We start at the end. Only it’s not like this is Memento or a wonderfully flawed time-travel movie, it just seems like half way thru editing each episode they can’t decide if this is THE MOST™ dramatic episode of the Bachelorette ever or if they should rip a few more tubes and just finished cutting the episode at the last minute. “Bruh, this stuff is sticky and it kind of makes me think we should skip the rose ceremony AGAIN and talk about Kaitlyn and how she looks like an animated starfish.”
The thing is. This is no joke. Chris Harrison did not even show up this episode. I’d like to believe he just took the helicopter from last week and went down Mexico way to mule some horse, but in reality, IS HE TRAPPED IN TIME/SPACE?
So we kicked off the meat of this episode with a sausage party back at the hotel. Fuzzy Nick was rolling in wearing his fake windbreaker (windfaker™?) and the dudes are sitting around like:
I mean, is there anything more sad than Nick? He says it in his patented YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND TRAPPED IN THE BODY OF A MAN™ way. He was bored as hell in Chicago and he was willing to cutesy text with a gullible Canadian for several WHOLE MONTHS™ to get back on TV in the hopes to rid himself of the awful feeling of being the guy who got BEAT UP™ in high school and also PROBABLY NOW™ too.
He is willing to come into a room with a bunch of meatheads glaring at him arranged in some formation that was the direct center between a congressional hearing and the last supper.
Then, he is forced to answer questions so specific, you’d think they all were bloggers themselves. I mean, hell. I have to read another recap while writing this to even remember what happened that wasn’t a helicopter. They were all like “in episode eight of Andi’s year when you were looking out the window with your hair looking like a troll doll with a new job interview hair cut, why’d you say Prague was a romantic city, huh brah?”
Wow. I mean, I pay (some) attention (attentionesque™) to this show for PURE ADULATION™ from you people. I know I need constant praise or I will die. I’m like Superman (or Wall-E) to the sun with my ego. I admit that.
Nick just needs to be back on TV because life doesn’t matter if you aren’t on TV. That is sad. This play to be the next Bachelor or to just get a ride on Bachelor in Paradise. Sigh. It makes me feel awful. Nick? He’s like:
Nick’s responses were the basic bitch kind. She’s a cool chick. Oh yeah? Does she like dope music? Is this club going up? Is it Tuesday?
Hey Nick. Go home and put on some clothes.
So, in assbackwardsland™ we head to the rose ceremony and Chris Harrison hides from space and time. This ceremony is at Citi Field, home of the NY Mets, who I grew up a fan of before I moved to LA and found the Dodgers like Scientologists find thetans.
I don’t know why they are there. I do know that Gosleech is pissed that he’s not the only Gosleech for her. I know Longbottom carried her around the bases, which will probably be one of the last happy memories he has before the producers let him go home. In the end, without Clint, he’s lost.
Death Cab for Douchie got sent home and some other people I forget. All I know is it looked really, really cold. So cold this became an indoor date. I can’t imagine the “luxury suite in Queens” date was the intention.
Nick looked so sad when they told him the “warm” date was San Antonio. He was hoping for something tropical. DUDE. YOU WENT TO VENICE AND THEY ALL SAW YOUR LEATHER JACKET LAST YEAR. Let it go.
The date is a two step dance contest and Leave It To Beaver is the date. He’s kind of boring. He’s nice. He’s good looking. He’s going to end up losing for being a good guy. Him and Dan Captain America should start a start up of dudes you go to once you are done getting kicked around by confusing, sexually ambiguous guys like Nick.
He blew her expectations out of the water. What that means, I don’t know. Her expectations are amphibious.
The next date was a mariachi date. The kid who comes out in the beginning was the man. The rest of the show was an exercise in patented BACHELORACISM™.
It’s not so much that exploiting mariachi singers is racist, it’s the way dudes from places like Kuna handle this. It always ends up a bad Speedy Gonzalez impression. I’m from LA. This stuff isn’t exotic. It’s home. AND WHEN YOU SING LIKE THAT IT RUINS MY CULTURAL MEMORIES LIKE THIS GUY DID TO THE PEOPLE ON PANDORA:
Fuck that guy.
Princeton Guy got a little intense in his studying and then flopped like a Spanish soccer player. Nick won by being Nick, and going up with Canada to a balcony to sing and dance for the cameras and Katilyn happened to be there too.
It got weird that night when Ahi Kuna decided by way of grain alcohol and sadistic producers to let Kaitlyn shave half of his head. Sweet. He then decided to throw Nick under the bus which led to another GUYS I WANT YOU ALL TO LIKE NICK LIKE I DO speech and I tried to commit bloggercide by chewing on the batteries in my tv remote. Didn’t work.
The dudes all said whatever bro, go home, you’re drunk. Poor Ahi Kuna. He kept it real but didn’t realize you DON’T DO THIS…
Unless you are a Gosleech, who did the same thing and got a 1:1 date.
The Gosleech date was fine. They kayaked and he told her he was in a crazy car accident that missed all his Gosling features. He seems alright. He said he’s falling in love with her and she reciprocated. Appreciate the honesty.
But to keep score.
You can’t talk shit about Nick. Unless you vaguely look like Ryan Gosling. In which case, I love you.
In the tradition of no rose ceremonies, we were treated to some genuine weirdness with Princeton, who is the TOTAL PACKAGE™ – or just a total tool. I liked this guy, but somehow he went rogue and just listed off that he’s perfect, went to Princeton, girls love him, he should be the Bachelor.
At this point, unless he and Nick start hooking up, I’m bored. But he decides to call Kaitlyn a floozy and she doesn’t like it because he doesn’t vaguely look like Ryan Gosling. Or isn’t Nick.
Maybe Chris Harrison can return from space and sort it out.