Oh, hi. For those of you coming for the USC End of Sanctions post, click here. For those of you here for the right reasons, let’s BachCap:
Chris Harrison stared into the mirror. His face implant looked great. Better than great, better than he expected. When a Cuban surgeon suggested over Cohibas and Guatemalan rum that he could have a more youthful version of his current face 3D printed on baby calfskin and grafted onto skull, he could hardly believe it. Still, he took the man’s number in his 24K gold iPhone case designed by his personal slave Neil Lane and often debated using his untraceable server to call the surgeon. He figured maybe he should get it done now before Trump rescinded passage to Cuba and his chance for a new face was gone.
Looking in the mirror this morning, the results spoke for themselves. Already handsome before, no one would even know he’d undergone a procedure. But he did. Confidence came from within, and also from his standard week two breakfast, a modification of Hunter S. Thompson’s menu del día: Half a cantaloupe drizzled with rum, chicory coffee flown in from New Orleans and served black, a rasher of Kobe bacon (hard for even him to get as it comes from pigs owned by Kobe Bryant) and one double-wide line of cocaine.
Elan Gale came to tell him it was time to start week two. For a moment, the familiar nerves returned, but that might have been the blow. Or the coffee. He knew what America knew. Anything he said to these “women” would be received much the same way a merle-colored labradoodle would be received by a middle-school sleepover. Reactions of shock, glee, surprise and delight and the total lack of impulse control followed anything he said. At the bottom of the bottle, he often fantasized about writing on a date card, “Tonight, one of you dies, one of you gets extra time with Nick.” He already knew they would do this.
“Chris, it’s time.”
“Right, Elan. It is. What exact time is it?”
“How long have they been drinking?”
“They haven’t stopped.”
“Right. Perfect. Thanks.”
“Your face. It’s beautiful.”
“We said we’d never speak of it. [long pause] But, thank you.”
The first tear Chris Harrison was able to produce with his new face rolled down his cheek and he bottled it. He locked it in a safe in his house and told no one.
But I know about it. If there was a movie about my own life, and there should be, it would be like Indiana Jones and I would go on a quest for that one, bottled tear. It cures cancers, but it also produces the most intense chemical high possible. What would I choose? The fate of the world or to truly understand the feeling of being Chris Harrison, my lifelong hero, a man who stands on the winner’s podium of my influences along with Prefontaine, Rick Steves, Gordon Ramsey (pre-2008) and Corey Seager.
Oh, shit. You wanted me to talk about the parts of the show they filmed. Fine. MY WIFE CLOSED THE BROWSER FIVE MINUTES AGO BUT NOW SHE’S DELETING MY NETFLIX ACCOUNT INEXPLICABLY.
Chris Harrison tells the women that it’s time to get down to business and maybe it was the dragon blood talking, but he said that it’s “physically impossible” for Nick to get dates with everyone. But I think he just meant logistically. Or maybe it was because they could physically only fit so many people into the awful Tom’s Natural Toothpaste colored Buick Whatever-The-Fucks some media exec sold through.
They looked like three Tic Tacs rolling through Kanan Canyon. Those cars were an ad for a midlife crisis. They made me want to buy a Porsche RIGHT NOW™.
These minty suppositories were heading for the Getty Villa and Franco Lacosta, who is my personal spirit animal. One part partyboy™, one part West Hollywood safari guide, one part fernet branca and two parts 70s cop, this man is a national treasure. Literally, he’s Puerto Rican so we get to count him! Also, he’s got less instagram followers than I do. Fix it, America. Tell ’em the Bearfighter sent you.
Nick talks like he is secretly hiding a tongue ring from his family. I dub thee – SECRET TONGUE RINGER™. Secret-T is way too stoked for this photo shoot. He’s wearing a metallic tux with no buttons. He’s not looking at the naked women, instead mugging for the camera like a toddler who knows they’re cute.
It’s weird. He’s the bachelor, but he doesn’t feel like he’s in the show at all. He was a great villain. He’s just sort of a meat-filled humanoid going through the motions on this show. I kind of want him to let the cat out. Show those claws, Nick!
Dolphin Shark is made to dress like “shotgun bride” – which just means pregnant. Having the girl from New Jersey do this is racist against New Jerseyans if being New Jerseyan was a race. (editor’s note, I lived there until 3rd grade and that explains a lot). She’s up there with my favorites, especially when she celebrated her boobs’ birthday with two flesh-colored cupcakes.
Ivanka managed to get drunk by 7am and go full a-hole on everyone. The Girl With The Heart Tattoo who is Two Inches From Crazy thinks Ivanka would be a bad person to bring home to parents. But like, you put the most generic tattoo in the least generic place. I want to know how it happened and why. What’s the statement? You’re pro-love? You wear your heart on your heart? I’m fucking lost.
What else, oh. Brittany makes a whole big deal about how small the bikini bottoms she’s been given are and then comes out looking aces. I’m guessing central casting had clocked that ass from before she got there. Good for her because it pisses off Ivanka, causes her to drink more and then awkwardly go topless in the pool while Nick keeps going “ewwwww” although in this case I agree.
Ivanka at one point at night is bragging about how no other man will ever hold her boobs – her nanny is a woman so her adjusting her bra for her in the morning doesn’t count. She says something like, “He’s the first, first, first person I’m falling, falling, falling, falling in love, love, love.” Holy shit. Shut shut shut shut up up up up now now now.
She gets so drunk while stealing Nick (can Nick be stolen?) she says, “I think the world to him.” I am sure I know the two things her brain is trying to say.
Look, more and more I’m convinced the “multi-million dollar business” she runs for her Dad is just like, The Sims or something. Like, her Dad put The Sims on and was like, “keep them alive and we make millions” and that’s what she does all day, staring at the ocean and forcing a nice lady to cut cucumbers for her.
Someone else mentioned “getting naked is the most romantic thing ever.” I dunno. My last physical wasn’t romantic.
Ivanka gets the rose, mainly because of the success of crime dramas at the Golden Globes and they want a murder at the mansion. Speaking of mansion, this cool thing from Trulia let’s you tour the mansion in my hometown. I was not paid to say this. I just like it. Also, probably a solid investment for an IVF clinic. Plenty of specimens in that pool alone.
Oh yeah. Taylor, who is NO WAY A PSYCHOLOGIST™, tells Nick she loves how he does this thing where he has a thought and goes with it. Jesus. You’re describing being alive.
Danielle had a date with Nick and the only thing I remember was the relief on Nick’s face when she told him her ex died of an overdose and thinking man, he just wants to be on TV and got relieved he could just be nice and talk instead of trying to figure out how to turn on all of America at once and be everything his family and the producers expect all while selling software and working out and waxing and holy-shit-I-need-a-psychologist-that-isn’t-Taylor.
The last date is mainly about Crazy Ex Girlfriend (great show) and her giant-ass back tattoo planting the fact she slept with Nick to Christen, who is a Powder Puff Girl that de-animated and grew up. The time bomb is set. They go to the museum of breakups which apparently is a thing and we’re meant to believe Neil Lane left a five-figure ring there for art. Nice try. Also, Nick, no one cares or remembers.
They do a bunch of fake break ups, whatever whatever. Eventually, Crazy Ex Girlfriend just alludes to the whole thing in her scripted breakup and then Nick dumps her like third period French. Which is fine because she was probably going to peel his skin off eventually and make one of those ugly doctor evil cats out of it. Like it doll form.
Shit, I’m talking about skin peeling a lot today. My wife just closed the browser.
And I’m spent. See you next week.