recraps

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.

Shameless7 Speaker7 Plug7

I have a new post up at The Official How To Blog, which is the most official how to blog on the Internet.

prettyofficial

You can read it here.

Aw…don’t cry…sshhh…sshhh…it’s okay. I’m still going to be Speaker7. In fact, I plan to watch the ladies from The Bachelor vocal fry at one another while I bury a corkscrew into my temple, and recrap it all for you tomorrow. It will be…um…

Is pfftttt the right word? Possibly.

This new venture o’ mine is a chance to impart knowledge–albeit possibly bad knowledge–to the world. And if you have a little whatsit whatsit to share, consider writing for The Official How To Blog. You can put it on your resume and people will be like “Shit. This person is, like, super official and shit.”

There might even be an “I blogged for The Official How To Blog and All I Got Was This Stupid Piece of Shit Badge” badge. It will be…um…

Is pfftttt the right word?

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?

 

idiotWow.

 

 

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.

 

Fifty Shades of Bastardarized Boredom

My prayers have been answered.

Remember when I finished Fifty Sharts of Grey Goop and I declared “Holy twat-twizzler! Will someone please–pretty please with a butt plug on top–write some more words about an abusive douche and an empty space who murmurly sticks things in each other’s holes?”

Well Chrisward and Bellana are back! This time in the incarnation of Bennett Ryan and Chloe Mills. He’s a vampire billionaire media executive with a marbled sparkling body and flashing topaz grey hazel eyes. She’s the pfftt sound that comes from a whoopie cushion expelling actual gas.

And they bang. Their genitals. Into each other.

The book is called Beautiful Bastard.

That is a good title. And by good, I mean beat me in the face with a wire brush.

Two women are to blame for this current celebration of an abusive dickface. Remember how in the Declaration of Sentiments, Lucretia Mott had wanted to write:

Resolved, That woman should become wet and horny from being infantilized and humilated by a gorgeous rumproast man.

And Elizabeth Cady Stanton was all like “Bitch, please. That goes against the very nature of women rights.”

And Lucretia Mott was all like “Just you wait Lizzie. Women are gonna be down with this shit because the world is fucking ending.”

Lucy was right.

So I slogged through the first chapter.

Here’s the thing: My gall bladder has stopped working.

I blame Fifty Fart Nuggets. It turned my entire body into one giant vat of bile, and my little ol’ gall bladder couldn’t take it and has decided to secede from the sinking ship (I know I’m mixing metaphors, but I just fucking read chapter one of Beautiful Bastard).

So Benchrisward is a beautiful man, but has the personality of Newt Gingrich on his period. Chloebellana is his toiling intern who is not physically described. There is a lot of clenching jaws and stomach muscles. There’s wetness monitoring. There are flashing eyes and murmuring bungholes.

Then they boink in the conference room because…spahettios have meatballs, I honestly have no idea.

You can torture yourself here.

I checked on Amazon and it looks like the sequel is coming out in a few months. I’m sure it will be wonderful.

Lucretia Mott would be so proud.

The Bachelor Non-Event Two Day Event!!

Son of a bitch.

So today marks the first day in a two-day Bachelor event. Spielberg was able to show the story of Oskar Schindler in little over two hours, but The Bachelor needs two whole days to show a piece of cardboard grind against helium-filled Dora the Explorer balloons.

There are 47 or 6,003 women left. The cast inexplicably is moved to Montana. Possible explanation is all the herpes medication in LA has been used up. The western meadowlark is Montana’s state bird. That is the most exciting sentence you will read in this recrap.

Host Chris Harrison shows up. His shirtail is untucked cuz he’s laidback, yo. He talks of the upcoming dates. One is a two-on-one date. Only one will return, Chris Harrison warns. Sounds a bit murdery.

Bland misses “the women” and can’t want to “spend more time with them,” he dead eyes.

His chooses Linnnddssyyeyasay for the one-on-one date. She cries because life is meaningless. She has trouble identifying a helicopter. They helicopter to a picnic, and another polar bear slides off a melting ice floe due to the carbon emissions.

More words lose all meaning. Words like “connection,” “dream come true,” “wife.”

Linnndddssyyeyasay and Bland dance while some recording sensation sings in the town square. And now “magical” has been ruined forever.

Group date. Goat-milking. Connections are made. It is magical. Bland offers one of the goats a rose. It eats it and poops a happy ending.

Some fake controversy because the team who lost the goat milking contest gets to also be bored forever by Bland instead of drink themselves into oblivion and watch 30 Rock reruns in the palatial lodge. Jesus, that sounds really good right now.

Some drunk woman drunk-cries because she stumbled over to talk to Bland, and he and another woman “were sitting on each other’s laps.” This just proves this show is wayyyyyyyy better when one is drunk.

The dreaded two-on-one date. One of the datees is “The Villain.”  The threesome awkwardly drink wine. Bland suggests a hand-job contest spending time alone with each. The producers take Bland aside and tell him to give the rose to “The Villain” because reality television thrives on stupidity. “The Villain” evily hugs him and cackles like a caricature of a villain on a crappy reality dating show.

Rose ceremony. Boring and more boring. Mouths move, saying banalities. “The Villain” says she’s all punchy feeling toward the other “ladies.” One of the ladies has an argument with “The Villain” that makes me feel like I’m as drunk as everyone else on the show. It makes that scene in Gummo where a guy fights with a chair seem completely composed and rational.

Bland hates all the drama, which is why he agreed to appear on a dating reality show where 25,000 narcissists compete for his tongue juice. Is “The Villain” nice or is she like, not nice, Bland thinks in his concrete-ladened head until it causes a synapse to fire out his butt.

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do™ or at least I’m expecting Bland will say this at some point. He gets real with Chris Harrison and says “The ladies aren’t paying enough attention to my penis” or “I don’t know if I see my wife in that group of ladies.” Let me just stress again that there is another fucking episode tomorrow.

Chris Harrison greets the contestants and says “It’s been an interesting night.” I just looked in the dictionary to see if “interesting” means what I think it means.

The drunken argument lady does not get a rose.

How interesting.

The Borelor

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Hmm?

Oh, yes. I’m recrapping The Bachelor.

It is two hours long!?! What the fuH.

I’ve got this. I’ve totally got this.

Um…

So this guy? Yep, his name is Bland. He likes his harem o’ ladies. He’s getting really connectedvilled with some of them. Some ladies are like “Fart.” Others are like “Poopy.” One sharts a sonnet.

This one climbs a mountain and claims her religion prevents her from kissing Bland on TV, but not from completely humilating herself on TV. Bland wants to kiss her, but also wants to drink a shoe filled with milk.

Roller derby group date. Woman I’ve never seen before say “I’m irrelevant.” Someone falls, cracks her head open and shredded paper falls out. Sarah, of the one-arm, cries because this is the most boring episode. Bland’s heart bleeds Pringles® and gives her a pep talk that makes me want to chew off my arm.

Skate, skate, ambulance, feh.

One woman on the group date is trying to be interesting by being “the villain,” but she is just boring and makes me wish I was watching someone chew gum. “I’m going to leave,” she bores and ugh.

There is an hour left.

For fuck’s sake.

Random woman wonders why she is not sticking her finger in Bland’s bunghole. She does not get the coveted one-on-one date card. The other woman who earlier was crying about bloopy gets it and I’m so…..I’m so dead inside.

They both have crazy eyes and talk about how “excited” they are for this date. Driving. Interesting conversation ensues:

“We’re in Beverly Hills,” Bland says.

“I know,” says date person.

Pretty Woman reference. “We’re living out the fantasy,” Bland says. I think he thinks he’s getting a blow job from a hooker.

Clothes montage and…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I’m up. I’m up.

She is getting her wish or her chlamydia, I don’t know, but she’s getting something and pffttt….45 minutes left. I swear time is standing still.

Bland is not feeling a “romantic ” connection with date person. “Romantic” connection means “hand job.” No rose for her. She leaves.

Bland heads back to the date by himself to hear “Ben Taylor” sing on his guitar. What is happening?

Rose falls “dramatically”to the ground. Some petals fall off.

I look dramatically at the clock and cry.

Bland platitudes to a bunch of random people before the rose ceremony. “I love ______ about ______.”

I love nothing about this show.

And this is why I won’t make it to the end, but I’m sure the rose ceremony is “dramatic” and “shocking,” but now is the time for…

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Vocal Fry on Parade

Every woman speaks in vocal fry. Every woman trying to win Bland’s rose heart on The Bachelor. Every woman.

“Errrr myyyyyy gawrrdddd. I lurvveeeeee Blandrowrlllllllll. He is errrrrrrrgrowllllllll”

If you don’t know what vocal fry is, go listen to Kim Kardashian speak for three seconds and then hit yourself in the face with a baseball bat. It’s something the young of our kind do, and I would rather rub jalapeno juice in my eyes then listen to it.

But here I am listening to two hours of it–well, one hour and 15 minutes of it, and it’s highly likely I will not make it through the end of the second episode.

After last week’s talentless show, it is now date time. Sarah–she of the one arm–is picked to go on the coveted one-on-one date. The other ladies “awwww” this because they think she poses as much of a threat as a woman pursuing a doctorate in aeronautical engineering. Bland throws her off a building. Her scream sounds like she has a kazoo lodged in her larnyx. She’s actually attached to a harness and then she says “That-growl was soooooo-rrrrrr amazing–gerrrrrrrr?” Bland smiles blandly at her.

The next date card arrives: Jujee. (*Squee!*) Sammy (*Whoo!*) Boo-Boo Child (*Grrrr!*) Booby (*Jiggle!*) Tamayarayra (*Pop-pop!*) KaitlyNn (*WhoMp!*) Lala (*Tinky-Wink!*) Jacket (*pfft*) Vacantie (*…!*) Vaginalflap (*flop!*) Lindsaysey (*drunk!*) Random (*who?*) Token African-American (*Civil Rights!*) and 40 other names are read. Everyone is very excited and/or drunk.

They arrive at a castle. Bland stands blandly on a balcony. The date is a photoshoot for the “greatest romance stuff” Bland says. He might have said something else, but I got distracted by breathing. They will take pictures for the latest box of Grape Nuts Cereal. Some dress up as grapes, some as nuts and even more as the twigs that actually make up a bowl of Grape Nuts. Oh, it is Harlequin romance book covers. My idea is better.

Posey-pose. Grope. Kiss. Oily bodies. Bland.

Some shrieking thing grabs his crotch and says 3,458 times that she is a model. Others say “This is-growllll succcchhhhhh-errrrrrrr and amazzzzzing-errrrrrrrrr stuff?” Bland likes to stare blankly and smile more blankly.

Bland blandly invites them back for a pool party. The pool is full of slighly sour tapioca pudding. The women vocal fry at each other and drink and try to get kissy-face time. There are “connections” and “deep feelings” that one can only get from competing with 25,000 other females for the tongue of a blahville dude.

Another one-on-one date. Some random girl sadly says “It’s myyyyy-errrrr birrrthhhhdayyyy-growl?” so she hopes to get the date. She doesn’t. He asks someone else named ??–let’s call her Void. They go to a garage that has been “transformed” into an “art” “gallery.” See Bland is all about senses of humors, and wants to see if Void has one so “he” sets up a prank in the style of Scare Tactics, which is show I actually enjoy on Syfy. The Bachelor ruins Scare Tactics by designing the lamest prank in the world. A piece of “art” falls, and void gets blamed for it. Bwhhahahhhahahah!!!!

Is this show over yet?

Nope.

More vocal fry. More clenching of buttocks to avoid public farting. More “I hate-rrrrrr herrrrrrrr because-growlll” and then roses are handed out.

Some women don’t get any and that’ssssss—grrrrrrr a bummerrrrrrrrrrgrowl.