This entire season feels like the scene in Interstellar when McConnaughy is just floating in 4D dusty bookshelf land trying to make contact with the real world through a rip in time and space and against the will of his audience, his daughter, because he’s been an unreliable father.
YOU ARE THE UNRELIABLE FATHER, CHRIS HARRISON.
And you didn’t even bring this thing along.
I love you, bud. Your suit and tie game is second to none. I’ve said on many occasions we’d likely be buds. I’ll get hopped up and be your wingman on an epic cougar hunt at Padri in Agoura Hills right near the mansion. Mothers love me. Just ask my high school friends.
But you gotta do me a solid, bud. You gotta get this trainwreck back on course. Stop putting lipstick on a pig and butcher some new swine.
You could have made this whole season one episode. You could have spent the entire budget that was wasted putting whatever girl is in whatever Carl’s Jr ad that comes out next in near-space like they did to that other girl that was in a Carl’s Jr ad.
Let’s be clear. This season’s travel itinerary looks like it was done by mistake by a drunk sorority girl planning a semester abroad. How high were the production team members when they concepted AGOURA HILLS -> SAN ANTONIO -> IRELAND.
Real quick. Bryce Dallas Howard or Jessica Chastain?
Guys, I could hang with the obscure format if the payoff was actually worth it. God, I’ve defended this show through thick and thin. I watched the time you had BRAD FUCKING WOMACK do a second season. You recycled compost and used it as compost.
But as we said in film school… Whatever, I didn’t pay attention. The point is you have ten minutes of content, a gullible Canadian leading lady who is more boring than we thought, and you are stretching this thing out to the point we can see through it like prosciutto from a very, very good butcher.
Unless Gosleech and The Other Guy get in helicopters and battle to the death with missiles and emo-tears, this season is lost.
WE’VE HAD MORE DATES IN IRISH PUBS THAN DATES ON HELICOPTERS.
I don’t think I can remember a season where anything other than the classic, and now much missed, STROLL THROUGH ASIAN MARKET™ have outnumbered helicopter dates.
This season is so messed up, there’s a half-living fetus of a season that exists only in the credits where Britt and a dude we knew for seven minutes of airtime dressed like he’s going to some honky tonk nineties rock ashram are dating and now going long distance.
Dude. SO LONG DISTANCE™. We’re done.
So, since I should try to discuss this episode, Leave it to Beaver did great. He’s a really nice guy who will probably lose, be the next Bachelor and be so damn boring. Look, in real life, date him. Be his friend. Make him drink one too many beers (prolly, what, 4?) and watch him take his shirt off and sing songs from his fraternity bus rides to invites. Great. Can’t wait for New Year’s and a new season. I’d try to OD on something right now just to get out of thinking about it, but all I have is some Whole Foods Cape Cod Trail Mix. Fuck today.
Nick continued being the grossest dude on the planet. I can’t even watch him. He just giggles, whispers, says nothing and plans how he can make dolls out of your hair.
He’s Cool Ethan from Slackers.
Attention is fun girls. So are Oreos until you eat enough of them and you literally can’t even look at the package anymore and then avoid the cookie aisle all together, start seeing a juice cleanse, posting it to Instagram to piss off Oreos and always wonder when Oreos is going to come back and cut your face off and wear it as a hat.
That’s Nick. Know how I know? He told a girl on national television she “made love to him” and then cried and then CAME BACK ON THE SHOW.
I’m pissed at Gosleech too. They wind this dude up on Guinness (because we never leave Ireland ever, it’s like we’re all fucking leprechauns and it’s just NOT ALLOWED™), finally tell him about the gross NickLoveMaking™ and what does he do? Come over in the middle of the day and get into a verbal pillow fight. Nick definitely called his homely best friend girl out there and was like “I totes took him down, so whatever” –
And then the show was like TO BE CONTINUED. I was like I HUNG UP AN HOUR AGO.
I felt bad when Creepin’ Hawke went home. Make him shave and let him be the new Bach. Homeboy was a class act and his only crime was not being the kind of clinger that vaguely looks like Alf and Gosling’s child or the kind that looks like Peter MacNicol.
Or, you know, just find a civilian girlfriend.