The Good Ol’ Pricks Debate

I watched the entire GOP debate last night and while my stomach muscles are still strained from all the dry-heaving, I felt compelled to actually write a post to share the highlights.

There were so many good things happening—so, so many. So many fantastic visionaries on one stage, so many enthusiastic audience members cheering the worst things, so many witnesses to the demise of the American democratic system.

It’s really hard to pick a favorite moment, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try.

It began with a shot of the most popular candidate at the moment, Donald Trump. I believe his face truly represents the face of the Republican Party:

There was that special time when Trump was asked about his penchant for calling woman “fat pigs”, “slobs”, “disgusting animals” and “losers who don’t appreciate megalomaniacs with Easter-grass toupees and micropenises”:

Then there was that beautiful moment when the audience cheered wildly about Trump’s claim of referring to only one woman as a “fat pig”.

I also enjoyed when Trump gave “evidence” about his claim that Mexico only sends the criminals, drug dealers and rapists to this country:

Or the moment Trump said his solution to immigration was to build a wall and that he asked former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush to do it:

There was the time Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker made this face:

And then made this face:

And then opened his mouth and I finally understood the concept of the banality of evil:

Or that time when Sen. Marco Rubio was asked about his support of allowing abortions in cases of rape and incest, and looked like a deer in headlights and began voraciously back-pedaling without the assistance of a bottle of water:

Or the moment when the millionaire candidates tried to out-poor each other:

The time Mike Huckabee challenged the claim from the movie Hustle and Flow that “it’s hard out here for a pimp” and blamed pimps and prostitutes for social security’s budget problems:

The moment Ohio Gov. John Kasich used the “I have a gay friend” defense to deflect a question about same sex marriage:

The entire time Jeb Bush looked like an uncomfortable, sad man:

How about the fantastic Facebook questions?!?:

Or when Rand Paul challenged Trump’s “hair” to a fight:

When Trump asked the moderators if he could have one minute to squeeze out a fart:

Or when Ted Cruz broke into song:

Breathtaking, really. And we still have over a year until the general election!

Oh boy…the dry heaves are starting again.

Fifty Shades of Trailer Trash

Hold onto your butt plugs, everybody!!

Or insert them. Should we insert them? I think so. I think that’s appropriate.

Tomorrow is the day we get to see the downfall of inspiration and creativity  Fifty Shades of Grey movie trailer!!

This is apparently a big deal, so much so that Beyonce released a trailer for the trailer a few days ago.

My husband showed it to me yesterday because he clearly hates me.

I think I might be suffering from PTSD from my time reading and recrapping the trilogy. That could explain why I tried to remove my eyeballs with a melon baller upon viewing the teaser trailer and I don’t even own a melon baller. I was really using a shoehorn.

The teaser trailer is. . . what is the word I’m looking for. . . oh yes, a giant stinking turdpile (I realize that is more than one word).

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s clear the movie will be as if Show Girls and Battlefield Earth mated and had a love child that was raised by one of those stupid water-fearing aliens from Signs and then went on to be a pink lady in Grease 2. What I’m attempting to say is that this movie will suck with the force of a 1,000 master series intake anal suction cups.

Don’t just take my word for it. I showed the teaser trailer to my two leads.

Maybe.

The trailer is premiering on the Today show and the anchors will be dressing up as characters. Matt Lauer will portray a butt plug, which means he will basically be himself. They then will continue on with the other real news of the day, mainly on expose on which Buzzfeed quiz are you most like.

News.

Hugo insisted we make our own trailer after I jokingly said I could make a better one if I inserted an iTouch up my bunghole.

Those things are painful.

 

Fifty Shades of Grape

On a recent trip to the liquor store, I learned that this exists:

Bottle also serves as a handy butt plug.

I knew of other tie-ins with the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy like a soundtrack, a neck tie and a flushable tampon (maybe) so the inclusion of wine is not all surprising.

Wine plays a big role in the books–at least it did for me because I needed to drink quite a bit of it to slog through the 15,000 pages dealing with Ana’s dampness and Christian’s hair-thrusting.

The wine website includes a choice Christian quote that reminded me why I was drunk most of the time:

“If you spill the wine, I will punish you, Miss Steele.”

Awwww……..

So romantic?

I planned to write a post saying the wine likely tasted of hackneyed writing, greased butt plugs and despair, but that felt too easy, and, as you may be aware by reading my recraps of the series, I enjoy inflicting pain upon myself.

I felt humiliated purchasing the bottle so I figured it put me in the right mindset to sample it.

I feel so defeated…let’s crack this puppy open!

I must confess something. I’m not exactly sophisticated. While I do sometimes wear a top hat and cape whilst watching Real Housewives of Dogpatch, I know very little about the art of drinking wine. I know there’s a lot of sniffing and swishing and spitting and sobbing and drunk Facebooking, but that’s about it.

I decided to do a search and thought about the perfect search terms to get exactly what I needed:

This led to a picture of Christian Bale in American Psycho. Not bad, Google.

I tried another tactic and found an article on how to taste wine “like a pro.”

Apparently it is important to place the wine into a glass rather than an old shoe or a taxidermied hamster. Fair point, well made, wine-tasting article.

I didn’t want to use any ol’ glass, but something extra special.

Next, you hold the glass in your hand rather than something else like a foot or nipple clamp.

Nailed it.

You swish it around or I swear to god, I will beat you…sorry, sorry,…I just channeled Christian Grey for a second. Swish it around in the glass, then taste it with different parts of your tongue. This makes more sense then dumping the contents over your head.

It’s recommended to pair red wine with cumin-spiced burgers topped with Harissa mayo.

whole wheat pop cakes were likely a second option.

Hmmmm. It sort of smells like feet or tires, but maybe that’s the Hugo mug?  It tastes a bit bitter and makes my tongue feel numb like I just injected it with novocaine. How bizarre–the exact reaction the books had on my brain.

I’m forgetting one of my important drinking rules, which is never drink alone.

It’s 5 p.m. somewhere, right? Up top. For those unfamiliar, Hugo and Goofy were the stars of my Fifty Shades recrap. What do you think Goofy?

Hugo?

There you have it, folks. Two butt plugs down.

Fifty Shades of Movie Magic

I was delighted when I saw the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly:

Finally, the first of many issues heralding the arrival of this movie. Being a big fan of the books, I tore through the magazine pages, reading voraciously and savoring every morsel I could.

I understand it will be difficult to condense E.L. James 600-paged behemoth down to a two-hour film. Will they cut out one of the 1,200 email exchanges? Or one of the 4,507 times Christian orders Ana to eat? Or one of the 35,678 times Christian remarks on Ana’s wetness.

God, I hope not.

In the magazine, the stars were interviewed about their thoughts on the film.

For the uninitiated, Fifty Shades of Grey is a steamy trilogy about a virginal sockpuppet who falls in love with a controlling oil-retention enema. They murmur and stick things in holes. It’s awesome or–to use Virginia of Lame Adventures, new word for “awesome”– semi-flaccid.

Semi-flaccidly enough, my copy of Entertainment Weekly happened to include a few pages of the script. I first inserted a butt plug into my ear canal to further cement the brain damage I underwent from reading the books and began to read.

Oh my, gentle reader, oh my.

Prepare to be shaded by some grey, whatever the fuck that means.

First Scene:

Ana and Christian’s first meeting

Ana and Christian’s Interaction at Claytons Hardware

I give this film two thumbs up the butt!

Speaker7’s inner goddess is responsible for this post even though her inner goddess is not a member of the Nano Poblano Team. 

Speaker7’s Journey

So it begins again, dear reader. On May 27th, ABC will roll out its stained red carpet and gas up its dirty limo for another installment of The Bachelorette or what I like to call The Loss of Hope.

This season’s “star” is Desiree, a woman tossed aside by Bland The Blandest Bachelor because her brother called Bland “a player.” The correct verbiage is “douchetool.”

I watched a promotion on ABC’s “news” website because all news is entertainment at this point. Another ABC product churned out by Sylvester McMonkey McBean’s Star-Off Machine (re: American Idle) autotunes in the background while we glimpse Desiree’s “journey.” It’s as inspiring as a turd’s journey from bowel to sewage treatment plant. As to be expected, there is this:

I already know what will happen. Men will call each other “bro.” Desiree will profess “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do” while she sends home a man as remarkable as a used tissue. And Chris Harrison will earn substantially more money than cancer researchers for saying things like: “There is one rose left.”

This got me thinking about my own “journey.” In the past, I have watched the rectal sausage produced by the ABC meatprocessing plant, and produced recraps that some find enjoyable and some find lead to acute gastroenteritis. Am I ready to start all over again and accept a mildewed rose?

I guess it comes down to my vision for this blog. It began as a mechanism to force me to write. I would continually say how much I wanted to be a writer, and then plop myself down in front of the TV for hours.

Unlike my other blog, The Official How To Blog, this blog seems rather rudderless. Do I want it to be a recrapping blog? A commentary on current events? A marketing platform for the Shakeweight™?

These are the questions that keep me up at night–or at least until 8:30 p.m. when I crash because I have the constitution of a newborn.

So I leave the question to you, dear reader. I will put forth the effort, but only if you desire it, and I won’t feel hurt if you have reached your limit.

Do you want to read the alcohol-infused ramblings of brainless meat sacks on their “journey” to find “love” and guest appearances  at wet T-shirt contests? Have you grown tired of my recycled jokes where I describe the multitude of objects I will use to bash in my skull? Or is it time we moved on. . . maybe to more serious topics like Tanning Mom’s music video?

Before you decide à la poll, I present you with this:

Ready for Cancellation

It’s taken me awhile to put together a recrap of the third episode of the live-doll reality show Ready for Love. 

Rumors swirled that the show had been cancelled, but then executive producer Eva Longoria took to Twitter, saying it is moving to a new time, new night. Tim-something of The Plain White T’s joined the fray saying “Please download my song from iTunes.”

And then I had to deal with my own feelings of despair over the knowledge that I actually wasted moments of my life reading inane tweets and articles on E!

But here we are again, ready-for-lovers!

We begin our “journey” with Tim’s “journey.” Tim is referred to as “rock star” ad nauseum. That’s like calling Snooki, author of the turdpile Confessions of a Guidette, a literary giant.

Bret Michaels, another dude looking for televised love by examining multiple vaginas, is a rock star. Yes, he wears a bandana hairpiece and plays amusement park gigs, but he was a legitimate rock star 25 years ago in that shit band Poison. Tim’s band The Plain White T’s had one hit song. The Fruit of the Loom guys are more recognizable. I don’t know why I’m getting all worked up about this. The important thing is that I have wasted so much of my life and will die with regrets.

Tim plans an unannounced visit to his poon palace at 6 a.m. He jumps on the women’s beds and surprisingly is not kneed in the nuts. He wants them to leave the house sans make up (the horror!!!!). They do, and society comes crashing to a halt. They arrive at a spa, and it’s filled with all things the girlies love like make-up, shoes and transvaginal ultrasounds.

Taonayanayanaya is bummed because she has not engaged in any one-on-one time with Tim. When she gets her chance, she tells Tim he is like a book with all the pages stuck together, which sounds kinda gross. Tim’s expression indicates he feels the same. Awkward silence after his reply: “That’s interesting.” She clumsily moves onto “What’s your sign?” Tim dismisses with “I don’t believe in any of that.”

Taonynayanaya breaks down sobbing in the bathroom, wailing “I’ve been through so much!” That’s an Aquarius for you.

She ends up getting the boot at the rose garden ceremony. Lots of nonsense about “journeys” and “connections” and “this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do™” blather.

Next up is Ernesto’s journey. One of the women, Olivia, keeps crying and saying she wants to leave. Another gets brownie points from the producers by saying “She is not ready for love.”

Olivia meets with Tracy the matchmaker, and talks about her disdain of drama and negative energy even though she has been the main cause of drama and negative energy. Tracy mentions how this show is a process. I thought it was a journey. I’m so fucking confused.

Before she leaves, Olivia engages in crying fit in the living room.

She goes, and it would mean so much more if there weren’t 5,000 other people on this show so I will just leave it at “smell you later.”

Ernesto is having the women get dolled up for a fashion show because this show is trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for having the most gender stereotypes in one television episode. The producers fly his sister in from Milan to go undercover as a style assistant to see what the women have to say about her brother. Erica treats Ernesto’s sister like something on the bottom of her shoe.

Erica tries to say she did not know why she acted like that because she normally has sunshine streaming out of her ass. At the slave auction garden ceremony, Erica is saved and some woman whose name escapes me is tearfully sent home. Cheer up, nameless person, you’ve actually won.

Ben is third, but wins first place in douchery. The show continues its dress-up theme because that’s all the ladies want, right? We want to be pinched into 14-inch heels, stuffed into sausage casings, covered in greasepaint and judged by Us Weekly. Ben salsas and presses his groin and lips against the women. His ex-girlfriend Kari is getting pissed and asks him to refrain from being a “lip slut.”

Matt asks Beth, whom he refers to as “mature” (translation: old), why she is still single. She counters: “Why are you?”

Ben answers: “Because I was in the middle east for four years, duh.” (translation: “I ain’t marrying no middle-eastern person because my brain is full-on douche.”)

Ben lip-sluts it up all over town. The matchmakers send the other women to their pods–one actually refers to it as such–while they grill Kari about her intentions. This is as exciting as the time I did laundry.

Ben decides to send home the single mother with this chestnut:

I don’t know about you, but I am ready for cancellation.

Ready for Zzzzzzzzzzz

Nothing happened on the second episode of Ready for Love.

I mean, I guess some things happened, but in the end it added up to a bunch of nothing. I was most intrigued by audience members holding up signs:

If you are unfamiliar with this new reality television show, it’s basically The Bachelor, but with three dudes of meat. There are also three matchmakers who remind me of The Fates. They choose women from binders and place them in plastic doll cases for the meat dudes’ appraisal. Like so:

Two meat dudes get to flail their meat appendages around tonight. Both dudes are completely comfortable being shirtless in their biographical videos; Ben morso than Ernesto.

Ben bores with his “fascinating” origin story. “My parents were doctors. I’m a frat boy. I worked on Wall Street. I’m comfortable being filmed continually sans shirt.” But if I continue being nonfascinated by Ben, I will miss out on the pfftt that is Ernesto’s journey.

Two of “his” women are former Miss USA contestants. This knowledge thrills the remaining contestants:

Surprisingly, some of the contestants are emotinally unhinged. One waxes fart about her spirituality, and spends the majority of the episode trying to kill one of the beauty queens:

Another expresses astonishment that she has to compete for Ernesto. . . on a reality dating show. She sulks during the extremely relevant hot tub time:

In her one-on-one time, she rambles on about the other women not picking up their pubic hair and dishes. During the matchmaker meeting, she is placed in the bottom three to go home. The dude matchmaker, who has an affinity for vests, says lady is boresville.

Ernesto dumps her, and acts as if the woman he saved from elimination should be thankful for the honor.

Ben has a former ex vying for his frat love. One of the contestants is a virgin who proffers her impending broken hymen as a gift to Ben. Another makes a “save-the-date” card for their wedding and is immediately banished to the bowels of hell. And yet another dresses up as a superhero unfortunately named “Miss Devotion.” Her power is infinite sadness.

Ben overuses “you guys” to refer to his potential wives. He confabs with a woman who has kids, and makes me uncomfortable with his “momma” talk.

His ex thinks “it sucks” that she has to compete with other women. . . on a reality dating show. Ben feels her, dawg.

He kisses a few dames; notably Miss Devotion and then sends her back to the planet Demotion. It is thrilling.

This show also has two cohosts. The married couple that is better known as Giuliana Rancic. Her husband serves no purpose.

I guess there’s that.

They Will Really Put Anything on Television

I listen to you. I do. When you say “Speaker7, please destroy the remaining wisps of soul vaper you have and recrap Splash,” I say “How high?”

Wait…that didn’t make sense. But that’s okay, neither does this show.

I’ll admit, I was a bit intrigued when I saw promos for Splash whilst watching the herpes parade that is known as The Bachelor, but even I have standards.

And then I realized I don’t.

So let’s dive into the deep-end shall we? (Get it? I don’t so tell me what just happened)

Splash Ep. 1

Please tell me what this is. I sincerely don’t know.

Celebrities are going to high-dive into a pool.

Okay I’ve got that part, but I don’t understand why.  Sadly this question is never answered in the four episodes I watched.

So who’s diving? Well I recognize Louis Anderson, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Kendra Wilkinson and Rudy from The Cosby Show. There are six others like this “celebrity” here:

And you are who again?

I’m starting to realize that my time appearing on public access at a city council meeting might warrant me a spot as a “celebrity” on this show.

Olympic diver Greg Louganis will be coaching them. Divers Dave Boudia and Steve Foley, the Australian Simon Cowell of crappy reality diving shows, are the judges. Joey Lawrence and some woman are co-hosts.

Five “celebrities” are diving tonight. Rudy is up first. Each diver gets a personalized theme song. This may be my favorite part.

Damn girl. Rudy’s off her (imcomprehensible) but she’s (imcomprehensible) Damn girl.

We get a brief look at Rudy’s training at a public pool. For the competition, she does a handstand and falls into the pool. Damn girl, that was (imcomprehensible).

Australian Simon lets loose with this critique: “You had as much balance as a one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest.” Damn boy.

Louis Anderson is up next. He’s worried because he weighs over 400 lbs. The producers are very sensitive to this issue, and that’s why they spend only seven minutes showing Louis being pulled out of the pool like a dead manatee.

Louis says he’s diving “for the troops” and starts tearing up. Jesus.

Let’s get to the song: Big Louis. Watch him take a dive from up above. Tons of fun, tons of love.

Do you have a feeling the songwriters aren’t really trying? Yeah, I don’t either. I dedicate that song to the troops.

Okay let’s wrap this up: The final three divers are Miss Alabama, a snowboarder and Kareem. Miss Alabama wins a point for saying “How am I famous? Good question.”

Miss Alabama and Rudy earn the lowest scores, but Joey Lawrence pretends the audience has a say it in too so it could be anybody’s game. This goes on for 10 minutes and then we learn the audience picked the same losers. They have a dive-off, which is less entertaining than a dance-off and slightly better than a hot-dog eating contest.

Bye Rudy. Joey Lawrence unironically utters “You had an amazing journey.”

Splash Ep. 2

The final five divers are set to compete, but Joey solemnly tells us one diver had to bow out of the competition due to an injury–not from diving, but from falling off a table at the premiere party.

He’s from that horrible Chelsea Handler Show and I don’t feel like looking up his name. His replacement is Brandi Chastain, a soccer player best known for ripping off her shirt after a World Cup victory. Fame.

I learn Drake Bell is the voice of spiderman on Disney XD. Now I just need to find out what Disney XD is and I’m golden. His song: Drake can ring my bell. That is the height of cleverness.

Nicole Eggert took a scary tumble during the dive practice, which Joey Lawrence takes great delight in showing her before her actual dive. He’s a bit of a dick.

Kendra is afraid of heights, and oddly self-aware: “I don’t know why I’m famous. I haven’t done anything.” She starts crying even before getting to the platform.

We see some tension between Kendra and Greg Louganis at practice. She drops an f-bomb when Greg questions her fears. “It’s my journey, not yours,” she sniffles. I take back what I said about her self-awareness.

What is it with these shows being related to “journeys.” Let’s get some perspective. You are being paid money to dive into a pool. You are not Odysseus taking 10 years to travel home.

Brandi and a football player get the lowest scores. Again with the nonsense about the audience’s influence and the made-up tension. Dive-off ensues. “It’s like a shoot-out at the OK corral,” says Australian Simon. I’ll believe that when someone dies.

Bye football player. I’m sad I never learned your name or your song.

Splash Ep. 3

Team diving, which means personalized team songs. Here is Brandi and Nicole’s: Yeah! We’re Team Moms! Yeah! We’re Team Moms! That must have taken weeks.

Kareem and Louis are paired up as the 10 team because they resemble the number 10.

Kendra is teamed up with snowboarder. He ruptures his ear drum on a practice dive. She expresses a desire to poop. Before their dive, Kendra bows out.

Since Kendra refuses to dive, she is eliminated from the competition. She says she will be haunted by this decision, but not by the decision to appear on the show in the first place.

Splash Ep. 4

Fuck.

Alrighty. This was promised to be “mind-blowing” by Joey Lawrence, and now I feel I can trust no one ever again. Tonight the competitors must do a somersault in their dive. There will be no dive-off, and the audience no longer has a say like it ever did before.

Greg Louganis makes Miss Alabama do the same somersault that resulted in his head injury.

She receives a low score.

Drake lies that the competition is becoming intense. He wants to be a frontrunner. Sometimes people’s dreams make me sad.

He looks peevish when Australian Simon tells him “The minute you took off, I could tell you were in more trouble than the early settlers.” Zing.

Lou has never done a somersault dive before. He’s scared, and the producers treat him with dignity as they show him struggling to sit down on the diving board so he can roll into the water.

It’s down to Miss Alabama or Louis. They paw at each other while they await Louis’s scores.

Louis loses. “This is something that’s changed my life,” Louis overdramatics. “This is not my last dive. This is my first step into a brand-new life.”

Joey Lawrence tries to pretend that next week’s episode is “death-defying.”

I will only recrap it if you demand it. Otherwise this journey ends.

Ready for Same-Old Same-Old

Ready for Love premiered Tuesday night.

This show is unlike any other reality dating show you’ll ever see, lies executive producer Eva Longoria.

Lots of dramatic music and lighting. Lots of quick cuts and editing that makes Cloverfield feel like Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope. Random reality-show dialogue ensues.

“It’s about to get real.”

“She’s messing with the wrong person.”

“Herpes! Herpes! Herpes!”

There are three “amazing” bachelors. There are three “top” matchmakers. There are two co-hosts. There are 36 women…excuse me…girls. There is the incessant use of the term girls to describe women. There are 12 drummers drumming. There are eight pipers piping. And chlamydia in a pear tree.

Co-host Giuliana Rancic and her husband Not-Giuliana Rancic say this was an “epic” search, and “we’re meeting the best of the best” of women willing to subject themselves to reality television. Not-Giuliana Rancic is the first to misuse the word “literally.” And it is “epic” and like “nothing I’ve ever seen before” except that I have.

Tonight is Tim’s quest for love. Tim is a “rock star” in the band the Plain White T’s.

In the first of 5,678 mini-biographies, Tim confesses that he’s not a stereotypical rock star in the sense that he’s unrecognizable. Tim married his high school sweetheart, but things didn’t work out because he was touring 367 out of the 365 days in the year. He’s sad, yo. See:

Tim gets to meet four women chosen for him by “top” matchmaker Amber. Giuliana explains that Tim will have to stand behind a wall and not see the four. He will have to pick three based on their personalities. I have never seen this before ever.

Wait…have I seen this before?

Nope. Never.

Amber is coaching her “girls.”

“Words and lyrics speak to him,” she amazes “Get your message across.”

Wow. I’ve been doing it wrong all these years with my set of semaphore flags.

We get Amber’s mini-biography. She says she doesn’t know how anyone meets people in clubs. “Matchmaking goes with the 21st century.” And feudal China.

And it begins. The four women pop up in boxes.

And it reminds me of something…what can it be?

Yup, that’s about right.

This is working well for Tim because his Madame Alexander Doll collection is missing a few essentials.

We get mini-biographies of the women, but they’re short because most dolls are interchangable. The French one gets a shot to show her spontaneity by spinning awkwardly in a plaza.

Tim narrows down the field and does the same thing with four women chosen by matchmaker Matt, also known as the douche with a British accent:

And Tracy, who unironically refers to herself as “the honest truth.”

The ladies must entice Tim while he only has to breathe with his lungs and eliminate waste with his kidneys. Love!

Some recite insipid poetry, sing and, unfortunately, beatbox. The nine winners get sealed in plastic and placed in a special Matchbox car collector’s case. The three losers are sucked into the bowels of hell.

One of Tim’s chosen harem is Leah, a woman he has known for six years. Leah realized she loved Tim when she heard he was to be on television. Giuliana asks about the nature of their relationship. “We had our moments that have been great,” Leah says coyly. (translation: fuck buddy)

The women are shipped UPS to Tim’s rock-star lair where they are subjected to a Plain White Zzzz’s concert.

And I have never seen anything like this on a reality dating show. Have I?

Nope. I haven’t.

The women meet with the matchmakers for “helpful” “advice” before their collective first date with Tim. Amber tells her women to “build (their) brand” whatever the fuck that means. The date entails finishing Tim’s trite love song. The matchmakers each pick one woman to share one-on-one time with Tim.

Hailey, Amber’s pick, tells an embarrassing fart story and cryingly cries that she’s happy.

Danielle, Matt’s pick, shares her cute list of 50 or more qualities her perspective mate must have.

Christina, Tracy’s pick, plays the piano and stares at him as if she wants to murder his face.

Now we’re back in the studio for the matchmakers’ critique. Amber expresses her displeasure with Hailey. “You said F-A-R-T? And that word should never be uttered by a woman on a date,” she actually says all the while holding in her 52,560th fart. Matt accuses Leah of retreading the past too much and being boring. “He knows certain parts of me,” Leah says.

“I would like him to know other parts.”

Giuliana cuts to the chase: “Did you guys fuck or what?”

Leah refuses to answer. Yup, they did.

The matchmakers each choose a woman for elimination. Hmm…a woman being eliminated from a reality dating show. Have I seen that before?

Nope.

Leah, farting Hailey and Toothy School Teacher are on the chopping block. Tim arrives. For some reason he has a quill sticking out of his lapel. It’s so…rock star? Sure, let’s go with that.

He picks Hailey to stay and she farts back to the Matchbox case. Tim, Leah and Toothy are Star-Trek beamed to some garden for the elimination ceremony, and the giant jumbotron screen goes to snow.

Tim shows his familiarity with reality television venacular by saying “This is so difficult for me.” He ends up sending Leah home with the obvious “if we were meant to be together, why didn’t we make that happen in Austin.”

Hmm. A bachelor with a little brain function.

That I have not seen.

Well Fuck.

The Bachelor season finale is tonight, and it’s three motherfucking hours long. There is no possible way I will make it through. Let’s just assume Bland gave some dame a promise ring and will be unpromised-ringed in two months, and dating another low-rent reality star while his agent vies for Bland’s appearance as Donald Trump’s wigfluffer on Celebrity Apprentice.

It’s starting. So much filler. Host Chris Harrison has abused the word “dramatic.” I dramatically hate him. Bland sees wives like the Sixth Sense kid sees dead people.

There’s a live audience? What the fuck? Chris Harrison is bellowing “Hello! We’re live?” and then abuses the word “historic.”  Chris Harrison thinks he’s on Nightline and blathers bullshit about “breaking news” while the dying newspaper industry dies a little more. Yes it is breaking news if a wooden Trojan horse neighs platitudes at a dummy, and the dummy says “poop.”

I’m going to start drinking. I’m going to start drinking whenever someone expresses how difficult shit is and how dramatic shit is. I will be drunk by 8:30.

The ladies get to meet the vagina and peen ensemble that made Bland. Catherine is first. Reality-television hugging. Bland’s sister looks like one-armed Sarah, a former Bachelor contestant and now I’m very mixed up. More wine.

Weird talking between Catherine and Bland’s mom. Bland’s mom suffers from vocal fry. “Bland pooped in the potty at seven,” Bland’s mom shares. “And then again at 27. We’re so proud of him. Can you change diapers?”

The dad thinks there something called The Bachelor process. Why the fuck does my dad not know about The Bachelor process? Why have you forsaken me father?

The father is Sean Hayes in character.

Is it 11 p.m., yet?

No. It’s 8:11. That means I have 2 hours and 49 minutes. I have now begun carving into my face with a drill bit.

Lindddsssayyy is next. Bland is hoping for family clarity. I say blow jobs for all.

Linddsaaaayyyy vocal fries nonsense about meeting her possible reality family. Sean Hayes (aka dad) wants to make out with someone. Yes, Lindddssayyy was the dipshit that wore the wedding dress at the opener. They dull about this for an eternity. Oh good. We have two hours and 40 minutes left. I’m going to go get something hefty and start bashing myself in the face with it.

Lindsaayyyy asks Sean Hayes for Bland’s hand in marriage and then cackles because women’s rights are bullshit.

More bloop with Lindssayyyyy and Bland’s mom. Let’s just assume it’s full-on vocal fry and full-on nonsense. Bland still wants to marry everyone including that pumped up dude he sees in that special glass called a mirror.

People are applauding in the live audience even though they know they’re in for the long haul.  Bland is walking pensively in a light blue tank top. Last date with Lindssassayy. They take a raft ride on the Mekong River. Bland pretends to know geography. “That land is Thailand. And that other land isn’t.”  They make out while the rowers add on to their hatred of America.

There’s not enough wine in the world, gentle reader, to get me through this. And I’m not even a full hour in. You all realize I will be asleep in 20 minutes. I’m somewhat asleep now as Lindsssyayy and Bland make out as I pull my fingernails off.

Lindsssayyyy has something special for Bland. She farts into a sack and makes him smell it.

Love.

We’re now at hour two and I am intoxicated. Intoxicated on love and wine…mostly wine.

It’s very dramatic.

Catherine’s final date. An elephant is exploited. That’s it. Oh, there’s some kissing.

I’m nearly done. I’m sorry. I know you depend on me, but see this whole “spring forward” has fucked everything up. My son has a cold, which means he shimmied into my room a couple of times before finally joining us for a few crappy non-sleep hours. So I’m tired and this is not holding my interest.

Catherine sees blahhing at Bland forever and “tonight is the night” she proclaims so I surmise that means “blow job.”

Bland is feeling “the pressure” of his member stretching aganist his sweatpants. More kissing with cameras present.

Catherine is crying because Bland is not expressing emotion. No one is expressing emotion.

Here is my emotion: Floop.

Chris Harrison is here with his “Bachelor Nation” and if I was actually a part of a Bachelor Nation, I would want a bullet to mesh with my head.

An hour and 40 minutes left. Are you fucking kidding me? I’m asleep in 20 minutes. That is not a guess. That is a fact.

Bland rubs oil on his shirtless body. He flexes his veiny arms as he thinks he can wife up both gals.  Too bad Joseph Smith didn’t make the dream of polygamy a reality. Instead he was murdered by a mob. Romance.

Weird plastic-surgeony ring dude. This makes me want to take my engagement ring and throw it into the woods.

More shirtless Bland. He is prepared to love love and love and love. I need another drink.

Bland is crying because his nipples are rubbing against a shirt.

Liinnnddaaayyy is “so happy” she says as she cries happily.

Bland states this is the most difficult thing he’s ever had to do™.  I eye my bed with love.  I think we have a connection.

The Bachlor Nation is applauding again. Former contestants are going to blather nonsense about pooft.

Chris Harrison pretends this will be all resolved soon, but I know math. This flop is three hours long and we’re only one hour and 40 minutes into it.

Chris Harrison mentions some “infamous letter” and I’m drawn to my bed. I love you my bed whispers. Do you, bed? This is the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to make. Do I go to you or do I watch bullshit?

So he dumps Linddssaeeyyayayyy.

How can there be an hour and 10 minutes left?

Bland is crying.

Lindsaaayy is feeling sad. “This is really sad? Why is this sad?” And bye.

My bed wants me so hard.

Chris Harrison pops up with a “Hey man.” He gives Bland a ”dramatic” letter. There is over an hour left. I’m going to eat arsenic.

There is mix voiceover between Catherine and Bland reading a letter written by Clippit, the paper clip icon of Microsoft Word. It’s that good.

Bland proposes and Clippit says yes. It says Yes! goddammit!

They will be broken up by St. Patrick’s Day.

Now for the late breaking news. . . I sharted in my pants. And The Bachelor Nation loves it. Loves it!

Bland and Lindssaayyyy bleat at each other again. Bland mentions his heart took him to stupid places and Lindssayyy is happy for his two brain cells “and…” Lindssayyy ends her sentence like normal folk do.

I love you all so much and this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do™ but I’m going to bed.