Even in great seasons of this show, it’s human nature to complain about how it could have been better. Never before have I not been able to use the level of hyperbole needed to explain what a total systematic failure of bad television this season was.
This was like waking up early to go to brunch, waiting five hours for a table, being served a plate of rats and then when you complain about it, the waiter farts in your face and says something racist.
That’s this season.
This season was like going to a car wash and instead of water and soap cascading across your car, the jets just spray pig’s blood and then when you get out to complain sorority girls cover you in honey and feathers and circle your body parts that aren’t eating-disordery enough.
If you guys can’t deliver a season that even vaguely resembles this show, I am not delivering a final post that resembles my blog. It’s been a struggle for years now to continue to do the BachCaps because it’s hard to get up for it. I do it because I like my readers and I enjoy making you guys laugh. I’m like a magic web pixie that is fed by coffee being spit on coffee monitors.
But I am really, really debating walking away because this wasn’t the Bachelor. It wasn’t theatre. It wasn’t bad theatre. It was a chef pretending he didn’t burn your steak beyond recognition and thinking we’re too dumb to notice. YOU SAID WELL DONE. I did Bachelor people. I did.
What really happened? Can the creators of UnReal jump in and shed some light for me because like a kid with superheroes, I want to believe.
We have fantasy suites before hometowns. The hometowns don’t involve the actual hometowns. They involve Utah. One fucking helicopter. Pretending the final episode is somewhere tropical but it’s really fifteen minutes from the mansion. The final episode being at the mansion. No extreme dates. Perpetual Ireland. Nick making it to the final.
I like to think Harrison just went out of control and lost it and the net result was a lack of planning. I read somewhere that an Argentina trip fell through. Argentina harbored Nazis after WWII and even they wouldn’t let this awful season through the border. My wife just closed the browser.
There’s a reason you only get fifteen minutes of fame. That reason is people like Nick whose effing mother came to the damn After the Final Rose. My mom stopped coming to see my band play after high school and didn’t start again just because we got a couple songs on TV or were on the radio. There’s just an age where you have to to Pepsi LIVE FOR NOW.
This poor guy. He’s trying so hard to be whatever the hell he is trying to be. And the worst part is by the end I think he was actually the more interesting choice.
This season created a love triangle between:
- A Canadian who is afraid of birds but has two bird tattoos.
- A man who looks like Alf and has a 65 IQ.
- A two time runner up who came back on the show because it’s better than crying while researching bespoke lapel carnations online and pretending to like “guy stuff”.
I mean, this season made True Detective Season Two look like Shawshank. Give me one good reason to watch this next season. Just one. I swear, I may make like Avicii and fade into darkness right about now.
There is not a ton more to say. In the end, something got broken this season and we never got to find out why. Kaitlyn seemed so fun, but somehow she was the least fun person ever. She had some goofy dudes and a solid villain or two, but it never happened. We didn’t get all the things we have come to love about this unloveable show. It wasn’t escapist TV. It was an escape act, the producers trying to make it seem like the ship wasn’t capsizing and dragging out the world’s most miserable season.
I had high hopes after the Farmer’s season because it had all the elements of the show that we appreciate, but also had a great twist. Living in a small town that doesn’t have a Starbucks. That was taking the game forward. Yeah, turns out he’s a right wing farmland slumlord who was doing this for publicity. I don’t care. I assume they all will fail at this. But I expect a good ride.
In a helicopter.
Instead, I feel comforted only by the Timbers and the fact I get to drink, jump and swear and dance in smoky stadiums like a hooligan.
There’s the playoff race for the Dodgers. USC starts soon. Arsenal takes on the premier league. You can almost hear the air coming out of Brady’s deflated balls. So much to embrace.
The problem is, I normally leave feeling like the Bachelor returning in the new year is something to look forward to. Now, I’m skeptical.