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 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.

The Boredom Continues: The Women Tell All

I missed the first 20 minutes. I was reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear to my son. It is infinitely more fascinating. Do you know that a red bird sees a fucking yellow duck!?!

Okay so I’m assuming the rejected Bachelor women are getting their chance to vent about  their total lack of judgment. I’m guessing because all I can see is an Olive Garden commercial and it looks very microwavey.

I forget that we began season XCVIIVCV of The Bachelor with 4,502 women. I recognize so few. Host Chris Harrison is attempting to stir the boring shit pot by bringing up the token villain of the show, Tire. Her real name is Tierra, but Tire is better. Brooke(?) gets real: “You’re upset because y’all didn’t also act like assholes and get more airtime,” she paraphrases before fading into further obscurity.

Chris Harrison polls the audience: What do you think about Tire?

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, it responds.

Chris Harrison sticks his hand down his pants and then asks “What’s up with the villain?”

Commercial.

We’re back. Tire is getting coached on the opportune time to show her sparkley vagina. The producers are trying to make us feel the Oz curtain has been lifted and we can see reality, but it still tastes like canned crab.

Now it’s Tire’s time.

And it’s . . . carhorn

I can’t find a better way to describe it. All I know is I’m bored and indifferent.

“And if she didn’t want be your friend, then walk away girls. And you were mean so blah,” bores someone.

“I can’t remember everything,” Tire tires.

“Did you stink eye people,” Chris Harrison asks because he gets quite a bit of money for this stupidity.

“I don’t do stink eye and say ‘Oooh,'” Tire pfftttss.

More banality and the end of the world and middle school ended two decades ago everyone. Congratulations.

This goes on for eons. The Bronze Age becomes the Iron Age. Chlamydia becomes super gonorrhea.

Tire was little Miss Nevada. This is your future, Honey Boo Boo. I’m so fucking sorry.

Tire is engaged to a gremlin. Chris Harrison is aghast that Tire dated it before The Bachelor since The Bachelor is all about twrue lurve. And booooooooooooo.

There’s 58 minutes left. Fucking hell.

Now on to Sarah, of the one arm. She watches as Bland rejects her for too much brains and too little limbs.

“You thought he was the one,” Chris Harrison interjects with a straight face.

“My whole life I’ve been strung along by dickwads and then after the handjobs, they say things aren’t right. Lies like flies, you dig?” she paraphrases.

“How do you move on from this,” Chris Harrison tries to create tension.

Fuck a duck, Chris, she basically says.

Does Splash look like the stupidiest reality concept ever? And I say this after viewing the majority of The Bachelor: The Women Tell All.

Now up is Desiree, the future Bachelorette, and her Bland montage. I’m as bored as the first time.

My recap of this is. . .cream of wheat. Cream of wheat is really blah unless you add something, and there is nothing to add to The Bachelor flavor of Cream of Wheat.

There are 45 fucking minutes left. Is time standing still?

I’m not going to make it. I know Ashley is up next–Ashley of the death stare. And then Bland will be there to bland it up with his blandness. Can we just assume that it will be boring and pointless so I can go to sleep.

Let’s.

Bland’s Sister Wives

Bland of  The Bachelor is having bland struggles.

“I like these girls, but I live in a country that outlaws polygamy. I think I should take off my shirt.”

Serious ponderous swimming. Bland is shirtless.

He is transported to Thailand to get a firsthand glimpse of how prostitution rings are really run, and to “find my wife.”

First date is with Lindddsseeyyyy. Her voice is as pleasant as chewing on aluminum foil filled with pop rocks. Incidentally I believe that is what is in her head in place of a brain.

They go to a farmer’s market, and openly laugh at the “cuteness” of a thousand-year-old culture. They eat bugs. Linddsseeyyy looks like she’s about to barf.

The producers attempt to create tension by having Linddsseeyyy vocal fry over whether she should tell Bland she loves his giant red face. They head to dinner. Linddseeyyy describes the beauty: “There’s beautiful flowers made out of petals.”

Yup…that’s usually how it works.

Finally the moment arrives:

“I love you,” Linddsseeyyy brays

I love hearing you say that,” Bland smugly replies.

Ow.

I mean, I have absolutely no feelings left in my being, but that even hurt me a little.

They spend the night together.

Now onto his second conquest AshLee. AshLee is a “personal organizer.”

He wants to challenge her by having them swim through a cave to get to a private beach. Ominous music plays as AshLee says cave-swimming reminds her of being abandoned as a child. Mmm? What the fuck, now?

He wants “my wife” to let go of control, which is code for “always does what I say.” AshLee’s “scared” and “vulnerable” even though there’s a whole camera crew ready to save them if necessary. Please don’t.

I’m feeling vulnerable or bored. Bored might be more appropriate.

Bland has no compunction making the same wife claims to AshLee right before she is to decide to spend the night with him. Where have I seen this move before? Oh right, when he did the same thing with Linddsseeyyy. Romance!

AshLee knows Bland is her “soulmate” — gah — and that he’s healed her broken heart. He’s gonna look like a big ol asshole when he dumps her for one of the younger ones.

Last date with Catherine. She yips around like a hyped-up toddler puppy. This will likely be shorter than the rest because I’m dividing my time between punching myself in the face to stay awake and looking up naked pictures of Orville Redenbacher on the Internet.

Snorkling and thunderstorm kissing. Overnight date discussion. “I’m not a whore,” Catherine paraphrases. “But I’ll spend the night.”

Catherine was fearful of putting her heart out there™ but she has never worn a bathing suit around someone as much as Bland, and I’m wondering if she’s speaking in Thai because I have lost the ability to comprehend anything.

Bro-meet between Bland and Chris Harrison. Bland discusses his “pain” from being rejected by a Bachelorette during the fabricated fantasy dates. He has to dump someone though “to reach my final goal,” which is f-list celebrity and occasional appearances in US Weekly dry-humping other f-list celebrities.

Seven years later we get to the rose ceremony. He sends AshLee packing. The other two ninnies gripe that she didn’t say “good-bye” as AshLee storms off.

She glares at Bland as if she’s willing her eyeballs to fly out of her skull and stab him in the face. He attempts to explain himself and just looks redder and redder. And for the first time, it actually feels a little realistic. He is a bumbling ass and she is crushed. Okay, that’s over.

Three-hour finale in two weeks.

Kill me.

Bland Tells All: A Very Special Edition of The Bachelor

Brace your fucking selves right now.

I’m serious.

This is going to stun your goddamn faces off.

Bland is in The Bachelor hizzouse getting ready to unload the contents of his meat brain to the very dyslexic Chris Harrison. I’m guessing Chris Harrison is dyslexic because he has trouble comprehending words like “dramatic” “tension” “exciting” “romantic journey” and “very special.”

I know you’re thinking Speaker7, wasn’t this fucking show on last night for two fucking hours? Like what the fuck, man?

Seriously.

But America has all these questions, Chris Harrison lies. And now is our chance to get our answers straight from Bland’s taint.

So what does Bland have to say about his bullshit romantic journey? What was so important that it required a whole extra hour of Bland’s blankness?

 

Wow.

 

 

This is, like, stupid almost

Truer words have never been spoken.

Bland looks really red. He is getting ready or red-dy to meet his concubines’ families. Zing! I’m here all week.

AshLee, of the interestingly capitalized name, has been living for this moment or some such nonsense. Yes… “Hey mom and dad! Come meet this man who is also meeting three other sets of moms and dads and revel in the reality! The reality of it all!”

AsHleE thinks Bland is the man “to protect my heart.” I think I should be drunk. Why am I not drunk?

aShlEe’S been thinking about this day “since I was 3 years old.” What the fuck did she just say?

They eat a normal dinner with aShleE’s PaRenTs at a kitchen table stuck awkwardly on the back lawn.

“Bland is, like, making out with other girls and then he, like, makes out with me. And, like, mom, like, do you remember, when I was, like, 4, and you, like, read Peter Rabbit, and I was, like, do you think I’ll ever meet my Mr. MacGregor? And, like, I’m, like, here he is. Like?” ASHLee rambles on at the greatest luncheon she envisioned when she was 5.

AsHleE’s dad looks like a porcupined-version of Cliff Clavin.

We’re now in Seattle with Catherine and her “journey.” Bland catches a fish in the Seattle Fish Market and promptly makes out with it. It’s so spontaneous or incredibly staged.

Bland uses the word “always” a lot to describe how awesome his relationship is with Catherine. “We’re always really boring.” “We’re always suck.” “We’re always contributing to the decline of the universe.”

This is the greatest love story since that commercial I saw about Fiber One granola bars.

Catherine’s sisters exhibit brain function: “You seem like you’re trying to convince yourself that you like him.”

Some “tension.”

Next stop: Linddddsseeeyyy’s hometown in somewhere Missouri. Her dad’s a two-star general so this means something for The Bachelor that I find too boring to try to comprehend.

Bland puts on an army turtleneck while Lindddsseeyy vocal fries orders at him. It makes me wish that a meteor would crash into my face.

On Friday, I watched the movie The Sessions. I highly recommend it. It’s been so long since I’ve watched a movie that made me feel something and made me actually care for the people in the story.

This episode of The Bachelor is the opposite of that feeling.

Lindssseyy’s house has a gun/spice rack. Her mom also vocal fries.

America.

Bland asks for Lindsey’s father’s permission to penetrate his property and *yawn*…story about paratrooping and I’ve gone deaf and sure, here’s your blessing and my lack of caring is like that time I went paratrooping.

There’s an hour left.

Fuck.

I would like your blessing to not watch the second hour.

Thanks for nothing.

Now we’re in Desiree’s sweet hick hometown of LA.

They meet each other in spandex because. . . LA.

Time to meet the fam. An ex-boyfriend shows up instead. He declares his love. “I’ve texted you,” he facebooks. And it feels…LA. Not like this guy is trying to break into acting and shows up at an opportune moment to get his ass-face on TV or anything.

I think I’m going to bed.

But then I will miss why I titled this post the way I did.

Oh it’s a joke. And it’s funny?

No.

Her family shows up. Her mother seems high. Desiree’s brother Nate is the one who sayeth: “This is, like, stupid almost.”

Wrong, bro. It’s, like, all stupid.

More Filler from The Bachelor

I missed the first few minutes of The Bland-lor.

Someone’s crying. Others are wearing bikinis. Bland is shirtless for the 456th time. This might be the entire recrap. It’s riveting, yes?

They are on some island. I believe it’s Molokai, the former leper colony.

The Villain™ gets the date card as per the producers’ instructions. She complains about bugs and dripping makeup and a lack of dignity (I may have made up this last part, but that doesn’t make it less true). One of the 194 women vying for Bland’s gland catfights: “(The Villain™) is the most unhappy person I’ve ever encountered.”

Nope, that would be me.

The crying girl is crying on her date because she confessed to getting married when she was 17. Bland deduces “That’s young.” A real Einstein, that one.

She now feels like she ruined her reality show date where she’s competing with 87 other genitalia and hair extensions to chew on Bland’s face. Bland pretends to not care, but looks like he’s sucking on a lemon while he kisses her.

She screams “I love Bland!” like a 10-year-old at a One Direction concert, and it takes Bland five seconds to realize she’s talking about him.

The Villain™ date. They eat snow cones and ignore the grinding poverty of the island inhabitants. Back at the house, the other bachelorettes bitch about her. “I used a spoon correctly with my grapefruit and she didn’t even congratulate me,” says one. The Villain™ and Bland talk about the “tension” in the house, and I lose consciousness from strangling myself with my computer charger.

The bachelorettes vocal fry at one another about how “bad” “It’s going to be baaaaddddd” “Oh my goddddrrrr, it’s going to be baaaaadddd” “dra-mah-tic” when The Villain™ confronts Child Bride™ about badmouthing her to Bland.

Producers, here’s a little tip from me to you. You’ve got to show not tell. Having drunk women bleat at each other about how tense everything’s going to be, does not create tension.

Group date. Bland storms the castle and wakes them by taking pictures of their makeup-less faces. Bland knows “girls hate being seen without their makeup.” Oh Bland…the many, many things you do know could fill my makeup case. Incidentally I do not have one.

They drive around. The producers show their trip on an animated map and it sucks as much as you would expect. It makes Dora’s adventures look like Indiana Jones’. One of the three datees declares “This is the perfect date.” Oh dear.

Another fucking one-on-one date. Bland blathers more nonsense about “journeys” and “coffee enemas.” Bland’s relationship with nameless is “not where it needs to be,” which is code for “lack of handjob.”

Cheezus christmas, there’s 42 minutes left.

Bland’s sister Blandette shows up. Bland can’t wait to talk about all his feelings, and ends up proposing to his sister. Now that would be a good fucking show.

Ooh. Ooh. The “fight” between The Villain™ and Child Bride™. It’s as exciting as the time my dentist told me I should do a better job brushing the back of my bottom teeth. I gave it right back when I said “Okay.”

Here are the highlights:

“I can’t control my eyebrow.”

“My parents said I had a sparkle. Don’t let the other girls take it away.”

Bland shows up to The Villain™ massaging Vick’s Vapor Rub into her eyes to simulate crying. Bland’s heart or head weighs heavy–probably head–because he’s formulating a thought…The Villain™ appears unstable. He let’s her go. She cries and cries and says “No one will take my sparkle.”

Sparkle on, Sparkle-maker. Sparkle on.