The Bachelor

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.

Job Application #2

I once tried to work at Walmart.

I took a personality test. There were a lot of questions about stealing. The scenarios were very Jean Val Jeanesque. There were a lot of questions about loyalty. The scenarios were very freedomy™. I think there were questions about pooping or I may be confusing the test with the questions asked by priests during premarital counseling sessions.

I did not get the job.

I am now applying for a new job. I’m a bit late to the game, and nearly missed the deadline. This weekend, I became intimate with the toilet and forged a bond that is usually reserved for war buddies.

This special relationship caused me to miss the love blooming between Blank and the 753 women he is dating on The Bachelor. I can only assume someone said they weren’t “here to make friends,” and Blank blandly stated his connectivity prospects with another lifeform or inanimate object. So basically this paragraph is my recrap of episode 3.

Anyhow, I am here to apply for the president of the Bozo the Clown fanclub. I’m sure I have gotten this wrong, but I am too lazy to refer back the original post written by Le Clown. Here I’ve linked it. You can tell me in the comments if I got it right.

I vaguely recall some rules, such as writing a post to show why you deserve it. I probably don’t. I’m uncomfortable with power. I’m socially awkward. I lasted in the Girl Scouts for about a week.

And yet, I seek it because I’m looking to jolt some Jolt Cola back into my own blog and writing. I figured if anyone could create inspiration it would be the magnificent™ Le Clown himself. I heard he once took a turtle turd and turned it into mashed potatoes.

If you did not know (i.e. you are one of the three people on earth who have never heard of Le Clown), every day is fucking magical. I believe this is true. Did you know that you can throw up several times and still feel like shit? That is kind of magical.

Before I virtually met Le Clown, I was a sad little man, seeking to restrict a woman’s right to everything:

The Before Picture

The Before Picture

And then something happened. Le Clown commented on a blog post. I believe he wrote:

“Speaker7,

Fuck™.

Le Clown”

And I was sucked into a magical world, one where unicorns make out with white baby jesuses.

Now I’m a happy little man seeking to restrict a woman’s access to everything:

The After Picture. You can too! Only 3 installments of $99.99!! Call today!

The After Picture. You can too! Only 3 installments of $99.99!! Call today!

I feel at this point, I would even be able to land that job at Walmart.

Fuck, Ladies

I’m currently watching the premiere of the latest Bachelor. Some guy–let’s call him Chip? Sure, why not–is humbled that all these ladies have turned up to humilate themselves to win his rose heart.

The limo is like a clown limo. At least 300 to 4,000 ladies plop out and try to make an impression by being lamer than the last.

One gal lips up and plants a smooch on his pancake-make-up-covered face. Another pulls a used snot rag out of her cleavage and wipes it off. Another is like “I’m a Cosmo article,” mentions Fifty Shades of Shart and pulls a blue–BLUE–tie out of her butt. Someone has a profession called “personal organizer.” Another does a backflip and almost breaks her elbow. Another calls herself an entrepreneur.

One 1.5-armed gal says this is exactly how she envisioned falling in love. Another has a football because Cosmo told her men like sports, and she uses it as a prop to gaze at his bung hole.

Some woman voice-overs that she’s going to pee her pants. Some lady is that 25-year-old who is really 35. Another shows up in a wedding dress and gah.

Someone suggested I should recap the latest Bachelor.

This is my recap: Fuck, ladies.