relationships

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:

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:

dolls

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.

benspecs

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:

beauty-queensSurprisingly, 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:

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

hottub

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.

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

ericaBen 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.

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

benwithshirtHe 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.

impointless

I guess there’s that.

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.

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.

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.

Doin’ It

Alright so I’m lightening things up a little with today’s post.

The last few days have been a little political, and sure, I lost some followers, but whatevs. I’m not even counting or noticing that it was three. Fare thee well former readers, I have nothing but contempt good feelings for you.

For those who stuck it out, you are in for a treat! I went over to the lady section on Yahoo! to learn about lady issues like tampon-string irritation, and I returned with ways to rev up my down-there engine.

C’mon ladies, let’s face it. After a long day of choosing Jif® over Skippy®, the last thing your woman brain can handle is thinking about sexy times. I mean, who’s going to unload the dishwasher?

But follow these surefire tips from Yahoo! Shine! and you will sure fire up that grill that has been lying dormant and charcoal-free in your pants.

1. Eat Sexy-Enhancing Foods

Scarf down some bananas and peanut butter because your hoo-hah apparently has the same appetite as Elvis Presley. Do not be surprised if your ladybits began to crave white polyester jumpsuits.

2. You Go Grrrllkjl;ajk

Ignore everything woman-centric websites/magazines tell you that you should hate about your appearance and just accept yourself, grrlllrllll! You are so beautiful or you could be if you followed our Green Juice/Coconut Water Ab-Blaster Diet®. You deserve to bump your non-size-0 love muffin against the mighty peen even though you could follow our 10 steps to a Thinner Vagina Shake Program® and shed those unwanted vaginal pounds. Better yet, cut back on those peanutbutter-banana sandwiches. What are you, Elvis Presley?

3. Shake Weights® 

Exercise gets the endorphins flowing, and for some reason men like to see women doing this:

4. Brain Stimulation

Did you know that your brain is more powerful than your elbow? It is! That’s why it makes less sense to rub a peanutbutter banana sandwich against your elbow than it does to read a sexy book with your brain-connected eyes. Ohhh! What sexy book am I going to mention?!? I don’t know…could it be…wait for it…

Fifty Shades of Grey?

Yes, apparently you can read this book and not despair about the downfall of humanity and instead want to clamp your genitals onto an actual genital clamp. The article also mentioned the movie Magic Mike, which I haven’t seen because I don’t like looking at greasy skin.

Anyway, I guess the point is look at or read something that turns you on. For some reason, this is doing it for me:

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the fourth post. Speaker7 is always looking for suggestions for future posts. They should be sexy, however, because she is in a really sexy mood from reading sexy lady tips from Yahoo!.

My Dear John Letter

Break-ups are never easy.

In a few weeks, I will be saying goodbye to my tonsils.  They will move out of the space in the back of my throat that they have been living in rent-free all these years, and take their reoccurring infections with them.

“Just for the record, I hate you both.” – Speaker7

Frankly my tonsils have been acting like giant a-holes with the emphasis on the giant. If this country worshipped giant tonsils rather than giant breasts, I would be regularly featured as a Playboy Tonsilmate.

For the past three years, I have felt like I’ve had popcorn kernels lodged in the back of my throat, and I don’t even eat popcorn. The glands in my neck have swollen to a point that they could appear in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and people would say “There goes two of the largest balloons I have ever seen.” And I am responsible for the influx of peed-out antibiotics in the local water supply.

I know the recovery is going–to put it bluntly–suck a huge tonsil stone. But I am at the point where I’m ready to take them out myself with a spork.

I find that now people know of my impending surgery, they find it of great import to tell me their own personal tonsillectomy-horror story. I’ve been regaled with tales of throwing up blood and post-anthesia paralysis. I’ve been told that yes, the person had them out as a child, and yet the person remembers it as the most vividly horrifying experience of the person’s life.

I enjoy this.

I do because I’m going to have my tonsils out in less than three weeks.

So please, by all means tell me:

I had my tonsils out and I threw up so much blood, they had to give me all new blood and then my head fell off.

-or-

I was scheduled to get my tonsils removed and the doctors accidentally removed my larynx instead. They replaced it with the mechanical voice box of a talking Barbie. Math class is hard. Tee-hee.

-or-

I had my tonsils removed and now I can’t stop scatting. Zoop-de-flee, zoop-de-fly.

-or-

I had my tonsils out and they went on to win The Voice and refused to get me into the after party.

-or-

I had my tonsils out and now they’re seeing someone else and have even proposed. What does that person’s throat have that mine doesn’t?

That one especially hurts. Get it? Get it?

Because it’s the worst pain in the history of pain in the history of surgeries in the history of vomiting blood.

If you don’t believe, just tell someone you’re getting your tonsils removed.

A Pad of Ass

Chris B. is feeling down, you guys.

His Bachelor Pad besties have betrayed him. The woman he would alternately make out with or ignore has been voted off. His ex-partner Blakely has been saved and Chris hates her stupid face. He does the only thing he can think of as a “grown ass man.”

He gets into his little bunk bed and pulls the covers over his giant head.

His partner Sarah comes over and tries to coax Chris out with a graham cracker, but he’s, like, so grown-ass-man upset, yo! Then his ex-bestie Kalon comes in and Chris B. says “You’re a lying jerky poop head.”

Chris finally pulls himself out of bed to solely go yell at Ed, his other ex-bestie. He shouts at Ed to not shout at him. And keeps repeating the phrase “grown-ass man” in a manner that speaks to the opposite.

Ed has had enough or he needs to pee and he storms out, flinging a wine glass in his wake. He grown-ass says “This game is stupid.” And finally I agree with a contestant on something.

It’s the next day. Chris said he couldn’t sleep, and Tony responds “Relationships are tarnished. Trust is gone.” Not too melodramatic.

The challenge is The Great Fall of China, which involves the contestants carry stacks of teacups without dropping them. Blakely’s excited because she has worked at Hooters for 13 years.

Chris is bitching because he doesn’t think it’s fair. I’m sorry, Chris, I’m sure they’ll have a contest you’ll be good at like whiny bitching.

Blakely and Tony win. They decide to go on the date together so they give their immunity rose to Kalon. Kalon goes on a bridge date with Lindzi and kind of non professes his non love.

Blakely and Tony go on a trailer park date and feign interest in one another.

Tony and Blakely decide to give the remaining rose to Jaclyn despite Chris’s best efforts to get the rose for his partner Sarah.

Host Chris Harrison shows up to stoke the flames of drama. He asks all the couples about their coupledom, and Ed actually answers truthfully that he’s not interested in anyone in the house while his partner Jaclyn looks like she’s been punched in the stomach.

Chris Harrison tells the contestants that in this elimination round all the contestants will vote for one woman and that woman will choose the man she will take with her.

Chris B. knows he’s not long for the Bachelor Pad Gonorrhea Emporium. He attempts to come up with a strategy.

He tries to patch things up with Ed, and get Ed on board with voting off Lindzi. Ed says he can’t believe they were acting like stupid 15-year-old boys while being dressed exactly like 15-year-old boys.

Michael, the don of Bachelor Pad, tries to convince Erica that Chris B. is leading the brigade to get her voted off. Michael knows that he is vulnerable being the top Bachelor Pad dawg (what a distinction!), and wants Erica to take Chris with her. But his plan backfires when Chris brings Erica into the voting booth with him and shows his vote for Lindzi. A-doy.

Erica is voted off and takes Michael with her. In her valley-girl drone, she lists all the ways Michael sucks.

Michael’s partner Rachel is devastated and wants to leave with him, but he tells her to stay and “enjoy the experience.”

And that’s it! So much grown-assness that I actually grew another ass. Or it could be all the potato chips I consumed while watching this. . . whatever it is, I have grown.

An ass.

Existential Crisis

I have many existential questions like:

Why do I exist?

How do I know the reality I see is actually reality?

Why don’t more people read this blog?

But the biggest question I had to consider today was: Why am I still single?

Don’t be mislead by the pronoun. I am not the “I” in that sentence although I am the “I” in this sentence: Why did I watch the show ‘Why am I still single?’ That is a question I will never be able to answer.

It is a show on VH1, starring Marcia Gay Harden as Siggy Flicker, a New York-based matchmaker, and Shawn and Marlon Wayans, reprising their roles from the 2004 classic White Chicks, as Siggy’s twin stylists.

I’ve just been informed that this is a “reality” show. This makes me think back to my second existential question.

So Siggy Flicker is apparently the name of a real live person. She helps people with their problems by having them bash apart perfectly-cooked whole chickens. The opening sequence shows the four main archetypes of singledom: The Overtalker, Mr. Ego, The Needy Guy and The Cat Lady. This is the name of my next band.

Siggy will be “helping” Ebonie and O’Neal. Ebonie is very picky and not easily impressed. She is shown making a vision board of her perfect man whom she calls Prince Jamal. It is very “impressive” and not at all like anything I would have done in sixth grade. This is true, in sixth grade I had a very “impressive” picture collage of Ralph Macchio on my bedroom wall. Ebonie’s vision board makes my collage look like a Robert Rauschenberg.

O’Neal is a “recording artist.” He sounds like a seal, the barking kind not the musician, as he bleats into a microphone. So maybe a sheep is a better analogy? I don’t know, I’ve already spent too much time thinking about his “music” career that I now must be lobotomized. He says he’s the “black Brad Pitt.” He talks a lot about his tattooed balls, which I hear is how Brad Pitt won over Angelina Jolie.

Siggy sets Ebonie and O’Neal on a date-vaillance, in which Siggy and her twin stylists secretly observe their date behavior. Ebonie brings up Prince Jamal. O’Neal talks about how the dump he took in the bathroom will require the restaurant to repaint the walls. The two do not click.

Siggy show actual judgment when she bursts in to end the date when O’Neal begins talking about how his balls smell like lavender. I am by no means a matchmaker, but even I know ball scent is a first date no-no.

Siggy now confabs with the twin stylists and people who are identified by the moniker “love picker,” which for some reason makes me think about elementary school when kids would call other kids garbage pickers.

“The worst thing you can do is wear a bindi on your forehead,” says one love picker wearing a bindi on her forehead. She might not have actually said that, but she should have and then immediately went to a mirror, saw her mistake and removed the bindi.

So now it’s time to change the bad date behavior of Ebonie. The twin stylists dress her in a terrible Cinderella costume taken from my school’s 1988 production of Cinderella and plop make up on her face. She is taken to a group of “princes” wearing crowns a half-step up from the paper Burger King crown but 10 steps down from the crown the former creepy Burger King mascot wears. She reads her Prince Jamal wishlist and all the princes leave. The moral: Don’t appear on reality television.

Siggy takes O’Neal to a knitting circle when he can dazzle a group of older women with his knitting double entendres. “Is this a sewing needle or the actual size of my penis?”

The love pickers are out and about picking out potential love interests, and now I understand why I made the connection to garbage pickers. They stop in barber shops, basketball courts, free clinic waiting rooms, urine-soaked alleyways. Siggy separates the chaff from the even chaffier with probing questions like “Where’s the craziest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Matchmaking magic ensues. O’Neal is going on a sailboat date: “I know I’ve got swag. Out of the gate, if she’s hot we f*** in the boat.” Lucky, lucky girl.

Ebonie is going wine-tasting in some Brooklyn establishment that encourages people to suck out wine as if they are siphoning gasoline from a tank to mix with other wines. I know it’s hard in New York, and restaurateurs have to resort to gimmicks to get traffic such as charge $700 for a bowl of donut soup, but this is just gross. Incidentally how I feel about the winetasting is how Ebonie feels about her date. In the bathroom she secretly tapes together the vision board Siggy cruelly made her rip apart.

O’Neal does the “I’m-the-king-of-the-world” Titanic reference and mentions his balls once. His date is perfect.

The show ends with an Animal-House where-are-they-now style ending. Ebonie is still searching for Prince Jamal and O’Neal is engaged.

Lucky, lucky girl.

Deep Dark Sex Secrets 1 through 1,890

My life is full of regrets.

I was thinking how much I do not want to be on a bed of death, lamenting all the things I should have done, but didn’t.

I had not seen Maury Povich’s eponymous show since Vicki slept with her sister’s boyfriend Jamal and Jamal’s brother Dominque and posed this simple question:  Is my sister’s boyfriend or his brother my baby’s dad?

I never did find out the answer to that question.

Regret.

Speaker7's last words

Speaker7 dies

Today’s Maury did not pose a question, but a statement of fact: “The tests will uncover your deep dark sex secret.” I would get my answers today…well, not to Vicki’s dilemma–that will forever haunt me–but the answers to some of life’s greatest mysteries.

Deep Dark Sex Secret #1: (editor’s note: this actually could be deep dark sex secret #17 or #1,825 because Speaker7 missed the first six minutes of the show. Regret.)

“She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene. . . but the kid is not my (daughter)”

Kristina has two children with her husband David, but David doesn’t believe he’s the father of Chantilly because he thinks Kristina cheated on him with her ex-husband Tony.

Kristina is angry. David thinks she’s a cheater. They both tell their stories in a very natural non-reading-cue-card-like kind of way.

I chew my fingernails down to the knuckles……Maury pulls up the flap on his endless supply of manila envelopes….I reach up to wipe the sweat pouring from my forehead…

“In the case of Chantilly,” Maury intones. “David you are the father.”

I black out.

When I come to, I learn there are more deep-dark-sex-secret uncovering to uncover.

Deep Dark Sex Secret #2: Electric Boogaloo

A one-night stand turned into one DNA dispute.

Maria had sex with Andrew one time. Maria screams everything she says as if she is trying to make herself heard over a sandblaster. She screams at the audience to “LOOK AT MY BABY!!!!! LOOK AT MY GIRL!!!!” She screams at Andrew “I HOPE YOUR PENIS FALLS OFF!!!!!!!!”

Maury pulls out the envelope. I get into a fetal position next to the couch.

“In the case of Drucilla,” Maury intones. “Andrew you are NOT the father.”

I began to convulse as a thin trickle of urine puddles next to my twitching body.

I wonder if my system can take anymore deep-dark-sex-secret uncovering when Maury cuts directly to the next story after Maria ran backstage screaming “I’M SORRY!!!!!”

Deep Dark Sex Secret #3: Revenge of the Sith

I change my outfit and swallow four Xanax. I go to my happy place in my head as Maury introduces April. April thinks her fiance Walt and her cousin Laureen are having “sex on each other.” She has seen “sex stains” on Walt’s boxers although Walt claims they were just from an accident. Lovely, lovely love.

Maury has the lie detector results. Before he can intone them, my heart seizes in my chest. I can feel a blood vessel explode inside my head. I flop off the couch onto the floor.

I believe I died a few seconds before being revived by Maury’s clear delivery that Walt is a liar. The boxer stains were sex stains after all.

Incredible, riveting storytelling.

My only regret is that I didn’t DVR it.

Regret.

 

Love is patient, love is kind. . .

I’ve been thinking a lot about the sanctity of marriage. So has this guy. If you can make it past the first sentence, you will learn that God is the author of marriage.  He also wrote the Constitution and the chorus to “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” So God is clearly miffed that man is trying to rewrite His stuff by allowing gay and lesbian couples to marry.

How is marriage to survive?

Fret not, my friend. Marriage is alive and well, as I saw firsthand on last night’s episode of Bridezillas. Last night’s episode featured a sweet wallflower named Suzy who suffers from a terrible condition called Tourette’s syndrome.

Sweet, precious Suzy

"I will rip his f****** dick off."

Suzy, 19, is betrothed to her one true love Taylor. Her impending marriage is causing a wee bit of stress in the young lass’s life. She tells her mother to kindly “Leave me the f*** alone right now” and “I’ll do your make up. Two black eyes and a bloody lip” and “I’m not going to tolerate you, you old bitch.”

She tries vainly to come up with a proper seating arrangement for the reception. She wants both sets of parents to sit with the bridal couple. The only problem? Taylor’s parents have two small children.

“Kids ruin everything,” Suzy sighs. “I hate them.”

So what else can she do, but scream “I don’t give a f*** about this anymore!” and storm off. Her mother follows in the car, telling Suzy to get in. Suzy’s response is to flip her the double bird. Sugar and spice and everything nice…

There are other beautiful moments like the time Suzy tells her fiance “I hate you right now” and elbows him in the chest. There’s the time she dumps a glass of ice-cold water over the best man’s head at the rehearsal dinner. There’s the one time she addresses someone and does not use the word “F***.”

God’s hand is clearly in the vows Suzy writes for her wedding day. She makes no promises of love or devotion, but tells Taylor she will be just as awful as she is right now for the rest of her life. Masel tov!

I should mention that the show also featured another lovely bride.

Beautiful Brittany

"I am completely awful too"

She drank excessively, popped anti-anxiety medication and repeatedly instructed her fiance not to touch her. Sound advice.

There was more, but I do not have the strength to carry on.

I will let God carry on this blog post for me.

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