bachelor bullshit.  It’s a fucking love letter from High School Soccer Player and Sean is crying because he is a boner and it only looks super severe because his skin changes like that chick from X-Men.

Thanks to a visit from Neil Lane and his surgically enhanced face, he puts a lot of generic looking ice on her finger, they seem happy and ride off into the sunset on another elephant which is still not the new helicopter fuck you very much.

On After The Final Rose, we suffer through watching the same show we just watched again and then watched Army Brat get her two cents in.  Merp.

Finally, Sean and Catherine are on stage and we get to hear THE LATE BREAKING NEWS.  It’s that ABC is going to pay for their wedding and air it.  No shit.  That’s what they always do the 2 times it’s ever worked out.  We get it Sean, you are cheap and her parents don’t like you.  Of course Harrison has to pay.

user submitted, looks JUST like sean. seangerbread cookies. epic win.

Thanks for the blue balls, again, Bachelor.

Time for me to get some much deserved rest from writing.  I’ll post a bit about weird neon parties in Portland and maybe some other television I catch.  I don’t know, I’m going to chill, head to Las Vegas for a few days and maybe enhance my empire.

I love you all dearly for sticking with me.  Every time you share this blog with one of your good looking friends, an angel gets their wings (I am that angel).  Every time you get a dude to start watching the show so he can read my posts, you are giving him an in with all girls and teaching him to hunt in the wild.  Marriage is a lot of things, not the least of which is embracing some awful TV.  A man who can laugh at crap with you is a man that likes spending time with you.

Have a happy and brief break until Desiree gets her new nickname (it’s not Sister of The Situation, but it could be).  I’ll be drinking in the mean time.  You do the same.

XOXO, Gossip Zack.

Real quick, shout out to Kim and my fellow W+Kers who watched last night!

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Super Sonic Update from Portland: Con Bro Chill Edition.

I haven’t had much chance to tell you what it’s been like up here in future-Brooklyn PDX, mostly because I am travelling for work a lot and enjoying the city for myself.  That said, my wife was in Los Angeles on business for five days and I thought I’d share some of what happened for some of my longtime readers who care or for my new readers that are too tired for some good old fashioned Facebook stalking.

Agreed to go to Con Bro Chill show in NE despite being above the median age and needing to go shop for additional neon clothing.  In case you are curious, this is Con Bro Chill:

While it can be difficult to take a pro lacrosse player from Lake Oswego seriously, these guys dressed like neon vikings, spend most of their music videos jumping off waterfalls around Oregon and pretty much drew 600 people to one of the weirdest dance parties I’ve ever been to and I went to college in Los Angeles with hot people.  I’d go again as long as I could travel by spaceship.

Let’s rewind this to the beginning.  When I got to the house party in NE before Con Bro Chill (you can’t Con Bro Chill sober or anywhere near it), I mixed some voodoo rum punch in a pasta pot.

I managed to get three bottles of rum in there and it was undetectable.  There was Mount Gay Silver that I won many years ago for winning a rum punch recipe contest (I’m radical at all kinds of things I keep secret, you should see me play gin rummy).  I definitely released the Kraken into it and then Malibu was a throwback to the sticky SoCal high school parties of my youth when the bar was a handle of Bu, a handle of Cuervo Gold (just gagged from memory) and Corona.

Bitters, grenade, fruit juices and soda and basically it was an acid-reflux inducing time machine to a future of Con Bro Chill where this was totally normal:

I know that guy.  And I am proud of him.

Later that night I found a Subway I didn’t know existed, my first “fast” food purchase since I feel like my Bachelor Party (2010) and the television gods smiled on me because Ocean’s 11 was on in the middle of the night which felt like a win even though I probably own a copy.  Playing a DVD makes me feel old now.  Not as old as being at a Con Bro Chill show, though.

Successfully left the house for a total of 11 minutes on Saturday and watched every film I missed during our move to Portland.  You can’t quantify how much you miss your wife until you watch The Iron Lady in your boxers eating leftovers.  I would have gone on a hike with her, window shopped and picked out candles (okay, I like candles, they smell good).  Anything.

At the supermarket, a man described to me his experience being put in the drunk tank and now not having his wallet because it was in “possessions” so he had to wait until Monday to get it because “as I know” (I didn’t), possessions is closed on the weekend.  I was amazed the conversation happened because I looked like a cave troll and was avoiding eye contact with all species but dogs.  Check Out Guy thought I knew him.  Not sure if I was pleased he thought I listened and was kind or if I was pissed that I looked like I could be company for a man who just escaped the drunk tank in Clackamas.  Con Bro Chill, bro.

Also, when a drunk stranger tells you not to go to Clackamas a couple months after a fucking mall shooting there, you figure the conversation is not going to be good.

Recreated the penne vodka pollo from Pasta Roma on the Row at USC and felt pretty good about that because I’ve spent the last decade not eating things like that because of violent college memories when I felt like “hey, Pasta Roma is a good decision.”  Also, I didn’t have garlic bread, which would have really tied the room together.

The next day I continued my unconscious effort to run long distance again, logging an 11.5 mile route around PDX in which I crossed 2 bridges, hit all 4 quadrants of the city, ran through the Saturday Market (it was Sunday) where Kenny Lavitz was covering Lenny Kravitz, ran the riverwalk to the south riverfront and OHSU, ran through the Portland Timbers home opener drinking celebrations near Jeld Wen in NW, did all the park blocks down to Portland State and back and then continued eating the penne vodka pollo I created.

I love running in Oregon.  You feel close to Prefontaine, the air is really clean and there’s a ton to look at.  Also, drivers are polite to the point of frustration so basically if you are on foot you have the right of way.  And the left.  

Enjoyed runner’s high and Galaxy’s 4-0 win over Dallas for the 3pts.

Watched the Timbers game at Yurs (a truly great dive still boasting a cigarette machine) with SeanBrown (who I’ve mentioned on here for years) and then drank in Old Town.  Didn’t get mugged.  Big win for the agency.

At one point I cooked a steak for myself and while I normally am a wildly competent home chef, I let the pan get too hot and so there was enough white smoke coming off it to make my neighbors think I’d picked a new pope.  I used a towel to fan smoke and realized my wife would be returning to a house that smelled like a meat locker.  Noted that I needed to clean the condo.

At the gym the next day I got out of the shower and when I was drying off realized my towel smelled like steak.  It was the smoke fanning towel from the night before.  Wasn’t mad at all.  Just wanted steak again.

Picked wife up at the airport.  Human again.  For now.

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The Women Tell All

Don’t get your hopes up.  Not to be a killjoy, but there’s not a ton to say after these episodes. I usually don’t post after any of them.  I do feel though, that we should at least take a quick glimpse at what went down.

First of all, whenever dealing with Women Tell All or After the Final Rose, you need to focus on the crowd they let in.  If the audience was a drink recipe, last night in particular it would be:

• 10 housewives, undersexed and overdressed
• 30 single professional women that hate women
• 1 woman who at first glance looks like Michael Bolton
• 10 Amish teenagers
• 2-5 Way Too Old Ladies depending on taste (read: attendance)

*all must be willing to emote like everyone on this show is their best friend and that Tierra is a terrorist on trial and your reaction determines the fate of the United States.

Pretty Little Liar, you aren’t getting a talk show.  Stop taking the lines the producers are feeding you.  I get it.  You have Twitter on your iPhone.  You’re my hero.  You’re not the next Bachelorette (you better not be).  Like, did you have a goal to say sparkle, cot, etc the whole lot of Tierra words?  Look, I get it.  We all hate her, but I didn’t elect you head of that club.  Some quality eye rolls from you though.  And good job not getting fat in the offseason.  Big win for the agency.

AshLee tried to not bring the crazy the whole time (minus the new hair color, look from my understanding, the ombre is out and so auf wiedersehen, gypset) only to fail big time when Sean came out.  She tried to throw him under the bus by claiming he told her he didn’t care about the other two women in St. Croix.

Duh.  Let me be the first to say that Sean probably can’t drink, is some form of virgin, is an inverted ginger (which would be cool if he wasn’t so boring I wanted this season to be told by Ken Burns so at least it seemed important) and probably will torture his wife.  Sean wouldn’t survive one night out with my hard-banging advertising friends.  He’d tap out before the steaks arrived.

All that said, ladies, is Sean the only guy to say something to a girl he didn’t mean when he was making out?  No.  He isn’t.  Men should not be listened to in this situation.  If he tells you he loves you when you are both hungover arguing over what food to eat for lunch after you made him “go for a walk” that felt like a vampire crawl while you are wearing yoga pants (again), then he loves you.  Love is going on walks that provide no caloric benefit to men who eat and drink like Vikings just because it makes her happy.

God knows what I said to girls in high school when I thought there was a possibility of a mid-air refueling.  You have to grow up and fall in love for real to get over that stuff which, because this is The Bachelor, isn’t happening.  None of this is love.  That’s why they wrote that song.  Is this love?  Baby, don’t hurt me.  Don’t hurt me, no more.

There was going to UCLA to a sorority.  They did their stupid 8-clap which I actually appreciated in this case (it’s lame at sporting events) because there were 8 contestants on the show WITH THE CLAP ITSELF this season, so that was like a tribute.  One clap for each woman with THE clap.

Did you guys hate how they pretended the camera was on and no one knew so we could see “candid” talks between Sean and AshLee or Tierra getting ready.  Please.  Besides the Amish high schoolers and minivan moms you got for the crowd, we’re all watching because this is a shit show.  Stop trying to do parlor tricks.  The best magic trick would be if the marriage success rate for this show was higher than that of the US, which is already bad.

Tierra, you don’t speak English so I’m not commenting on you, your head dent or your sparkle (or that dress, I thought you were going to be cut up and put on a charcuterie board).

Shit, I just commented.

That’s all you get until next week when we end this thing with a bang.  Or without one.  Cuz you know.  Sean.

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Bachelor Recap: Week Eight

Before I take you all to the fantasy suites (fahn tab see sweets) with me, I need to talk directly to Chris Harrison and all the cast and crew members who read my BachCaps.  Never have I seen such east coast bias as the tweet captions they bring up on screen.  Look, I love seeing Lost Angeles friend Possessionista (who is amazing) quoted four times an episode, it’s nice to see Chris Bukowski is still alive with his super skinny head, but for us on the west coast, we’re cut out because I can’t very well tweet about a show that is not on yet, can I?

I think next week at like 5pm Pacific, I just start tweeting made up Women Tell All stories like “Wow, I can’t believe Anna Nicole Schlitz learned her Chris Harrison impression when Chris took her to a secret night club that was actually his brothel #bachelor.”

Let’s give that a shot.

Chris, you owe me by now.  I have built your lore at USC with my football influence, painting you as the world’s best dressed, most polished international drug dealer.  You are adored on campus and if I could have dinner with three people alive or dead, I’d clone you and eat dinner with you three times and then we’d all go to Vegas and play mind games with all women wearing perfectly tailored suits in a totally non-threatening way.  How we lived in the same town for years and never even went to notorious cougar bar Padri together, I’ll never know.  I cry sometimes.

With that said, let’s BachCap and let’s do it hard.  I feel no need for gloves.

Strawberry Lemonade takes us to the South of Thailand and what better place to find love than the south of Thailand.  Wearing exclusively hyper colored deep V cuts and tank tops paired with blueberry acai skin, Sean looked like the tint was all turned up on my television.  I almost called Sony to complain, but realized he is just purple and the sunsets were super orange.

Strawberry Lemonade did some awful acting when he was swimming at the hotel where he pensively swam to the edge of the infinity pool, checked out his purple bicep and stared into the distance like he was worried about being constipated for several days.  He told us he was tripping balls about being in love with three women, one of which was at home watching this episode like “fuuuuuuck this guy.”  We’re all with you.  I usually end up making friends with the main contestant and it’s nothing personal this year, I just don’t want to drink margaritas on the golf course with Sean while we chain our wives to a Viking Range in the kitchen.  I lived in Dallas for a while.  I’m good.

Date one was with Army Brat and there was no helicopter, so I was pretty pissed right off the bat.  But hey, let’s go to ANOTHER FUCKING ASIAN MARKET and say THIS IS TOTALLY WHAT LIFE WOULD BE LIKE WITH SEAN.  False.  Your life will be chained to the Viking Range with occasion procreation breaks.  You are a food processing plant and reproductive warehouse and occasional golf enthusiast.

So, Sean nearly breaks this little Thai car thing because he’s a giant purple hulk and they drive to a fucking Asian market and Sean pretends he’s been there before.  It made me miss when Lady Veneers would give history lessons.  Sean should know how much the producers hate him when Emily got to go around the world, Ben got to go around the world and he gets to go to the most inexpensive countries and states on earth.  Know your worth, son.

They buy some random crap and then Sean’s torture matrix kicks in and he decides that Army Brat is going to eat bugs.  You never expect the Muppets.

Then they go to this field where there’s religious Rose Bowl parade floats set up in a circle.  Nothing makes your religion seems more legit than blinking LED lights.  I just kept wondering where you put your quarters in and what the MegaJackpot was at.

Army Brat said it was like heaven, so her heaven looks like Disney Thailand Grad Night on a shit ton of E.  Marry her!

Then a bunch of dancers came out, it was probably racist, still not sure how or why, but I felt like they went back stage afterwards, started smoking cigarettes and being like “eff these gringos.”  I know they have a Thai word for gringos, but Google is for people who care.

The fantasy suite sucked because Sean is a born-again virgin and he wanted to use the time to talk.  America wants you to use the time to use Army Brat.  Why did you even sign up for this show?  No one’s fantasy is talking with a  purple man until dawn.  Maybe kids when Barney was still on the air.  Outside of then, no one.

Sean wanted her to say I LOVE YOU and he kind of intensely forced her too, looking annoyed when it took a minute, because, well, it’s going to hard to chain a woman with military training to a Viking Range without love as mustard gas.

I made myself a cocktail of windex and tonic and moved on to Little Orphan Hottie’s date.  I spent the first ten minutes trying to figure out what the hell her necklace said, realized it was Gypset, then wrote her off as a human.  She’s been getting crazier by the week and now is completely speaking in metaphor, which is kind of like that character in sci-fi movies who when they get close to an ancient mystery becomes possessed and just talks batshit crazy for the rest of the movie.  With fake boobs.

They are OMG going to swim through a cave to a private beach.  Naturally, AshLee’s trust issues are going to be fucking CHALLENGED.  I mean, swimming through a cave with a  camera crew on a boat and eight lifeguards?  How can you achieve that after being adopted?  ABC worked hard to make that 4 minute swim look like 20 minutes of pure aquatic Blair Witch.  Then they got to the beach, there was some sexy rain and AshLee let us know even more about her surgeon’s preferences.

That beach was cool, but it was also kind of like a giant, nature toilet bowl.  And I had an internal debate about sex on the beach.  I like the idea of it being private, but I’d rather a human watch me get down than a monkey.

The night date was more crazy from AshLee who is going downhill faster than a Swiss Olympian.  I hear what is coming out of her mouth, but what is the celestial cord downloading this speech into her brain?  I pictured a producer in her ear all night being like “he’s you soul mate, oh my god, he’s totally your soul mate, he got behind your walls” in Shoshana from Girls’ voice.  They are feeding the crazy beast crazy pills.  I kind of saw how this ends.

Again, some ass backwards speech about the fantasy suite.  Snore.  You are on the Bachelor, get naked already.  I didn’t come to the baseball game to see people play catch.  Someone needs to swing the bat already.

Last date, High School Soccer Player goes swimming, feeds a bunch of monkeys, says “hunky” about two hundred times, does a great impression of someone talking about a relationship and then tells Sean she’s got a serious side.  No shit, didn’t two people die in front of you?  You might be the grim reaper.

Also, she had the permanent wedgie bikini bottoms on.  Not a big deal, just saying.

Sean again forces her to say I love you and then there’s ANOTHER FUCKING SPEECH about being traditional.  This is so annoying.  I hate it.  I miss Sausage (Vienna from Jake’s season) who was just like, “you be a man, I’ll be a woman, it’s test drive island.”  You are on a dating show that has FANTASY SUITES.  Own up to the fact that you are on whore island and saying you aren’t doesn’t change that.  It’s like Orlando Bloom pretending he’s not a pirate for half the fucking Pirates of the Caribbean movies.  You have a sword and ride a pirate ship.  You’re a pirate.

At least the fantasy suite date included some swimming pool grinding, unfortunately I was still throwing up from when Sean kissed her on the boat earlier.  Well, kissing is the wrong term.  It looked like a bird regurgitating worms into a baby bird’s mouth.  It looked like she had an ice cream scoop in her mouth and he was trying to eat it.  It looked like her face was an envelope.  It looked like an anteaters sticking its tongue down the ant hole.  It looked like a dog got into a jar of peanut butter.

Jesus, I’d rather have seen some more instagrams of bottles from your juice cleanse than that.  By the way, let’s stop doing that now.  I get it at first.  But at this point, it’s gone too far.  I get drinking pictures because I like knowing someone is partying.  I’m down with selfles and duck faces.  I am down with workout shit (to a point) because it reminds us all to work out.  I am down with food pics because maybe I’ll discover a new place to be.

But shooting ten bottles of juice and then continuing to do it isn’t a humble brag it is a cry for help.  Even moms who shoot pictures of their babies on repeat don’t shoot pictures every time they drink a bottle of juice.

Where was I?  Oh yeah.  Here comes the boom with Kevin James.

Rose Ceremony time.  Harrison is showing some chest hair like a pimp in his beachside opium den when Sean comes in and knows who needs to go.  We started getting the feeling that he was gonna drop Little Orphan Hottie because she is starting to get crazy, confirmed by her video to Sean where she kept crying for no reason.

He probably was gonna send home Catherine because she doesn’t want to be chained to a Viking Range, but he figures she’d be easier to jilt at the alter than the brewing cyclone of female death and silicone, so I kind of knew it was coming.  That said, Catherine said Sean gives her the wiggles, which made me hate her and also picture a dog dragging its ass along the carpet.  That’s the wiggles.  Don’t fucking say it.

Wait, now I am wondering if I got the monkey scenes accurate.  I feel like there were monkeys on loop.  Wait, I don’t care.

Sean dumps AshLee and she gives him a stare down that lowered my sperm count.  It was fully the sterilizer ray of doom.  I was terrified.  She didn’t blink.  Of all the days to leave half of your dress (the boob covering part) at home.

Sean looked scared to death and begged to explain himself, which to me was kind of like whistling at a rabid wolf that for some reason was willing to not eat you.  She just got in the car, didn’t want the cameras to see her cry which was weird since that’s all she did for five weeks.

She reminded us this wasn’t a game for her.  I wanted to remind her, no, eHarmony isn’t a game.  It’s a website.  You’re in a Toyota LandCruiser, which is a car.  And the Bachelor, the show you were on, was a game.  So…

Somewhere right now, a closet is being organized and reorganized over and over until the organizer’s hands are so raw that blood faintly stains each garment.  She keeps moving faster and faster, faster and faster until…

You never expect the Muppets.

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Bachelor Recap: Week Seven

Real quick, check this out.  Despite not playing soccer since there were orange slices and juice boxes involved, I signed up to bring my broad-shouldered aggressive to my company’s coed soccer club.  I asked if someone could give me a few training sessions so I could go from a baseball player to a footballer and simply attached this picture:

 

I mean, who wouldn’t sign up?

So this week is normally a favorite.  Motherfuckin’ home towns.  It’s that special time of the year where you finally can confirm or deny that awful sinking suspicion that it is, in fact, your family that is preventing you from getting a ring put on it.  That’s a real thing, ladies (and gents).  While you technically are marrying one (1) human, you are also committing yourself to a life of dealing with another family’s set of shit that may make no sense compared to your own.

In many cases, this is a good thing.  For some, it is the opposite.  I’m not talking about parental no fly zones (and by fly I mean sex) in your in-laws houses stuff.  That’s normal.  I am talking about scenes from Deliverance type stuff.  I don’t even know anyone with these problems, but I do watch the Bachelor, so I know they exist.

A good family can put you over the hump.  A bad family can make you never want to hump again.

Let’s BachCap.

Hometown One was with Little Orphan Hottie, who is going to hell in a hand basket so fast.  I know it’s normal for her to constantly look for celestial or spiritual meaning in everything that is going down when you come from a world where you were passed around to five fucking orphanages in one year, but this is the Bachelor, not Oprah.  We’re not here to fix you.  We’re trying to figure out who will gladly be locked to a Wolf Range cooking for Sean as he plays golf, drinks light beer, gets sunburns and reminds you that a woman’s place is in the kitchen…  Or on his junk.

Luckily for Strawberry Lemonade, Little Orphan Hottie seems like she gets all of that AND wants to organize his closet.  That wasn’t sexual, she literally wants to organize his closet.  Unfortunately for Strawberry Lemonade, she may have been activated by aliens posing as God telling her that everything is happening for a reason.  Our fears of a Stage Five Clinger are being realized.

The date was short.  We met her adopted parents who were by all accounts really nice people, even if her mother had some weird dragonfly obsession that probably gets weird when it’s time to decorate the house for any holiday.  Her folks were overweight, her mom had Donald Trump hair, her father looked like Mr. Belding and Dick Butkus had a child that had a mid-life crisis and started spiking his hair…

BUT NONE OF THAT MATTERS.  Not her biological parents, who had to be nails hot and a little crazy.  All you need to know about her folks is that they are fucking nice and didn’t judge their daughter for having huge boobs installed.  They actually love her too.

They pass the test.  Unfortunately, AshLee didn’t.  Holy batshit crazy.  She starts fawning like a child about their dates and going so TMI on her folks that I felt bad for them.  And there was that feeling that she thought the universe aligned to give her this chance.  I always wonder how people could think THIS is how the cosmos intended you to find a man.  You are supposed to do it like the rest of us, which is to say, drunk in bars or scanning who looks reasonably employed and groomed on a dating website and just try on lots of hats.

Or you could have just been in a band like I was.  That works best.  Play instruments and be on the radio.  It makes it easier.

AshLee’s reactions could have spelled doom.  Luckily, this was barely on the Richter Scale of Shitquakes.

Cue Date Two, High School Soccer Player, or now that I know she is hardcore Pinoy power (love my Filipino homies in LA), I want to call her Jollibee.  It’s a Filipino fast food place I ate drunk one time.  At a drive-thru at USC once (in no condition) my bassist and I could not figure life the fuck out after ordering an “Extreme Sausage Sandwich”.  Can you imagine post Dodger game what it was like to order a “Juicy Yumburger” and “Crispy Chickenjoy?”  No you can’t.  But I can.  And that’s why you are reading this.

 

Glad I was not on hallucinogens.  So how did I feel about eating this stuff.  I don’t remember, but probably like this:

 

Big win for the agency.

Anyway.  Up to Seattle in the PAC NORTHBEST, PLAYER.  They clearly filmed in the summer because it doesn’t look like that normally.

ABC really pulled out the stops and took us to Pike Place Market to watch Sean catch flying fish (which they don’t even sell because throwing them fucks it all up, which is so not sustainable, which I personally don’t care about, but everyone up here fronts they do, so I call bullshit).

 

But really, ABC?  I’ve seen every fucking person ever catch fish at this market.  I mean, take them to the fucking Space Needle.  Go to the salmon ladder.  There are a thousand things less touristy than the Pike Place Market that one could do in Seattle that are still touristy as fuck.  I just can’t deal with it.

In other news, Sean…  Do not ever let Catherine touch your junk.  She caught a 10 pound flying salmon with one hand via death grip.  Hide your junk.  Cherish it.  According to People Magazine, you are a “born again Virgin” which doesn’t exist.  Still, keep it that way or there will be no little Lemonades running around any time soon.

That night, they went to Catherine’s house and saw it was filled with odd curtains and rugs partitioning every room.  Her sisters Tegan and Sara weren’t having it.  Her mom clearly watches the Bachelor and realizes the show is batting .125 in “marriage creation” and was like “bitch, if it works out it works out.”

Sean was like, aren’t you supposed to dote on me.  No, we aren’t because you barely left the country this season, got away from helicopters and wear a skinny tie when you shouldn’t.  I’m ready for you to find love so I can find my Monday nights again.  You’re supposed to enjoy drinking, not do it to get to Tuesday.

Date Three was with Army Brat and when your date on a military base in some fucking pop-up town called Fort Leonard Wood is your best date, the system failed you.  These two have fun together, it’s kind of sweet in a “I hope they don’t invite us to dinner” sort of way.  She is down to be a wife and in the meantime, she’s down to do whatever Sean wants and will move to Dallas because she is without a true hometown.

I liked that during her Army drill skit with Sean, she mentioned him “kissing other girls.”  It was refreshing to see someone knowing that was going on.  She has a quiet confidence and my wife’s been saying it.  She was such a dark horse.  She could and probably should win this, if she can survive her “undergrounders” as my wife describes them.  By them, I mean her stress acne that she’s working hard to battle.

Not picking on her, she seems like a fun person to hang with if she doesn’t talk like that all the time.  Which she probably does.  Redact that sentence like you’re the CIA.  Zero Dark Girly.

Her mom was nice.  Her brother looked like he was already in the Army and despite seeming a little creepy, I think would blindly love Sean, as evidenced by their man hug.  She may have had a sister, don’t remember.  Her dad brought him into a room with military battle paintings, had a beer that was darker than Sean typically drinks with a lime on the golf course (pansy) and somehow it went pretty well.  He seems like a good dad.  She seems like the right choice.

Date Four was with Des.  It started off with some awkward hike at Runyon or somewhere else people that suck go to hike and take instagrams.  I get that there are hot girls there, many adult film starts, but watching porn on your computer would save the gas, parking and traffic and yield a better workout.  My wife just closed the browser…

Des tried to punk-back Sean with some intern pretending to be an actor showing up and being like I LOVE YOU DES.  This was whacktastic and I was just glad it ended.

At dinner, the mom and dad seemed fine, but her brother was some mix between amateur MMA wannabe, Jersey Shore extra and the city of Santee, California.

He was hellbent on telling Sean he was a playboy.  None of this was interesting, moreso it was just mortifying because as much as this guy is probably the reason her parents wished they stopped at one, he was totally right.  His sister IS better off not getting married on a reality television show.

Luckily, he’s getting a spin-off on Bravo called Growing Up Dumb.

Sean was OUT after this.

Chris Harrison showed up and I missed him.  Catherine’s indie pop sister act and Des’ brother saved AshLee and her mission from the love god.  That said, Harrison had a rare suit/tie mixup.  Brown tie with that jacket?  Not sure.  Maybe he let a new GF dress him or something.  Didn’t matter, Sean had an awful skinny tie on, AGAIN, and basically made it okay for everyone else to dress like shit, except for Little Orphan Hottie who found a dress that could make a woman with 0% body fat and fake breasts look misshaped.  Congrats wardrobe team.

Des pulled a final plea during the Rose Ceremony which ended up causing Strawberry to have a born-again rose ceremony, leaving the room and interrupting Chris Harrison’s opium hookah party so he could look at the pictures of Des and Catherine one more time, because looking at them in person was too confusing.

Des gets cut.  I’m FUCKING OUT.

Not going to blog Sean tells all.  It’s erroneous.  Maybe I will.  No promises.  I keep it real.  SEE YOU FOR THE FAHN-TAH-SEE SUITES… Which will suck because Sean won’t have any sex.  Womp womp.  At least they may leave the country for once.

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Bachelor Recap: Week Six

There’s Christmas.  And there’s second Christmas.  Second Christmas is when the Bachelor moves to a tropical location and and our hero can finally just ride around in helicopters and sea planes and fucking snorkel and force girls to wear their “A Game” bikinis and drink some Mai Tais.

I enjoy this time of year ever more now that I live in Portland because it’s cold here, although it certainly hasn’t stopped me from drinking Mai Tais.  Or anything else for that matter.

So, Strawberry Lemonade broke the rules and decided to travel with his harem of women in a small plane instead of traveling solo because, well, he wanted to set a tone for the amount of perving he demands on this trip to St. Croix.  Sean is a natural rule breaker.  Like the laws of anatomy.  First man to glow red in the snow.  First light skinned person to refuse sunblock on tropical islands.  First outdoorsy guy to never go north of Dallas.

Sean also has another jam I need to point out.  The minute he starts tongue probing a girl when it’s time to kiss, he grabs their knee like he’s driving stick.  Whenever he starts up, I’m on my bearskin rug being like “LOOK, HE’S DRIVING STICK.”

So as we get started, may you all drive stick soon.  It’s almost Valentine’s Day.

I am so sure they went to St. Croix, still America, because Guybrow can’t leave the country do to a bunch of Drunk in Publics or a DUI or some cocktail of misdemeanors that has revoked her international traveling rights as an America.  She can definitely still go to the Jersey Shore.

But, hey, what better place to find love than St. Croix, which is related to La Croix, the canned sparkling water many of you are drinking right now.

This episode was prime for drama right off the bat as Little Orphan Hottie was in full surgical enhancement flaunt mode from the get go, which made stress-eating Guybrow super insecure causing her to pull her roll-out bed to another room in a protest everyone was glad for.  Reminds me of the time Candy Striping Hooker (Blakely) retreated to cry hysterically in the luggage room.  Then she got engaged to that tiny guy, then that blew up, now she just takes slutty instagrams with former cast members who probably sleep with her.  Sigh.  I wanted to believe she was looking for a better life, but people who use instagram to post pictures of inspirational quotes are barely hanging on in my opinion.

But hey, who doesn’t love the 9th instance of “Skinny Girls Look Good In Clothes, Fit Girls Look Good Naked” before you wake up.  Lady, you are just being a tart and telling us you look good naked.  Next time, take a naked photo and annotate it “scoreboard.”  It will make your point and gain you followers.

Wait, we were BachCapping, weren’t we?

AshLee got the first date and we started seeing some of her major malfunctions this episode.  She is the perfect Dallas wife.  She’s hot.  Her body won’t change (thanks science!)  All that said, you started seeing her discuss her cosmic plight and I am starting to wonder what complex chain of gluten and amino acids are keeping her brain chemistry together.  She’s had a rough life and has seemed well adjusted so far.  Might be a time bomb.

Their date was the “let’s get on a yacht, you get half naked and we just jump fifteen feet into the ocean and make out.”  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it ABC.

No one successfully sabotages another contestant on this show, eventually it bites you on the ass (if the Bachelor doesn’t do that first in the Fantasy Suite).  This week, we saw that trend change.  Strawberry Lemonade point blanked Little Orphan Hottie into dishing out the fact that whatever dented Guybrow’s head made her evil in the process.

AshLee delivered the news while pushing her boobs together and aiming them at Sean, which is the best way to receive any information.  When you get bad medical news, they put you in a “calming” room and speak in comforting tones.  Fuck that, send me to St. Croix and have a hot girl tell me on a sandy beach while trying to seduce me.  Until this happens, Kaiser Permanente can’t use the tag line “Thrive.”

Sean seemed to accept this, although he did mention that if Tierra won she wouldn’t have to be with other women for long.  Except the 3 billion women on Earth they might encounter.  Tierra is fascinating.  I almost think she’s more likely to BE with another woman than eat lunch with another women.  Drunk experimentation.  That’s what I am talking about.

The night date was when AshLee did a forty minute build up to her terrible secret which ended up being that she had a short-lived high school marriage in an act of rebellion.  Sean looked relieved she didn’t reveal “I have a kid” or “it’s gonorrea.”  I expected Sean to slip and say “that’s nothing, one time my boys and I potentially killed a stripper in Nogales, we just ran away, you know, people have history.”

Then they screamed “I love you” and “I love St. Croix” which somehow was so painful it went back in time and ruined the scene in Garden State where they scream into the abyss.  That’s how awkward it was.  Also, did Zach Braff die?  What happened?  He makes that fucking movie and now nothing?  Was it all just to get some Natalie Portman?  Did he fail and lose to a ballerina?  Did you know my PDX stripper name is Natalie Portland?

I’m off track again.

Guybrow got her date, but was so pissed they were going shopping and not going crotch fishing on a private beach.  They ran around, she acted annoying, they bought awful necklaces and then Sean basically told her that the fact that women hate her has made him hate her a little bit.  It’s made us all hate her a lot.

Then ABC staged a mini parade (felt like is was racist in some way, just not sure how) and then the date ended or I got up to piss.  Same difference.

The next date was a group date where everyone traversed the island to see sunrise on the eastside and sunset on the westside.  They did a travel by Indiana Jones map to help gloss over this date, like I am going to do.  It was three nice, attractive girls watching the sun turn Strawberry Lemonade purple.  There was a time when this show would try to explain why a site was historical, saying that “the British once attacked a Spanish Galleon here.”  Now, Sean just says “ERHMAGERD, THE PLACE HAZ HERSTERY.”  And onto the next “let’s swing on vines” experience.

Then, there was no fucking sunset.  Fuck this date and fuck St. Croix.

Final date, Pretty Little Liar gets her moment in the sun, only they go to like a forest with very little context and because she is totally getting cut, Sean foreshadows they aren’t where they need to be.  On a golf course with her making him margaritas.  Put some beer in, that’s the trick.  Trust me.

Pretty Little Liar just kept explaining things too much.  She might be normal in civilian life, but on this show, stop analyzing things, tell him you love him, let ABC shoot some fireworks off and then make out.  That’s how you win.

Then ABC went collision montage, right up there with the end of Godfather.  Sean was hanging with his wife whose advice was literally “don’t end up with Swimsuit Issues (Courtney)” when he decided he’d introduce her to Guybrow, who he now knows is probably the mean girl.  Derp.

I pictured ABC producers walkie-talking the shit out of this like “GET HIS ASS TO THE HOUSE WE JUST GOT THEM ALL DRUNK AT NOON AND IT TURNED INTO VERBAL UFC 167.”

Sean ominously approaches the hen house while Tierra and AshLee go at it.  AshLee hates Tierra for being false and the kind of person who doesn’t say “good morning.”  Seriously, who does that!  *crickets*

Tierra just looks sloppy, fake cries and storms out.  ONLY TO RETURN ON FIRE.

They start arguing that she’s never had trouble with men, that she thinks she’s better than everyone and that her parents told her not to lose her “sparkle.”  I need to know what the sparkle is.  Is it her desire to stress eat?  Is it her way of slouching on the couch?  Is it the magic that came from the asteroid that hit her in the forehead?  Whatever it is, YOU CAN’T TAKE IT FROM HER.

Then, my vindication.  I called her Guybrow from the moment she showed up.  The world saw and embraced the race it made up her face.  And when AshLee called the eyebrow out for raising in bitchiness, we got it.

“I CAN’T CONTROL MY EYEBROW!”

Thesis.  The defense rests.  It has a mind of it’s own, which is shocking since Tierra doesn’t.

Sean enters and sees her fake crying for the 4000th time.  He pulls an epic “I love you so much I need you to die” move and suddenly she is fake crying her ass to the worst death a contestant can get:  Deportation by Minivan.

A cold death to a hot temper.

Sean, with the taste of blood in his mouth decides to skip the cocktail party and go right to sending Pretty Little Liar back to the Potomac.  High School Soccer Player has a complicated response.  She freaks out in saying that if Sean doesn’t like Pretty Little Liar, how could he like her?  I feel like they must have been super similar, although she’s like a character in a Tim Burton movie after hearing the second story in like two weeks about people dying or trying to die in front of her.  Still, hate that she had to experience that, but that’s hardcore.  I don’t think she’s winning, so I hope Sean handles it well.  I may be a prick on here, but I am a big believer in mercy to those who deserve it.

Speaking of which, I’m done, mercifully, until next week.  With Tierra gone, maybe they can leave the country.

 

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