O Waddup, 2017. Now that the earth has finished rotating around the sun and we arbitrarily are calling it a new year, everything will be better. Starting with this blog. I’m all in this season, but I need to warn you of a few things before we get started, you start tweeting at me all day asking where my posts are and all the cute things we do as a couple together.
Trump is the president. I am trying to Make This Blog Great Again (#MTBGA) so you don’t have to solely focus on what promises to be THE MOST DRAMATIC SEASON OF AMERICA EVER™. That doesn’t mean from time to time I won’t slip into pointing out the giant burning turd monsters we’re all going to be dealing with. If you supported Trump, that’s okay. You’re more than welcome to enjoy my free content. If you don’t like it, I’m sure there are plenty of hilarious, GOP-alt-right-friendly reality television bloggers in REAL AMERICA™ because Mississippi is known for two things: holding on to the Confederate Flag like the last person at a party who just won’t go home and BLOGS ABOUT WEST-COAST LIBERAL ELITES LIVING IN A MANSION TRYING TO FIND LOVE.
Oh crap. You’re stuck with me. Like we’re stuck with Trump.
The first episode is always the worst. We’re treated to some staples of the show, all of which are less fun than what comes later.
We start this time, like we start every time, with a Nick-retrospective. This is Nick’s public rehab tour and the first thing we have to do I get him to never-ever talk or appear in public. But that would make for bad TV, so they decided just to coach him up. It’s sort of like when Chris Columbus was directing the first Harry Potter movie and he’d literally just say every line to the young actors exactly how they are supposed to say it and with the perfect facial expressions and then tell them, “Don’t act, just mimic what I did.”
What I’m saying is Elan Gale or someone is sitting in front of Nick being like, “If I get knocked down, I’ll get up and show everyone my true self.” I’ve seen Nick’s true self. It’s on his Instagram. He’s shirtless. He’s a shirtless “software salesman” who is shirtless with ten other shirtless folks at Chicago nightclubs. He’s a man who posts pictures of himself like this:
Kudos on not eating carbs and what I assume is a pretty good pilates regime. But, when people tell Nick to go eff himself, he’s like, obviously, what else would I eff? Take the lower left photo. Outside of a 25 year old, pre-metabolism girl taking an “I’m thinking, but mainly about how fun I am” staring off to the side photo on a daddy-sponsored beach vacay, who takes this shot?
Actually, what guy have you ever met that created a five photo montage, pic-stitch of themselves? Did you like that guy? I don’t either.
Look. I think the person deep inside Nick is probably solid, but his family is super religious and he’s constructed some kind of effeminate playboy image that he thinks pleases them. Which is weird because how is that what pleases a 37 person family is Waushcheecadka, Wherever USA?
Be yourself, Nick. Like you almost were on Bachelor in Paradise. I got your back.
Wow, Elan Gale is good. He got me to say it. Shit. I’m brainwashed NICK I LOVE YOU TAKE YOUR SHIRT OFF. My wife just closed the browser.
Speaking of his oddly religious family (oddly because Trump proved God moved on to another planet already), kudos ABC for only showing 5 or 6 of them and mainly just Bella, who seems like a good kid. As they moved through Nick’s varying “suit game” – which I interpreted as the many personalities he’s tried on over the years to feel accepted – his dad asked if one look was a “vampire thing.” For clarity, naming your daughter Bella in the Twilight Era is the most vampire thing you can do short of actually drinking another human’s blood.
LEAVE NICK ALONE RELIGIOUS FAMILY. HE LOVES YOU.
Anyway. Nick, like all broken men who want to be the Bachelor, is afraid he won’t find love. After coming in second to so many men on this show, you start to break down what happens. The question I ask is what is happening when he sleeps with women? I’ve never seen someone succeed so often in conversation-leading-to-coitus or (CpC in advanced metrics, write that down) with such a terrible Deal Sealing Fail Rate (DSF/R).
He mostly nails private convos with girls. He’s mastered being something between the Backstreet Boy they grew up fantasizing about (maybe it’s One Direction now) and their female best friend they listened to the Backstreet Boys with (maybe it’s One Direction now).
Then, the girls sleep with him and decide it’s not a forever type of thing. Which is very ungirl after finding the unlikely mix of sensitive guy with a ripped body who also is kind of a dick. See my point? What isn’t adding up? That is literally the 3 part recipe for MILLENIAL GIRL HEROIN™ (maybe it’s Molly now).
They did the awful scene where they have Nick meet up with former Bachelors for advice. This was the bottom of the barrel. Ben is a child who couldn’t make it work with an Oregonian flight attendant, a human who comes from a state known for politeness in a profession requiring you to deal with turbulence and assholes simultaneously while trapped in the air. Oh, and she won’t eat a carb unless she gets the stomach flu.
They brought out Chris Soules, who’s back to being Fat McConnaughey and still has no personality. The fact he did the show to drum up promotion for his hardcore Trump-style land-takeover business makes him even worse. Chris Harrison said this show is a journey to find love, not land ripe for fracking. The only fracking this show allows is in the fantasy suite. My wife just closed the browser.
Then there’s Sean Lowe (Strawberry Lemonade), who at this point looks like a Westworld robot somewhere between being in milk form and human form. I commend him for getting married and having a kid. I just don’t know if that’s because Jesus told him to (personally) or he means it. Still, I’m leaving him alone, because unlike the other two cowards “pretending” to drink whiskey, he finished his glass.
BTW, they were at Bogie’s, which is in my hometown. It was voted the Conejo Valley’s Best Spot To Hook Up With Your Friend’s Newly Divorced Mother Now That You’re An Adult While Santana’s “Smooth” Is Playing. When I bought a house out there before moving to Portland, I tried to take my wife, but it became obvious we were both going to end up swingers by the end of the nights. My wife just closed the browser a record third time.
Side note, snuck into the Golden Globes once and smoked a cigarette with Stiffler’s Mom and the lady who wrote My Big Fat Greek Wedding. They were lovely. We just smoked and talked shit about Diane Lane who “doesn’t eat.” I thought it was a brutal, rockin’ takedown and they are perfect.
I’m just gonna cover girls I remembered because it’s frankly too damn early to care.
- The first-impression rose recipient who’s a litigator, LOVES VACUUMING and most be broken in some way if she is on this show.
- The Canadian Italian French special needs teacher (bacon must be confusing in that house) who seems great so she must be broken in some way if she’s on this show.
- The girl from Secaucus (read, the train station in NJ where you transfer trains trying to get to your family in better parts of NJ while you are staying in NYC and don’t want to pay 232 dollars for an Uber in 2 hours of traffic) who dresses like a shark and claims to be a dolphin.
- The girl who slept with Nick and didn’t give him her number (read my previous explanation of what happens when girls sleep with Nick) and then lost 30 pounds and her fucking mind and now wants another round, but not of pastries. She’s past that.
- TEETHY, who wore yellow and thought it was SO WEIRD™ that she had a fan. Um.
- The Golden State Warriors cheerleader who brought Neil Lane’s botox-reanimated-latex face with her on day one.
- The 1990s Love Interest girl who said she wasn’t wearing underwear and when she smiles it’s like A LITTLE TOO BIG and you wonder WHAT’S WRONG THERE.
- IVANKA TRUMP, the horrible bacon-wrapped-turd who speaks in the third person, runs a “multi million dollar business” and has a nanny who brings her cucumber snacks. Please bring back MESA VERDE and CHAD and lock her in a room with them. Spin off. Bachelor in Horror-dise. I’m in.
- Other people who are probably totally broken in a really bad way that we’ll all exploit while drinking wine (bourbon for me).
Well, Nick. You got what you told your parents you wanted. A bunch of weird girls virtually guaranteed to pick you first. Hope you stopped doing whatever that thing you’re doing in bed is. Stop reading Cosmo for male sex advice. It’s not something you can reverse engineer.
I got your back. Make this season great.
One other piece of housekeeping. Have a quick read Trojans – or people who don’t feel like going back to working yet!
I’m CLINICALLY LIT™ that my USC Trojans won the Rose Bowl last night, effectively ending the original purpose of this blog, which was to be a propaganda machine to combat the NCAA sanctions handed to USC for “not knowing Reggie Bush (the one who dated Kim Kardashian) and his parents took money from a guy who wanted to be an agent.” Last night, USC beat Penn State, another team who was sanctioned, but managed to get their penalties lessened – even though they got in trouble for three decades of covering up 30+ cases of child abuse that happened on campus in team facilities at a state school with tax payer money.
Just because I have a large readership, I want to point out that there’s a big difference between Penn State and USC. Or Miami (who did some pretty gnarly stuff). Penn State put business/football ahead of morality and good judgement. I know people love their schools. I know we want to fight against people who point out that we’re wrong. But Penn State covered up something really bad for a long time and their excuses are terrible. Especially that the current players and coaches and administration “had nothing to do with it.”
I object to Penn State having a football team the way you’d object to your meth-addict child having meth. It’s the bad influence causing you to make really heinous decisions. I’d buy the argument “it’s all new people” if you had the courage to shut your program down for four years and hit the restart button. Maybe then we’d pull for you or admire your team. You have to actually repent to be forgiven.
Until that point, rooting for Penn State football sort of feels like seeing the movie Spotlight and rooting for the Catholic Church. Sorry.