Final BachCap

Wow.  Did we have one of Bachelor’s finest moments?  Did we waste more of our lives?  Where do we go from here?

I don’t know, but I know tomorrow is all sunshine and college football.  I’ve survived my 6th season (I think?) and we’re going out with a bang.  Unlike the fantasy suites which were more like “high school dance” suites.

This episode was strange.  The live element is always confusing.  Harrison keeps us waiting and continues interviewing women from the Island of Misplaced Singles who ranged from clingers, to people-who-are-glad-Palmolive-moisturizes-hands-while-you-scrub-pots to just lonely ass people who would rather live in someone else’s surreal life than their own existence.  What is the test they give you to be in the studio audience and where can I get a copy?

Sample questions:

1.  Have you ever cried in public because you thought you knew how a bird was feeling?
2.  Pink highlighter is perfect as a substitute for blush.  True or False?
3.  You consider Sean and Des your first breakup.
4.  Favorite Twilight novel?
5.  Have you had sex with your middle age husband in the last 4 years?
6.  Do your group of friends totally think you are the Zooey Deschanel of the group?

Or you could just be that weird ass dude in a blue satin shirt who snuck in possibly as the ass of a two person horse costume.  What the fuck.

On the island, Des looks like a Big Stick popsicle as she cries, alternating between red and yellow as she cannot get over the part of her uterus that makes her love chasing a man who at best doesn’t like girls and at worst doesn’t like her specifically.

She wants to go home.  She can’t go on.  How can life ever be the same now that a man who never claimed to love you admitted he didn’t love you?

Even scarier, somewhere on that island is your brother who is stalking jungle cats and planning to kill them with a switchblade.

Des still has dates to go on thanks to Chris Harrison giving her some MDMA and she makes a duck face in the mirror putting on her big stick makeup and then jumps on a horse, riding it like she is keeping carrots in her ass in case the horse gets hungry.  I’ve seen cowboys that lost their farm look happier on a horse than she did.

She gets to Valerie Kilmer who found a way to wear two pastels and also sported the best sweat stain of the season across his chest.  It was a total Harry Potter Voldemort lightning bolt sweat.  Or just a jagged wound from where Des ripped his heart out.

They rode horses with carrots up their asses down to a beach where Drew didn’t last 15 minutes before getting gutted like a luau pig.  He was all “I don’t know” so many times in a row that it was the total opposite of this classic song by Bill Withers.

He tries so hard to cry, but I feel like he was relieved because, like I said, this really good guy that I’d be proud to get a beer with doesn’t seem to like girls.  He tried to cry so hard.  It was amazing.  He was like cancer, dead puppies, dead puppies dead from cancer, famine, James Gandolfini, being late to a rack sale…  NONE OF IT WORKED and after all of it he was rewarded with a ride in a pastel molester van.


Des was getting dressed and crying and you couldn’t help but notice her abs are in top form confirming the best diet is still being constantly dumped.

You notice right away with Middle School Dancer she’s in a good mood.  Like, she might even eat today.  They go on a “private” catamaran with about thirty other people and then drink Planter’s Punch or something cool and then swim and shit.  No helicopters, but she didn’t seem to want to drink Drain-O so I kept wondering what was next, if Brooks would pop out of the kelp and be like “hey” or if Des would try to rub her face on some coral until it hurt more than her heart.

Truthfully, Chris did great.  He was quite a rock and just hung in there and Des was like you are a loyal friend, which killed boners nationwide.  Still, this episode was about Des possibly breaking the convention girls everywhere never can…  COULD SHE PICK A MAN WHO MIGHT ACTUALLY LOVE HER?

It’s so weird because if a girl with a dickhead boyfriend were to ask her friends, they wouldn’t want to be with that guy themselves (unless they secretly hate their friend, in which case watch the throne, bitches).  Your friends always like the cool dude who makes your friend stable, brings wine to parties and will listen to you when you get kicked in the junk by another dude you were chasing.

I was dying to see if Des was going to make a change that’s so, well, un-Bachelorish.

Chris gets to meet the family and he dresses like he’s going to Toast on 3rd with a hangover.  Oh well.

We get to see Des’ brother again, dressed like he escaped a naval jail and he literally is the inspiration for Sean Penn in every film ever.  He looks like he is goating you to fight him all the time.  It was awful to watch Des unenthusiastically endorse Chris who she loves “today” or “in the moment” which totally sets the kill instincts off in her bro.

I honestly am terrified by him.  I wish he was the next bachelor.  It’d be like.  Everyone gets a knife. Whoever can cut themselves the longest gets to get a rose.  Here are your knives.

Regardless, we were getting close to the real deal happening.  Chris gets permission from Des’ father who seemed genuinely just happy to be on an island and not camping or whatever Des used to say her family did to survive.  It’s also hard to concentrate with his murderous son in the bushes holding a machete in his teeth claiming “I have to do this”.  Whatever that means.  I don’t wanna know.

Des clearly was specific with the cushioned cut diamond instructions because Neil Lane (or the plastic skin grafted plastic surgery frankentstein that runs Neil Lane’s company as Neil Lane) shows up to get his annual ring loan out of the way.  Weeks later, he gets it back.  He brings some bombs.  Chris picks one.  Des probably already picked it.

We get to the morning montage and we’re all wondering what’s going to happen and I have to say I was legit surprised.  I mean, Chris goes up there and he’s pretty chill albeit stop talking in poems dude, she’ll eventually consider how to kill you in her sleep and fuck the first surfer she can find.

Then, right at proposal, she stops him and we have that HERE WE GO moment.  She basically is about to talk about Brooks some more but totally turns it around being the first girl on television (and one of eight girls internationally) to ever get over someone they only liked because there was nothing there to go for a guy who will love them probably forever.

It was the most touching ending of the show I can remember.  Des even seemed happy on the after show, handling Brooks, whining from Valerie Kilmer and all the rest.  The only time I think she cringed was when Chris gave her a bunch of roses he hand framed with ANOTHER POEM JESUS! and I realized he has a lot in common with all my high school girlfriends.  Who keeps roses past prom?

Des is off into the sunset and so am I.  It was a pleasing end…  UNTIL WE WENT DIRECTLY TO PLEASURETOWN…

Juan fucking Pablo is the new bachelor.  My job is so easy.  For 6 seasons I’ve been calling dates Juan on Juans.  He is a walking sex bomb who will using Camila (Cah mee lah) for an aphrodisiac and this man will take every helicopter, rappelling trip, etc he can.

I am totally ready for January, I think it may be my finest work.

To my readers who may leave me now, may I thank you for another fun season.  I love messing with you guys and it’s a real treat in the football offseason.  This winter, I plan to write about some things beyond sports, so please don’t shut me out completely.  You have to accept this rose.

I’ll miss you, but you know where to find me.  I, for Juan, look forward to our next meeting.






Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

BachCap Week Nine

I can only imagine the experimental drugs Chris Harrison stole from a lab and combined with a 90s dance party’s worth of Molly to come up with the idea of calling this week and next week “a two part finale”.

I know ONE big thing happened, but really, nothing happened and venom coursed through my veins overtaking the bourbon like our troops on D-Day as I watched.  There were at least three segments separated by commercials where it was just the same shot of Lady Tom Brady holding his graying hair (we caught you) and crying with the saddest girl in the history of Antigua (and I am sure in the pirate era there were some pretty downtrodden pirate wenches if you’ve ever watched any of the classic true stories of the Spanish Main “Pirates of the Caribbean”.

But I should try to go in order as we reach our final two BachCaps before the powers that guide my fingers and make me hell with a pen release me to write about football, playoff run baseball and pretty much anything I want until Brooks, Juan Pablo or Zak end up the Bachelor starting in January, conveniently when college football ends.  It’s almost summer vacation for me.

So, let’s BachCap like we did last summer…


We started off with a montage that basically reminded us how totally shitty her choices are.  This is like choosing between an arraigned marriage with a man who is not physically attracted to you, another guy just like the first one, a dude who writes bad poems and puts condoms up his nose with his dad or drowning yourself in the ocean.

Actually, that’s exactly what her choices are.  Fuck.  Your life seems better in comparison, doesn’t it.  That’s why we watch this shit in the first place, right?

First date goes to Valerie Kilmer and Bargain Bach can’t stop talking about how hot he is kind of like we can’t stop talking about his insistence on pink shirts and not being sexually attracted to women.  Instead of a fun adventure date, ABC pulled out all the stops and just let Des spend up to 18 US dollars at some markets with some more fucking street musicians.  I know this is a cool spot in Antigua, I was going to go there and this is cool place to watch sunset.  But there’s also a casino and James Bond was probably at it, maybe even having sex with a model and murdering a terrorist.  Which would you choose?  If you are ABC, don’t answer.

All I could stare at was that Val is a total toe walker.  I was afraid he would fall off a cliff the whole time until I realized that actually might raise the bar this season of vague markets, cheap dates and being places for the right reasons, which despite being the mantra we’ve all endured hearing, no one seems to be except the nose condom guy from Oregon.


Valerie keeps saying that he is falling more and more in love with Des which leads me to believe he read The Secret, so if he just keeps saying he loves her over and over, maybe he will.  But Drew, set yourself free.  Love who you want.  We love you no matter what.

ABC was too cheap for an alternate plan so when their date was rained on, they went straight to the fantasy suite (FAHN TAH SEE SWEETSSS) where they got to read Chris Harrison’s note asking if they wanted to go to the fantasy suite, which they were already fucking in.


But that’s fine, skip dinner folks, go right to dessert.  Drew says he wants to spend the rest of his life with Des which was way more than was offered on the fantasy suite card.  That was one night offer.  They say why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free.  Drew’s like I’LL BUY THE FARM AND I DON’T EVEN DRINK MILK!!!


They did a whole “it’s hot in here” fake out like these two were going to make out, but as soon as the cameras left, they were like “holy shit, let’s look at pictures of Ryan Gosling and paint each others’ nails”……

Meanwhile in Boise…  What?  ABC, who won’t spend a fucking dime on Desiree, flew Lady Tom Brady out to see his plastic mountain sister and his mom so he could further explain he doesn’t like girls, and of all the girls he could like, Des is especially not that girl.

This magically becomes eight minutes of television.  I ate two Zanax, three bourbons and a box of chocolate in that time frame.  Didn’t help.

Back in the Spanish Main, HELICOOOOPTEEEERRRRR!!!!!!!!!


Middle School Dancer (Nose Condom) goes on a helicopter ride with Des to some deserted stretch of beach where they, FUCKING SURPRISE, read poems, draw poems in sand, because, you know, poems.

Chris is like bitch you need to move to Seattle and Des is off-camera like “I’m always sacrificing for relationships” and then on camera she’s like “fuck, sure, Seattle, I’m down” proving she has learned nothing at all.

Chris accepts the fantasy suite offer with “no expectations” (way to friend zone it, dude) and says he wants to watch the stars or maybe rent Identity Theft on Pay Per View.  Then there’s like another poem that’s more like just a letter he felt like reading slowly with long pauses.  He paused for a second when explaining he is doing a poem and I could tell her was thinking a poem was a horrible call.  Didn’t seem to stop him.

They make out to the first song ABC could afford to buy the rights to.

Des puts on her ultimate slut outfit for what should be her date with Lady Tom Brady.  She was showing abs, she was in makeup.  She was going to throw down.

Meanwhile, Brooks is with Chris Harrison explaining that HE’S OUT.  Not of the closet, but he’s not going to get with Des, even though Chris is basically saying “eat this ecstasy, give her a test drive, maybe you’ll like it”.  He’s like I CAN’T AND MY HAIR IS GREYING AS WE SPEAK AND IT SUCKS.


Brooks is either afraid of finally having to hook up with a girl or he’s the first real human on this show in history who simply doesn’t want to just say I DO after 9 weeks of freak dating.

They go to a dock and the breakup hour is initiated.  It seriously never fucking ends and I hated it.  Watching two people cry over nothing when they could be banging down in the ocean or riding dolphins or pretty much anything is a bad high.  It’s a low.

Brooks is like “I was ready to get married to someone else before” and I’m like “but gay marriage isn’t legal in Utah yet.  Brooks asks to be friends and Des just cries way more and pleads and through all of it, she looked pretty hot.  She should have puked and rallied here.

Then she goes into “EVERY GIRL YOU KNOW” mode and says she didn’t see the signs even though the last five weeks of this show have been about Brooks not wanting to say he loves her.  THOSE ARE SIGNS, BITCH.

Then she goes for the hail mary and says “I DON’T CARE I LOVE YOU ANYWAY” and Susan B. Anthony reanimated and killed herself.

Conspiracy theory…  Her stylists totally used waterproof mascara otherwise how on earth did she not look like a melting purple ice cream cone.

Total Joey Potter dock crying session.  Then Brooks cried.  If you thought THAT was crying, wait til he tells Drew he’s going home.

Til next week.






Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

BachCap Week Late (Eight) Minus Men Tell All

So let’s clear the air, once or twice a year I have a medical trip or a business trip or I generally am two hungover to attempt to bring you the high quality of free entertainment that I typically peddle here.  Two of these three things happened over the last week, I’ll let you guess and the result was no Week Eighter, but I am amending that today.

It’s not going to be as accurate as a week ago when I watched the show, but look, what’s important is that we need to get this fucking ship on track for next week, usually the best week of the season, the fantasy suite dates where American humans are pitted in battle, forced to accept sex for approval, just like in high school.

I attempted to watch Smedium Tells All last night but I realized I’d rather just watch any show on Bravo about someone who redesigns homes or flips homes or something with decorating because it would be the same thing.  I do not care what these guys are up to, I don’t care if they drink Drain-O and expose themselves to a Kindergarten class, I don’t care if they dip their junk in honey and run pants down through a bear’s den.

Sometimes I’ll recap the episode, but I just didn’t need to recap any catty behavior that came from their ridiculous world-bitching tour.  I just can’t.  I’ll watch after the final rose to see who the next Bachelor is for next year, but I’m reaching my quota.

I want to talk hometown dates.  Desiree managed to end up with a man who is secretly fifty years old, a guy who communicates in poetry and two guys that don’t like girls, one of which is possibly in a religious cult.

Let’s take a quick look back, starting with everyone’s favorite “drill fluid engineer” Secretly 50.  By the way, a drill fluid engineer is the kind of thing I’d tell a teenager I do to make them giggle.


After the standard “we’re in Dallas, let’s jog to each other like we have tampons in our butts” greeting, Zak sat down to tell Bargain Bach that his family is crazy and proceeded to let them off the hook by trying to explain some weird fucking dream about them melting in the heat and then it snows, basically the kind of shit the Silence of the Lambs guy said to the girl in the hole while he made her rub lotion all over herself.  Unless your dream is terrifying or cute, shoot yourself in the face to prevent you from telling this tale.  If your dream is creepy, it reads: “MY MIND IS FUCKED UP”.  Just a tip from all of us at Whole Foods.

Zak vanishes and returns as a reject from the Ice Capades version of Happy Feet Two, dressed as a dick head penguin, which totally seems normal for him:  RED FLAG.  He explains that beyond drill fluid, he enjoys serving snocones to children in a truck and that’s not pedobear at all…

But, Des does her signature dislocated jaw from silliness laugh and off they are to a school to serve kids shaved ice.  She feigns that she’s stoked for a life of goofiness with Zak, but what she’s really saying is that she’s too nice to admit this might be chloroform territory.  She totally had her finger on the pepper spray the entire time.  It’s a miracle no kids got a pepper cone.

Also, WTF with this truck.  Since when do kids get to pick out what goes on a snow cone?  Self serve?  If you’ve ever been in a 7-11 with a kid at the soda fountain, you know it’s a bad idea to let them do it themselves.  Also, I hate that you feed syrup into the machine at crotch lever and it dispenses at face level to children.  Maybe I’m reading into it too much.  MAYBE YOU AREN’T READING INTO IT ENOUGH.

Des says the Penguin is her boyfriend and that’s far from the worst realization she’d have if she ended up with Secretly 50.

Zak’s sister seemed hotter and smarter than Des and I’ve seen some ladybloggers say the same about his brother.  All I know is that these people had more art on their walls than a serial killer in a barn and that they sang.  Also, if memory serves, his mother cut her bangs by jamming her head in a woodchipper.

He then went to lost boy creep town by hooking up a ring he bought way, way, way before it made any sense he could possibly be her choice, so that creeped me out.  I met you on the subway and I bought a ring on the offchance I ever see you again and we decide to have sex professionally.  Stage five.

Next date was with Valerie Kilmer who looked dressed for a fun day of shopping with his straight best girl friend.  His hair was perfect, he had a killer pink top on and he met her at a mall.  Frankly, most of my gay friends don’t even plan hangouts like that.  I mean, we go drink and eat food.  Watching him kiss her was like watching a little kid find out he doesn’t hate brussels sprouts.  Like, the first one didn’t kill him, the second one was okay and then the release of fear turned him on.

He talked about his family forever, I got bored, thought about going to the bathroom, then felt like an asshole when he was really sweet with his mentally challenged sister, which I will not cover because he was very kind to her and I limit my picking on him to his clear sexual confusion.

Meeting his family was interesting because I couldn’t figure out who the alcoholic dad was, but could only assume it was “Mal” who wore a pink checkered shirt and had that “TALKING ABOUT JESUS AND ANGELS” thing going on that most people get addicted to when they stop being addicted to fun stuff like drinking and driving their cars into trees.


Later, outside, Valerie Kilmer was like I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU.  All that was missing was the Titanic or and empty bottle of rose and the end credits of How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days.  I had to eat three steaks and blow a line of sawdust to be able to get to the next date…

IN OREGON!  Where I was at the time they filmed this.  They did a nice establishing shot of Portland before cutting way the fuck south to McMinneville which I immediately confused for McMenamins, a chain of PDX boozeries including Kennedy School, which is just a school you can get fucked up in.

Despite his poetry writing, Middle School Dancer was the best choice, but the ABC hit squad decided to ruin that one.  As cute as the baseball date was (minus where Des doesn’t that “holy wow I did it” open mouth smile that I could only make if someone checked my prostate by surprise with a zucchini – my wife just closed the browser), the day went to shit when they went to his house where his family moped around acting like rejects from a Wes Anderson film until the dad took the taco.

The chiropractor took Des downstairs to give her an adjustment which basically just meant feeling her up and potentially breaking her neck in a creepy wood-paneled office that is built into his house and had creepy ass posters in all the rooms.  Like, if I wanted to get raped and murdered, I’d want it to happen there just so the movie rights would be valuable because this creepiness spoke for itself.  This really came in second only to the taxidermy guy that one year who’s dad had a freezer of dead wildlife.


I thought that was going to be it, but then he took Middle School Dancer downstairs and did “the nose adjustment” which to untrained eyes looked like using a syringe to shove a ribbed condom deep into your nasal cavity, setting it to vibrate and then having your dad break your nose to release a flow of snot that ABC shot from the worst possible angle.

Whoever at ABC got this kid to commit TV suicide by doing this, you’re doing it right.


Finally, we travelled to the polygamist compound of Lady Tom Brady who wore his cardigan no less than five ways in the 20 minute segment.  He had a million family members, they drank from opaque glasses that prevented me from knowing if they boozed and they wore name tags.  I honestly thought they were going to break out into a choreographed play about drugs and their effect of families.

They just seemed like the rest of the Romney family that didn’t fit in the frame at political events.

The whole Brooks not loving Des and Des loving Brooks thing is solid proof of one thing.  It’s solid proof that ANYONE who tells a girl they aren’t sure if they love her will cause her to love him regardless of what he looks like, acts like, his sexual preference, size of his creepy family, etc.  She is in love with not being loved which is called self loathing.  Fear and Self Loathing in Salt Vegas.

Des ended up heading home and cutting the head off of Secretly 50, which revealed fifty rings inside confirming his age.  You know.  Like trees.  You never expect the muppets.



GUESS WHAT.  Next week is FAHN TAH SEE SWEEETSS!  Or fantasy suites.  Forced sex.  On TV. HUNGER GAMES, BITCH.  I feel spry.  I feel wiry.  Let’s dance, douchebags.






Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

Hate Mail from a Puig Hater (UPDATED!)


It’s been so long since I have gotten to do this, I almost feel like I am going back to my roots.  Here’s where I post some hate mail regarding my Puig blog and and then I annotate it in bold.  Let’s play.

Wow. There is such a wealth of ignorance demonstrated in this article, I don’t even know where to start. If I did try, it would take me a good two weeks to completely outline everything that’s wrong here. You speak as a band wagon fan who has never experienced baseball from a player’s perspective, nor has any understanding of baseball history or tradition.
Puig is an amazing talent… who is extremely raw, and extremely immature. He’s young, and he’ll learn, but the criticism coming from current and former players is not unfounded and certainly not out of jealousy… or racism (and wow… I can’t believe you even suggested that)… but rather out of a great respect for their sport, their peers, and their predecessors, and a strong desire to see a raw talent like Puig learn to show similar respect.

Wow. There is such a wealth of ignorance demonstrated in this article, I don’t even know where to start. (But you are going to anyway…)  If I did try, (oh, god, you are going to aren’t you) it would take me a good two weeks (how can you be sure the weeks would be good) to completely outline everything that’s wrong here (okay so two weeks for the outline, how long for the actual response, shouldn’t take long now that you have the outline). You speak as a band wagon fan (20 year fan, 10 year season ticket holder, you missed that part, but in fairness you did say it would take you two weeks to analyze my post.  How long does it take you to wipe?) who has never experienced baseball from a player’s perspective (I played through high school in California), nor has any understanding of baseball history or tradition (should I watch that Ken Burns documentary for the tenth time before I respond to your rarified opinion?).

Puig is an amazing talent… who is extremely raw, and extremely immature (I think you need to wrangle your language.  Extreme immaturity sounds more like wiping your ass on someone’s drapes). He’s young, and he’ll learn, but the criticism coming from current and former players is not unfounded and certainly not out of jealousy (yeah, why would the rest of the league be jealous of a rookie who gets this much attention after a month in the show, that seems far fetched… You were the guy shocked at the end of every Scooby Doo, right?)… or racism (and wow… I can’t believe you even suggested that) (did you listen to the DBacks announcers?  Are you aware of Arizona’s policy on immigrants?  It would take me two weeks to outline… no, it wouldn’t)… but rather out of a great respect for their sport (yes, my little league coaches taught me to throw at a players face and then bitch about a him while our team was getting swept.  It’s called being a sore sport.  Check Kirk Gibson’s quotes on the matter.  He likes what he sees.  So does Mattingly, both more celebrated than Papelbon, Kennedy, Montero, Gonzo or anyone else chirping), their peers, and their predecessors, and a strong desire to see a raw talent like Puig learn to show similar respect.  (Based on the reaction to Puig, the Dodgers ascent up the standings, I think you will need the rest of your two weeks to explain how jealousy sounds less accurate than “a strong desire to see a raw talent like Puig learn to show similar respect.  When I hear Montero talk, it’s not actually constructive.  It’s a warning, but he’s already been hit in the face by the DBacks, so, I guess he can rest easy.).

Look up Montero and Trevor Bauer.  Hell, look up Montero’s history in general.  Look up the reports showing the Gonzo incident was basically a media fabrication.  Puig isn’t good at all with the media, but the rest of baseball is breaking this “baseball code” you  cite but do not understand.  He’s been in a brawl, he’s been thrown at, he’s constantly critiqued… Still hitting near .400.  The league tries to regulate, but if his production is good, the league has to eat it.  Or at least treat him like Bryce Harper who is gets celebrated for “that’s a clown question, bro”, which is textbook PR perfection.  Please.  

Watch Torii Hunter’s response to the exchange of throwing at players in the Tigers/White Sox game yesterday.  The “code” is if you throw at someone, you get thrown at.  Puig has been thrown at, he didn’t back off.  If they want to throw at him again, by all means, but then who’s the bastian of respect and tradition.  What exactly has been Puig’s reaction to Kennedy?  Kennedy hit him in the face and and then talked shit about him.  

Shit, that probably makes your 2 week assignment more like 3 or 4.  Tell you what, I’ll take two weeks to outline what you should outline, and then you can delight my readers with a five paragraph essay on your blog, which to my knowledge does not exist.  We’re stoked.


Homeboy came back.  Here’s another…

It’d be a waste of my time. Frankly, I don’t care if you believe me or not… if you want to verify my point of view, go research it yourself. Do your own thinking. I have no time to argue some guy’s blog post point by point, hence the reason I said it’d take me “two weeks” (intending to convey, too long to bother). Someone forwarded this article to me, I read it, and decided to briefly respond as I found it to be short sighted and poorly presented. That’s all I have to say. Disagree if you please. I couldn’t care less.

It’d be a waste of my time. (But coming back hours later and writing another paragraph isn’t a waste of your time?  Can your time even be wasted?)  Frankly, I don’t care if you believe me or not… (He doth protest too much. When I don’t care, I don’t comment) if you want to verify my point of view, go research it yourself. (I know you don’t know what you are talking about, no research necessary) Do your own thinking. (I did.  I wrote a post on my blog that you are reading and now commenting a second time in one day on.)  I have no time to argue some guy’s blog post point by point (yet, here you are…again), hence the reason I said it’d take me “two weeks” (intending to convey, too long to bother) (Why is it when someone is losing a verbal altercation they start to try using fancy words like “hence” or telling me what you “intended to convey”). Someone forwarded this article to me, I read it, and decided to briefly respond as I found it to be short sighted and poorly presented. (Thank you for your unsolicited opinion that you’ve now given twice in one day, which you clearly do not have time for.)  That’s all I have to say. (Oh, I doubt it.  You’ll be back.  They always come back.  That’s why I still have this blog)  Disagree if you please. I couldn’t care less.  (If you do care less later, tell me about it in your next comment, probably after you scroll up and discover that I’ve written a whole post about how much time you don’t have to keep coming here.)



Filed under Dodgers

Yasiel Puig and The Hater Army

I think people are having trouble seeing the forest through the trees.

Yasiel Puig, for those living under a rock, is the 22 year old Cuban sensation that has had a beginning to his MLB career so dominating, his measuring stick has been Joe DiMaggio.  The one who got with Marilyn Monroe and did incredible things on the field to the point he is almost founding father-like in the annuls of baseball lore.  He’s baseball George Washington.

It’s been gut-wrenching for me to live in Portland and miss this, my father still has our season tickets and I have not yet seen him play.  I saw the debuts of Clayton Kershaw and Bryce Harper, I’ve seen Mike Trout early on.  There’s not much you miss sitting in those seats that make me homesick more than just about anything else.


The one thing is that now I watch every game on MLB Extra Innings, affording me the “luxury” of hearing opposing teams broadcasters on many occasions.  While not getting to hear Vin every night hurts, I’ve gotten a unique perspective on Puig’s explosion onto the scene.

This perspective has raised a lot of questions, not about Puig, but about why the league is having such a hard time accepting this phenom.  The All Star Game being the catalyst, the series in Arizona being the scene of the crime.

Puig has transformed this Dodger team.  The most expensive collection of talent ever to don a uniform was awful, listless, less chemistry than oil and water.  They didn’t appear to care.  They couldn’t win three in a row.  Worst of all, they were letting their division clown them, literally beat them into submission.

The Dodgers had played reasonably against other divisions, but the NL West had owned them.  That is, until Puig arrived and suddenly, the NL West has tanked and the Dodgers have surged to .500, 1.5 games back on the Diamondbacks, who they just swept violently on the road with two dominating performances and then a soul-crushing 14 inning “fuck you, from us” homer-induced choke out.

The reason the division started tanking is because the division suddenly had games against the new look Los Puigeles Dodgers.

Puig runs with reckless abandon, he attacks pitches in every possible part of the strike zone and beyond.  He will try to throw you out from anywhere regardless of the likelihood of getting you out.  He will run into walls or into the stands without care of injury and frankly he’ll throw the ball just to show you he can.  He will flip his bat and stare at the other team.  He will pound the ground when a diving attempt comes up just short.  He’ll scream and shout and go all out and the result is that suddenly, so are the rest of the Dodgers.  The most expensive team on the planet is finally playing pissed off baseball.

We knew Bruce Bochy wasn’t picking Puig, even though complimenting him might be the only thing that could mellow the pure venom he’s shown in the rivalry so far.  Puig plays like a fan wants him to play.  The league, the announcers, anyone not wearing blue cannot stand it.

I want to look at why and what the result has been.

the picture of class

the picture of class

This all started for me when Phillies closer Jonathan Papelbon decided to rant about how he hadn’t paid his dues or played enough innings yet (despite the fact as a closer, Puig has already played more innings this year than Papelbon).  I couldn’t figure out why this was such a big deal.  I couldn’t figure out why there felt like more venom than when Bryce Harper came up with a punky haircut and the need to flip his helmet off as he ran the bases.  This was an arrogant kid who was embraced.

I tend to want to believe there’s no racist or xenophobic agenda going on because I like to think we live in a world where that shit is on the way out, at least in the mainstream.  John Rocker felt like a long time ago.

Puig is a good teammate.  There’s no way he couldn’t be.  All you have to do is look at the dugout.  Ethier, who often looks like an extra from World War Z out there, is high fiving guys before the game and diving on Puig as the both come around to score.  Kemp is pounding the outfield wall on a catch.  Hanley is somehow now a cheerleader and hitting the ball better than he ever has in his career, frankly, better than even the mighty Puig.

here an "aloof" and "standoffish" Puig signs tons of autographs for people who love him

here an “aloof” and “standoffish” Puig signs tons of autographs for people who love him

So why is he arrogant?  Because he won’t talk to the media?  If you lived in a country with so few freedoms and then probably almost died illegally trying to get away from that country, would you want to talk about that experience?  Or would you play your ass off to ensure you never have to look back?  If you were already guaranteed 42 million dollars, would you play your ass off like Puig?  Probably not.  It’s Clemente-like.  I’m fine with him tossing his glove missing a catch.  I’m thrilled he cares that much.  We’ve tried to give Pete Rose a million chances to get back in the game’s good graces, but two months in Puig is “an enemy” as Bill Plaschke suggested was his new persona around the league.  This country is about hustle and wanting to win.  As a graduate of what I think is a damn fine film school, you may recognize the league’s reaction as what people did to Rudy because he hustled to much and made everyone look bad.  That scene is in every movie where someone who came from adversity showed up and decided he was going to burn bright until there was nothing left in the tank.

Maybe the league is angry that when the Dodgers signed Puig, people said he was a ridiculous gamble and now every scout has to answer to why they didn’t demand their GM break the bank to bring this guy in, a guy so fascinating he’s compared to Bo Jackson, being courted by Roc Nation Sports (Kevin Durant’s reps owned by Jay Z) and breaking records left and right?  Why didn’t you find the kind of guy that can get a team that was so far under .500 their highlights barely made Sportscenter to the “it” subject in the sports world?


Maybe the division is pissed that suddenly the novelty of beating up on the pricey team is being met with the reality they the pricey team may have cost a lot for a reason.  Maybe they are pissed that the Dodgers signed Ricky Nolasco (whom they were all in on) and even he caught the bug pitching an incredible first start.  The Dodgers are somehow baseball zombies.  They were dead and reanimated.  Puig was the mad scientist behind it infecting them all with his all-out, balls-out hustle.  Maybe the division is mad that the adjustments haven’t really worked.  He cooled off a couple weeks in hitting only .308.

Puig is going to free swing, but pitchers make mistakes.  They leave pitches hanging.  Usually 2 to 3 times a game, Puig hits those mistakes and runs like crazy until he scores or goes out in a blaze of glory.  Speed doesn’t slump often either.

You see, Puig doesn’t have an at-bat.  He’s up there to hit the fucking ball as hard as he can.  He walked twice the other night (as the DBack’s announcers joked was impossible) not because he developed an eye, but because Ian Kennedy (who called Puig arrogant) was so scared of making a mistake, he was throwing the ball two feel outside the strike zone.  His one pitch in there, Puig took a vicious cut.  For Kennedy, it must have felt like a shark snapping at your hand as you put it near the tank.  Puig flipped his bat and snarled after the walk.  He wasn’t up there to bat.  He was up there to hit.

puig getting hit in the face by ian kennedy

puig getting hit in the face by ian kennedy

About that series in Arizona…

There’s a weird grey area that borders between racism and distastefulness that I experienced listening to Steve Berthiume and Bob Brenly called a game the other night.  Beyond being homers, they were angry.  You see their stadium mostly empty despite being in first, hosting the second place team with a phenom coming to town and you see the commercials promoting a bus that will take people from Tucson to Phoenix to see a game.  You understand that they want to be homers to increase the pride.

But I know that Kevin Towers is no genius and I know Josh Rawitch didn’t block many of Frank McCourt’s AWFUL comments or ideas in Los Angeles (like the one where they were giving free tickets to veterans but charging them for parking).  So when something rubbed me wrong about the broadcast, I knew there might be some truth to it.

They might have been cranky after proclaiming the DBacks’ defense was why they were superior to the Dodgers so far and then watch Jason Kubel and Adam Eaton drop every ball hit to them in ugly 6-1 losses.  Was Jason Kubel playing like a “little leaguer”?  No.  But Puig’s frustration after missing a diving catch was rewarded with brilliance like “that’s little league right there” and “he better watch himself or he’ll get a bad rep”.  Those are approximations, not quotes.

San Diego Padres v Los Angeles Dodgers

What was a quote, was when they were talking about Puig being “raw”, which is fine and dandy, but the pile on got to the point of saying he “didn’t possess good baseball instincts” which for me is just short of saying he has a low baseball IQ.  They didn’t leave it at he is prone to bad baserunning.  They left it at “he didn’t possess good baseball instincts”.

Hitting .400 for over a month in the majors requires reasonably good instincts of when to swing and where to swing.  Frankly, maybe his instinct is to go all out and out work everyone, to out-care everyone.  Maybe that’s not baseball IQ, but it’s definitely winner-IQ.


And then there’s the Luis Gonzalez debacle that’s causing would-be sportswriters to pen crap LIKE THIS about the “incident”.  Supposedly, Luis Gonzalez wanted to talk about how he was Cuban and amazing at baseball.  Despite many on-field reporters tweeting that Puig shook his hand and was polite when McGuire showed up, the story is that Puig disrespected him.

One, maybe he didn’t want to talk to a guy who roided and randomly hit 50+ homers once.  Maybe he didn’t care about Gonzalez hitting a winner to beat the Yankees.  Probably because in Cuba he didn’t see the game and was like 5 years old when it happened.  He’s not Babe Ruth.  I’m sure he wouldn’t know Craig Counsell either.

Truth is, maybe he didn’t want to talk to a guy claiming Cuba Libre who was born in Tampa Bay fucking Florida.  Maybe he didn’t feel the need to do more than shake the hand of a guy famous for playing a game he never saw on a team he hates for hitting him in the face with a fastball before a game where his team was trying to gain in the pennant race.

Since when does Puig need to give a fuck about Luis Gonzalez?  It wasn’t Obama out there.  It wasn’t a wounded veteran.  It was Luis Gonzalez and a hand shake was all he needed.  Jeff Kent didn’t want to be friends either and we all dealt with it.

He seemed to be fine respecting an actual legend who actually played for his team and probably wasn’t trying to relate to him on the basis of being Cuban when their “Cuban” experiences could not have been more different.



Puig looks really truculent there.  Face smack…


Miguel Montero, the DBacks’ catcher who Puig wanted to decapitate at home plate said this in an interview recently:  “He’s creating a bad reputation around the league, and it’s unfortunate because the talent that he has is to be one of the greatest players in the big leagues. Right now, I’m not going to say he’s the best because he hasn’t proved anything yet. Does he have talent? Of course. Does he have the tools? Of course. He’s got so much talent, it’d be really bad if he wasted it doing the stupid things that he’s doing. You have to respect to earn respect. If you don’t respect anybody, you aren’t going to earn respect.”

Actually, the league is creating the bad reputation and it’s because they are tired of being asked about Puig.  It’s that Rudy scene again.  When you get swept at home and the walls are coming in and your post game interview is about “is the guy who tried to run you over the best in the world”, you get testy.

Puig is in the league’s head and they don’t like it.  The announcers don’t like it.  Puig doesn’t care, he’s thinking of turning your head into a bungalow and sticking around.  After the Giants got leapfrogged by the Dodgers in an away series, I had a friend teasingly brag that Puig had a golden sombrero.  Yup.  And then scored the winning run the next night and the Giants are now in the cellar.  The effect is enormous.  He is in everyone’s head like Scott Stevens on the NJ Devils used to be.  You’d give up a goal because you were half thinking about him taking your head off.

Michael Jordan was a prick who got in people’s heads.  Kobe.  Hell, people wanted to crucify LeBron for NOT being like this.

Brenly and Berthiume were so busy thinking about Puig and coming dangerously close to describing him as some wild animal and the Diamondbacks were so busy thinking about how “he’s not that good” that they got swept, forgetting how to hit and field, but not how to complain about Puig.

Puig lost the final vote for the All Star Game and I’m happy about it.  I prefer he stays angry and plays aggressive.  So far, all the hating seems to be working out.  Somehow criticism from THIS GUY doesn’t seem like a hardship compared to his journey to the big leagues.  Somehow, I think he’s more in your head than you are in his head.

And Bob Brenly…  Maybe Puig was staring down Ian Kennedy because not long ago he hit him in the face with a fastball.  And maybe he’s rubbing you the wrong way because his reaction was to march his team into Chase Field and take three back.

But here’s the final test.  Your team just traded for Puig.  You excited?

We are too.  Cue the hate commenting…  I’m good with it.  It’s the closest I’ll come to feeling like Puig.






Filed under Uncategorized

BachCap Week 7

Mercifully, we’re getting into the episodes that are hard to ruin.  The “meet the family” dates tend to always be amazing because if you are the kind of person who has a family (i.e., not Tarzan, although his jungle family still counts and they clearly raised him with love), then you know families on their own are some of television’s best bed-shitters.

That has nothing to do with this week’s version of “for the right reasons” where the Bargain Bach got to tour the most geographically convenient island to Barcelona to save production costs.  I mean, we could have gone to Ibiza, but not only would it be too cool and expensive, a 5am Tiesto set and a few tabs of E might be enough to send Team Smedium into the grinding, make-out session usually reserved for the off camera people left behind during one on one dates.

So, we’re at Madeira Island, which ABC felt we were too dumb to absorb “Isla Madeira” or anything else that made this feel more like a vacation as less like “the only place that would have them”.  Madeira, of course, is famous for Madeira wine, which of course, is famous for being used as a buzz world in Olive Garden or Carrabba’s commercials.  Try the new mezzaluna medeira ravioli and bring a gallon of it home for 9.95 and free breadsticks and diabetes.

Valorie Kilmer said some line about being built for love and the homoeroticism began early.  Now that we’re paired down to 4.5 guys that don’t like girls, we see the ponzi Des has gotten herself into.  This is sad because I kind of think she’s a cool girl in the end of the day.  A cool girl who requested gay best friends and steroid users as her two types of potential suitors.  Huge victory for gay best friends so far.

Catherine Giudici

We get treated to some former contestants coming back like they do every year.  There was last seasons winner (read, loser) Catherine Goodoodoochi who talked about her boobs like they were special or something, there was Leslie (Pretty Little Liar) who proved her political career went to shit as predicted and had nothing better to do than fly across the Atlantic for this cameo and Jackie Parr, who I was just glad to see was still alive because I totally forgot she existed until she was sitting there in a bathing suit she probably spent five weeks deciding on.

The girls all stared at the guys with binoculars from like eight feet away and were judging their body parts.  They asked why Lady Tom Brady was wearing a tank top and frankly, he’s too dumb to know if he was wearing one or not, so I found the question null and void.  Catherine asked about who Des thought had the [bleeped out] which I took to mean “biggest penis”, to which she said Middle School Dancer, and she’d know because if middle school dancing was about one thing, it was pressing your weapon into your dance partner partly out of fear of your whole middle school seeing you dance with a boner and partly out of fear that your whole middle school class knew you were the kind of person who gets a boner dancing to “forever young”.

Side note, all the girls were swilling this bright yellow dehydrated urine martini and that was about right because this show is just taking a piss.  It was a metaphor not lost on me, the man shackled to my TV and laptop.

Des doesn’t know how to have girl talk, probably because her brother scared them all away growing up. In tents or whatever her story is.

First date is with Lady Tom Brady who confirmed his heterosexuality in a big way by telling us that “he’d forgotten how to be on a one-on-one date with Des”, likely because he’s been used to group dates with Team Smedium, his warm security blanket.


AND SPEAKING OF BLANKETS, Lady Tom Brady brought one with him on the world’s most boring Smart Car (way to spring for the Jeep, ABC) tour of Madeira.  They climbed up to cliff and looked over because the Bargain Bach was not getting the crew required to rappel off it or dive off it or do anything besides just fucking look at it.

Then they went to have a picnic in the clouds and said “cloud nine” about ten times.  A friend watching with me asked the question of who even says cloud nine anymore as a phrase?  Are grandmas producing this show?  “Hey Des, you’re the bee’s knees!”

Lady Tom Brady found a new way to hold a wine glass that was inspired by Incan glass blowers and the time you first discover how to masturbate.  So, I have some new shit to talk about in therapy now.  My wife just closed the browser.

Lady Tom Brady basically slow rolls her and kind of says he’s behind in the love race in his own “I just mixed Zanax with Chardonnay” sort of way.  Then he explains his sexuality in the guise of explaining their cloudy location by saying “you’re not quite above the clouds completely but you’re not below them, you’re just in them”.  This is his way of telling Des he’s bisexual.  I’m sure of it.  I would pay big money for him to sing “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman”.  Now I know who that was written for.


Back at the hotel, Middle School Dancer gets the next one-on-one and dropped his male status in half by being the first person ever to “sniff” the fucking date card which was written by one of the grandmas writing the show.  Did it smell like witch hazel, Chris?  Tool.  AND HE’S STILL THE ONLY LOGICAL CHOICE.

For the night date, Brooks wears chambray because it rhymes with his sexual orientation which he’s been trying so hard all day to tell her about.  I feel like he wants her to meet his family so they can tell her for him.

My wife made a good point.  Bachelorettes, Des included, always make it out like the meeting of families is somehow a mutual decision.  Bachelors are like “yeah, I’m gonna meet these freaks and see if it makes you less hot”.  Lady Tom Brady tells her he’s behind where Des is emotionally, which naturally triggers her hormones into Defcon One:  ignoring all reason and forcing him to love her.

Middle School Dancer’s date starts on a boat and he gives her the least sexy sunscreen rubdown of all time.  He asks if she needs some and she’s like “on my back”, just to clear up any thought viewers at home had that Des wanted him to massage her boobs on national television. Face smack.  “Yeah, on my back?”  Seriously?  NO SHIT ON YOUR BACK.  “Yeah, on my upper thigh and blindfold me.”


Middle School Dancer has gone full-emo at this point.  He’s saying he can feel “all her emotions” in her kisses.  Then they make it like they are going to go through this cool hole in an island like on other seasons.  BARGAIN BACHED.  Nope.  They are going to sit “shore-adjacent” and Chris is going to force her to write a poem and put it in a bottle, which he throws into the ocean like fifth grade softball player.

He says writing the poem together was so natural.  No it wasn’t.  For anyone ever on earth in time and space.  Read the room, fucko.

Then, the awkward quotient goes up when Chris tells her he loves her… WITH A POEM.  Didn’t see that coming.  Way to name it “Individually Defined”.  You are supposed to tell people you love them drunk.  Not with a poem.  Be American.

Final one-on-one is with Medusa and they walk around town eating phallic shaped food.  They ride a straw toboggan down a street and that is the closest to adventure they are going to fucking give us.

At dinner, Medusa rocks the Zack Morris bright shirt/blazer combo and talks about his (SURPRISE) daddy issues.  Then he says he was cheated on and discovered it on Facebook when he saw a picture of his girlfriend on top of a mountain with a dude in Vail.

Really?  You didn’t see her getting all her ski shit when YOU WERE LIVING WITH HER?  You didn’t notice when she got home and hung out her wet snow clothes?  Did she get you to believe she was going on an Arctic fact-finding mission about global warning?  Look, we all can get cheated on, usually just by some asshole willing to go the extra mile to act like a slut/manwhore/whatever.  It’s another thing to live in denial.  But, that’s nothing new for any Team Smedium member.

Off to more street musicians ABC didn’t have to pay for.  I’m over this date.

Final two on Juan is with Valerie Kilmer and Secretly 50 (who is listed at 31 years old but I think they mean the year he was born).  They go Go-Kart racing, which is a lot less expensive than racing real cars like on the last two seasons with Emily and Arie.

This really felt like Valerie Kilmer was on a date with Secretly 50 and they brought Des along to make sure the chemistry was there.  The whole date was an innuendo.  Des at one point said “how about you two go at it” and they were like “YES!!!” which was funny, but I was hoping for “again, I’m still tired from earlier”.  Oh well.


Oh yeah, Valerie Kilmer said he was falling for her.  Two dudes in love with her BEFORE hometowns and this show is still so boring.

This date is super boring and it ended right when I decided how I was going to kill myself.  She picked Valerie Kilmer for the safety rose leaving Secretly 50 (brought to you by Crest Whitening Strips) to wonder what was next.

Rose Ceremony was boring also.  Middle School Dancer is addicted to collar popping.  It’s only second to his addiction to unwanted poem writing, but more of an addiction than sniffing letters.

We did get Chris Harrison asking heartfelt questions of Des in a windswept, lantern-lit veranda, which made me wish Chris Harrison asked me heartfelt questions in a windswept, lantern-lit veranda.  Pass the dutchie, bud.

We got to see Des relying on the framed photos of Smedium as if she didn’t remember the five still left.  Then, into the killing room to tell one of these guys she doesn’t want to meet their family.

Medusa is finally beheaded and he takes it well, the manner expected of a man who doesn’t want to date a woman.  He almost seemed relieved, but he pulled the wise move of saying it will be hard to date after her, a prerequisite to being the Bachelor…  AND WHAT WOULD HIS SEASON BE LIKE!?!?!

All was well though in the outtakes where Medusa said one fruit looked like a corn on the cob had blown its nose in it.

I’ll leave you with that.






Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

BachCap Week Six

We’re finally globetrotting and Team Smedium could not be more excited.  Well, they could if they got to see a bullfight because “there’s something about how tight a matador’s pants are”…  And how.

This season is suffering a bit from the fact that knowing Des has never been anywhere outside of Southern California and she’s not super comfortable being a tour guide.  There’s a little bit of producers feeding her lines, but literally when Ali the Muppet was the Bach, she would be giving Drunk History of the City tours with her bleached rat tail extensions faring poorly with humidity.  We need that.  “Barcelona is like a city that’s so about art.  People say the ancients worshipped Picasso which rhymes with Pico De Gallo which is cool because I love chips and salsa and burritos, the national food of Espana”.


See.  Don’t you miss that?

So the dudes meet up and await Chris Harrison to get his “party favors” as he’ll be in Ibiza for the rest of the trip.  They have them eat at this little tapas place that could pass for Santa Monica and knowing the budget for the Bargain Bach, they probably did just film this in LA.  Also, I am positive at one point when someone thought of ordering mussels, Little Big Head flexed and said “what, these muscles? Right?  RIGHT?”

Biff Get Your Damn Hands Off Her, who now looks like a feminine Val Kilmer (I dub thee Valerie Kilmer) gets the first one on one date and prior to it going on, the boys are turning fierce against Little Big Head and setting up ONE OF THE MOST DRAMATIC EPISODES OF THE BACHELORETTE EVER.  Or not.

That said, this was clearly a defining moment in the season.  It was the moment the ratings sank to the level that they weren’t going to give us more fun on the dates, more context, more conversation.  Instead, they were going to take a moot point, turn it into a frothed up bitch-slap fest and extend it so long there was no time for a fucking helicopter, an extreme date, a cocktail party or just anything awesome at all.  You are in Barcefuckinglona and you don’t get anyone half naked, drunk, eating a live piece of seafood, etc.  You just tell a ten hour story about a guy doing what all guys do.


Let’s back up.  Little Big Head and Gabagool had a conversation in a car where basically Gabagool was saying he could introduce Little Big Head to a bunch of tall, rich hot chicks in Chicago when the show ends and Little Big Head basically said if you make the final four, worst case is maybe you can be the next Bachelor.

Valerie Kilmer, Hashtag, Middle School Dancer, Lady Tom Brady and Medusa all took the “for the right reasons” rap with Soulja Boy so seriously that if anyone on this fucking show accepts the possibility that they are not winning and may need to re-enter civilian life, they must hate Des and be playing her like a banjo (same body type).

This is the mentality of a suicide bomber.  NO ONE IS ASKING YOU TO STRAP A LOVE BOMB TO YOUR CHEST AND EXPLODE IT IF DES LET’S YOU GO.  These guys are like all or nothing and the fact that the roided out, over-shirt adjusting, beef-stick who is rationally accepting he may not win is causing them to menstruate at cascade setting.

So the rat fuck is on and we’ll see if Little Big Head is going to survive the night.

Valorie Kilmer and Des share a really awkward I’M GONNA KISS YOU NOW moment as they walk around Barcelona on the eight dollar budget ABC allotted her to buy hot chocolate.  Something about having Valerie Kilmer make Des lick cream off his face bothered me.  Maybe it was the fact that he chased it with a speech about his dad being an alcoholic and that he had never told anyone on earth about it before, which has to be a lie and if it isn’t, well, hey, might as well tell the whole country at once.  And then he chased that with his dad has cancer.  But yeah, let’s make out some more.  That will fix everything.

I mean, it was definitely the helicopter of sob stories.  Somewhere Little Big Head was thinking that he should have continued on his Atlantic City date story about how he cheated on a girl in eighth grade and told the truth BEHIND the truth which was that he cheated on a girl in eighth grade with a cancerous tumor snowman shaped into a real girl.  Damnit Valerie Kilmer.  You upped the hit on girls with sob stories game to new heights (lows).

They are pretending to eat dinner and then steals Des to sprint through some charming streets and corridors that seem like a reasonable place to get molested by a stranger and then he decides to bring back the Ari wall make out move.  I guess this is somewhat like getting molested by a stranger, so the location was corrected.  No wonder they didn’t eat dinner.  He was making every effort to eat directly from her upper esophagus so hopefully lunch tasted good the second time around.

After the make out session, Valerie Kilmer gets the rose and decides to go right back to being a ten year old girl and tattle on Little Big Head and you can just see somewhere in Des’ eyes all the self-loathing brewing like bile in a french press.  You are literally watching someone realize they are spending no money on her season or dates, her dates are dropping like flies by their own accord and she potentially only has four people left that like women and one of them can’t speak English.

That said, what a ball drop moment.  Kilmer has the first date where he is able to convince Des he likes girls and then pulls the most sorority move ever.  Now that we’ve made out, let’s talk about boys.

Back at the house, it seems like Juan Pablo is upset about not getting a one on one (Juan on Juan) date, but then again he could be telling me about a great churriascaria somewhere in South America.  I can’t understand him, but neither can the women watching, they are too busy making noises like they just ate chocolate they found out had less calories than expected.

The date card was a soccer themed date and to make sure the Real Housewives of Team Smedium understood the sports reference of Gooooool! they went so far as to draw soccer balls as the O’s.  Still didn’t help Lady Tom Brady, but short of euthanizing him, what will?  Why does he talk like he had a stroke?  I can’t figure him out.


They go to the home of La Liga side RCD Espnayol (that’s how someone who actually watches sports explain it) and decide to play soccer.  If Des knew about soccer, she’d know they took her to the stadium of a team in 13th place which would bum her out being that FC Barcelona is the best team on earth and just down the street.  Harrison used that money on ceviche, Catalan prostitutes and vino verde mixed with mescaline.  He does Spain right.  VALE!

This is where the over-playing of the Little Big Head issue ruined the episode.  Why not show more of this hilarious soccer game?  The credits showed some funny stuff.  Juan Pablo used to play.  This was a chance for some more fun (and shit for me to dog).  Instead, Des comes out with a bunch of girls and only Juan Pablo figures out they are the pro women’s side and even though they are good, the boys should win.

The girls spot the boys two goals and then decide to trounce Team Smedium, who blames it all on Little Big Head, who should never get to have sex with girls again after how he was afraid of a soccer ball.  It wasn’t Ronaldo booting line drives.  I mean these girls were worm burning shots and he looked like a neon orange sausage that fell out of the pot and started bouncing on the floor.

The night time session had Des reading a poem back to Middle School Dancer, which was the first nice moment of the show so far and who better than Middle School Dancer to lay on a bed and exchange poems with.  Dawson’s Creekage.

The rest of the guys were doing their best straight dude impression and decided to confront and very drunk and sleepy Little Big Head about his comments about being the Bachelor and all that crap.  At first I was annoyed with him, but then I got annoyed with the other dudes.

Team Smedium in their feminine glory don’t have a lot of friends like Gabagool and if you are like me and enjoy whiskey, red meat and fucking hitting home runs, you have some guy friends like Gabagool who just talk to you about all the chicks they can get, all the tag teaming you both can do.  It’s much easier and to bro code to be like “yeah bro, chicks, sex, radical” than to “HOW DARE YOU OBJECTIFY WOMEN” these guys.  He will get the message anyway when all his friends get married and he’s the old fucker in the night club.  Let Darwinism handle it.  Not Team Smedium.

This conversation goes nowhere because Smedium are whiners and Little Big Head is drunk, tired and roady.  I got bored really quickly during this argument that WAS DRAGGED OUT TO THE NEXT DAY TOO.  YOU ARE IN SPAIN.  EAT PAELLA AND MAYBE DO A LINEA DEL MUERTE.

The one highlight was when they said “let’s have a man to man” and I was like, at best this is a “two and a half men to man”.  At best.

No group date rose and instead, WE GET TO HEAR THE WHOLE BORING STORY AGAIN.  In an effort to boost ratings, you are killing ratings ABC.  HELICOPTERS.  EXTREME DATES.  BINGE DRINKING AND EMO WEIGHT GAINS.  BAD EXTENSIONS.

Bread and butter, people.  There’s a reason restaurants all serve it.  The people want it.  FEED THE PEOPLE OR THEY WILL FEED THEMSELVES.

I enjoyed watching Little Big Head get emo trying to talk his way out of the wet paper bag of insecurity Des is proving to be.  It was awesome because I finally got to see what a steak looks like when it cries.  He had neck tears going, it was like someone was juicing his adam’s apple.

At some point Emily Maynard tried to make it about her and compare LBH to Ryan from her season and my first inclination was to tweet to her and suggest she date another famous person and pretend to be nice so more.  YOUR FIFTEEN MINUTES ARE UP.  GO THE FUCK AWAY.

Smedium was pissed when Little Big Head got home.  In their quest to make sure he was there for all the right reasons, suddenly, they were there only to get rid of the walking porterhouse steak.  RIGHT REASONS INDEED, SMEDIUM.

Next date, Secretly 50.  He’s doing his best job to not admit his brother was old enough to have fought in the Spanish Civil War and that he’s been to Spain twice before.  Instead, he just kind of smiles at everything and draws a hideous picture of Des, but she kind of looked cute laughing at the hobgoblin demon he depicted her as.  Then a naked guy came in and I felt so bad the rest of Smedium wasn’t there because they must be tired of naked posing for each other at this point back at the henhouse.

Secretly 50 decides to model himself, which was fun I guess for women, but I couldn’t get over his tightie whities.  He IS from an ancient time.  At least they weren’t Depends (who totally is the Kleenex of adult diapers, right?  I mean it’s impressive.  When you are too old not to shit yourself, you go to Depends, like ordering a Coke or needing a Band-Aid).

My wife just closed the browser.  That’s what having drinks with me is like only you are super turned on the whole time.  Yes, I will accept this rose.

They go to a wine cave later, it’s more pressing Des against a wall and trying to eat food out of her mouth.  Wall kisses are the new Spiderman kisses apparently.   He gets the rose and doesn’t piss me off that much.  I loved both my grandpas too.  Maybe it’s respecting him and the rest of the Greatest Generation.

The next day there’s more of the same fucking argument and I’m on my phone looking at other shit.  I just don’t care at this point.  I am rooting for a riot or someone to pull the hotel fire alarm.  Medusa gets offended by profanity.  That really happened.  Little Big Head literally is the only guy who talks like a man left, so she’s having a hard time kicking him to the curb.  Middle School Dancer says he is not thinking of being the next Bachelor which means he will be the next Bachelor.  You never expect the Muppets.

Des comes in to get Little Big Head, they go down to the steps and in the distance, three squirrels in the midst of self-discovery poke their heads over the balcony to see if this is in fact the end for Little Big Head.

We waste a full segment with more of the same and now I am considering burning down a building in Portland in protest, but I like it here and would never hurt the city like this show was hurting my eyeballs.


I could produce this show with my eyes closed.  I wish they produced it with their eyes closed.  Next time you have a conversation about if a guy needs to leave, do it in a helicopter with the door open like the scene in Scarface where they hang the dude to let Tony know the stakes got higher.  This season’s budget is so low the only helicopter so far was to tour the aquarium formerly known as greater Atlantic City.

Des caves.  Little Big Head stays.

No cocktail party, Des is over her liquor budget.

Then it got weird.  She cuts Little Big Head, Juan Pablo and Hashtag: Peace Out MFer.

Sooooo.  We spend forty minutes of they should kick LBH off because he’s a pig only to let him stay only to kick him off again?  WHY ARE YOU WASTING ALL THE TIMEZ?!

Chris Harrison had to come up with this on mushrooms, it’s the only reasonable excuse.

I’m done.  Do better next week Bachelorette.  Your preview was provocative, contained helicopters, boats and beaches.  Fantasy suites with men who have never seen a naked woman.  There’s hope.  But it’s fading fast like this season.

Last, NOT least.  A pic from some awesome readers Dani and Ashley doing a re-enactment of Secretly 50s strip…








Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

Dwight Howard’s Houston Pitch Sounds Amazing

A rare basketball post from me, but I felt like weighing in on the Dwight Howard mess just because I find it hilarious.  Let me go on the record saying I hope he leaves because I am of the camp that he is a paper tiger.  D12 has become someone known for everything but basketball in the last couple years and the fact is, the idea of having to sell the Lakers when they have the most to offer you is absurd.


If you want to play in Houston-fucking-Texas, please do.  Don’t think James Harden would even blink if the Lakers were able to offer him a max deal.  He’d be on the Buss private jet before the ink was dry.  Dwight is someone who wants the spotlight, but not one too bright.  The Lake Show is about winning.  Period.  It’s a meritocracy.  We forgive you everything if you win.  Kobe is the biggest dick on the planet but he understands the value of the purple and gold.  Sure, he wanted out a while back citing ownership needing to step up.  But they got him Pau, he shut up and gave Tinseltown two more rings.  He put his money where his mouth was and now, he’s going to retire a Laker and a top five player in the history of the game.

Shaq and Kobe had an ugly end, but guess what?  Now we love Shaq.  Because he brought us three titles, didn’t go out of his way to alienate the fans and mostly left his beef with Kobe (no pun intended) which was fine, because we knew they were both assholes anyway.  Legendary assholes who gave us five titles (three together).


LA wants you to drop a ton of ecstasy, get on stage and knock out the DJ and play a set no one will ever forget and you can’t remember you did and then they want to make statues out of you.  Dwight wants to hang out in a room with average looking girls that want to sleep with him and watch him play awful acoustic covers of Dave Matthews.

And he can do that in Houston.

For those of you curious, Dwight is having all his glitzy suitors (from Texas and Atlanta) coming out to Los Angeles to take him on the Universal Studios Tour.  It’s weird that he doesn’t want to fly out there to get courted.  This just seems like a bunch of “asking for respect” instead of earning it by winning titles like Lakers expect you to.

Anyway, today Houston met with Dwight Howard and here is what ESPN’s Dave McMenamin and Ramona Shelburne (both condemned to chasing this turd all summer) said about the “pitch”:

The Houston Rockets, meanwhile, also met with Howard early Monday in Los Angeles.

The Rockets contingent who met with Howard included players James HardenChandler Parsons, coach Kevin McHale, general manager Daryl Morey, owner Les Alexander and Hall of Famers Hakeem Olajuwon and Clyde Drexler. Yao Ming talked with Howard via Skype from China, and according to the Houston Chronicle, Dikembe Mutombo recorded a video message for Howard.

Yao told KRIV-TV in Houston that when he was contacted by Rockets CEO Tad Brown and Morey to help with the team’s pitch to Howard, he told them he “would love to help.”

Yao, who spoke to KRIV-TV in a telephone interview from Beijing, said he spoke to Howard via Skype and told him the Rockets “have a young team, a talented team that has ability to reach championship level with you.”

Yao said he will be in Houston on July 11 and hopes to meet with Howard.

After a late-night hotel dinner, Morey tweeted that it was “great” meeting with Howard and “obvious” how he and Harden could be “the next great big/wing combo.”

“Dwight is focused on winning championships,” Morey told KRIV-TV. “So are we.”

Does this remind you of that episode of Entourage where Vince was going to different agencies and just showing his face on monitors with Nike and McDonalds logos?  Seriously, picture this day.

Dwight comes in a day after hanging out in Anaheim at a video game convention and he already knows exactly what Houston can offer him.  So, we’re not talking deals here, we’re talking “why us”.

Houston brings in the usual suspects, James Harden to say what a text could do (something like I can’t wait to throw it near the rim and you dunk it when your shoulder/back isn’t hurt, you aren’t making YouTube videos, bricking free throws, blaming your coach and demanding a trade) and Hakeem and Clyde.

After they talk about how they loved being Rockets (even though any of them would have gone to the Lakers if needed at any point), the Rockets really pulled out the stops with the audio-visual part of the show.  I mean, seriously, picture this.


Some IT guy is plugging in his Macbook asking everyone if they have a dongle to use, he’s switching the HDMI inputs around, they probably dim the lights and spend five seconds getting the volume right.



It’s Dikembe Mutumbo, who is most famous for being a Nugget and played with Houston looking more like the guy in that Geico commercial than the young man from the Congo who said not in my house.  Mutumbo at least knew whatever building he was in was in his house.  He didn’t need a parade of people to tell him “it’s your team”.  Dikembe made it his house.

What Dikembe told Dwight via video about coming to Houston is a mystery, but please someone leak that video.  Please.

I promise it wasn’t a story about their upbringings.  Dikembe got out of the Congo.  Dwight spent the summer eating at Sprinkles on Little Santa Monica.


Up next was a Skype session with Yao Ming, who is responsible for the Houston Rockets looking like the Chinese National Basketball Team.  Remember when Yao was a thing and suddenly the Rockets went Asian inspired font, China flag inspired colors?  Yao must have told Dwight if he plays in Houston, they will all wear Superman capes and miss every free throw in his honor.  Then, the Chinese Government shut down the Skype session, put a gun to Yao’s head and forced him to play 95 hours of consecutive basketball on zero knee cartilage as he waits for sweet death’s embrace.

Yao told him Houston could reach championship level with him, something Yao knows a lot about having never won an NBA title.  If Dwight wants to know about championships, he should shut the fuck up, listen to Kobe, listen to Pau listening to Kobe and then look up because we keep them in the rafters at Staples.


My favorite part of the article (and pitch)?  This:

According to the Chronicle, Houston planned to emphasize the “marketing potential” the Rockets continue to hold in China, being Yao’s former team. 

Dwight Howard, who everyone eventually wants to shut up and play golf in every city he goes, is looking to keep rehabbing his image and win championships and he’s going to do this in HOUSTON with James Harden (who couldn’t fucking win with Kevin Durant and fucking Russell Westbrook) and he’s going to look great to American fans as Houston pimps him to China.

Like (as I already reminded you) the time Houston did a full China rebrand.  Go ahead Dwight.  Please.



Suddenly, all my job recruitments seem lazy.  Why have none of my employers told me that I’d be huge in China?

Oh yeah, because I am American and I’d rather be huge here and win championships.  Like the Lakers do.

Laker fans, do not sweat Howard leaving.  Embrace it.  What we have is a culture of winning in multiple decades.  D12 is the bad pain in the ass.  The kind that can’t do it without Kobe.  The Lakers might have some more down years getting their cap together as the league continues to find new ways to fuck them (literally the kama sutra is on the table when Stern holds CBA meetings), but we should enjoy watching Kobe retire as we plan to rebuild through draft, trade or the 2014 free agent class.  Let’s all chill.  We can’t win them all, but we seem to win plenty.

And no matter what, the Lakers will likely win before Dwight does in Atlanta, Houston, Dallas or Golden State.  It’s his funeral.  And he will be main man at that funeral.  Just ask Yao.


Filed under Rants and Musings

BachCap Week Five

This week it became obvious why the Bargain Bachelor was having to scrimp and save.  She eventually was going to want to go to Europe for the first time, thus confirming her family was in no way in one of the musical, roving gypsy camps that were so fashionable after the last Sherlock Holmes movie came out where the girl from Prometheus who gives herself a C-section with a robot moonlights as a sexy, dangerous gypsy fortune-teller mercenary with a brother who had a face transplant.

Shit, I should review movies.


Team Smedium has traded in their neon deep-v necks for a rainbow of smedium hoodies because, well, Europe is fucking cold in the spring.  Chris Harrison, trying to pimp his new dating app that you probably should check out if but for no reason beyond the fact he is surrounded by hot chicks all the time, seemed to be looking forward to Germany as a chance to detox with giant pretzels, fast and precise S&M women and some giant beer steins.

Harrison smugly lets Smedium know that the Bargain Bach has never been to Europe in a “I MEAN, WHO DOES THAT?!?!” sort of way.  Chris Harrison was going to Europe in the cargo holds of opium freighters since he was eleven, so it’s understandable his shock when a transient youth somehow hasn’t wandered to Europe like that crunchy girl who lived in your dorm at SDSU.  There’s a big world out there and someone needs to explore all of its drugs and sex acts.

They are staying at the hotel KOCKENHEILMLER STROKKEN EACHOUFFSEN, which according to Ben the Sunstroker is probably the nicest hotel in Germany.  This opinion must have been formed from Yelp because two minutes prior he said he’d never crossed “any of the oceans” so this would be his first time in Europe.  Definitely in Germany as they really don’t like letting Nazis in after they clear that issue up in the 40s.  The way this guy talks about being Christian and his son on repeat, you kind of feel like he has Nazi china in his garage like Chris Cooper in American Beauty.  Right?  If you are his neighbor, check out his garage and get back to me.  Also, tell me what his dog tag from the princess army means.

They are all stoked.  They are there for the right reasons.  They are reacting to the fucking clock with the mechanical Germans like they are watching a UFC fight.  You don’t grab another dude and go “oooohhhhh!!!!” when you are watching a clock.  You do it when you see some dude GET clocked.



Middle School Dancer gets the first date which involves dancing (CHRIS HARRISON YOU CRUEL TEMPTRESS) and trying on Lederhosen and generally being racist against Germans.  They should go on “American” dates in the US.  Like, we should go to a fast food place and eat until we have diarrhea, shoot some guns, discuss celebrity baby names and then maybe go to the airport and wait through security a couple times with TSA being extra gropey and using a rotating x-ray to get some 3D renderings of our junk.


I like Middle School Dancer.  He’s a little cheesy, but he dresses reasonably well and probably likes girls.  This shoots him to top of the pops for this group.  I also liked how he wore his scarf UNDER his peacoat so it dangled between his legs as sort of a visual cue for Bargain Bach to check out his crotch.  That’s thinking outside the box.  Think I’m making it up?  They literally shared a sausage after staring at a case of sausage.  Middle School Dancer thinks like a middle schooler and I like it.

Meanwhile at the HOTELLEN FERBOISSEN TOEXPREERIMENTEN, Zero Dork Thirty finally concluded his military-installed “self-destruct” sequence and decided that despite sitting in a plane for half a day, he was ready to go home.  Or he started thinking Desiree was some form of Mexican which he could never explain to his family in Montana.

Zero Dork Thirty takes to the streets asking Germans if they have seen TV cameras.  When scary American war vets wander around public places asking if there are TV cameras, that’s how people get arrested.  Jesus.


But hey, kudos to military intelligence.  If he’d been thinking (or if this wasn’t more staged than a faked orgasm), he’d have turned around TO THE FUCKING GUY FILMING HIM, put a gun to his temple and said “call you buddies in the crew and lead me to them or I start cutting off toes, Hollywood”.

And when this kind of man calls you “Hollywood”, you do what he says.

Recognizing Zero Dork is terrifying, Middle School Dancer is like “for sure” when ZDT wants to steal Des away for a chat.  During said chat, he basically says he’s gonna piece and Des is like “wow, you flew all that way” bringing into question the show’s paltry budget for the Bargain Bachelor.  Had he stayed in Atlantic City and saved them the plane fare, they would have let her pick two items from the hotel minibar.

Desiree cries because it doesn’t matter how shitty a guy is, a woman will cry when rejected, unless she is the kind that slices your tires.  So we learned something about her.  Bargain Bach is no way as insecure as Hey Bear was.  This shit happened weekly and she’d flip out.  It was like the world’s first quad-monthly period.

Middle School Dancer is playing the Hunger Games.  He dealt with his date being interrupted by asking her about her feelings.  He did some waddle dancing with her.  He wrote her a poem.  He’s in it to win it and given that he is into women, this could be the year nice guy finishes first.  He’s probably so nice he’s cool that all his roommates are hooking up with each other.  He probably sleeps with earplugs in.

Desiree asks “will you accept my rose” instead of “this” rose and that makes it seem like she’s talking about something else.  It sounds like talking dirty in the Victorian era.

The group date is in the mountains and I was about as pumped as I could be without a helicopter because finally we’re seeing some money spent on the Bargain Bach, who despite being kind of boring, I think I like.

There’s a yodeler and it made me wonder who Team Smedium’s parents were because none of them had ever heard anything like it.  I just wish there were more yodelers when they turn the lights on at closing time at bars.  You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay yodeleheeeeeheeeeeere.

Juan Pablo did some yodeling and none of you noticed because you were all too aroused.

Gabagool takes Des to make snowmen, but instead makes a big snow penis.  This naturally attracted a fellow Team Smedium member and Secretly 50 showed up with some hot toddies (so straight) and yodeled a bit more, clearly still aroused from Juan Pablo doing that.  Des was bored of making snow cocks so she went to hang with Secretly 50, who told her he wanted to be a priest.


CAN THESE GUYS NOT BE INTO GIRLS MORE.  Between this speech and Ben’s Jesus talks, it was a bad day for Christianity.

If you ever here me use the “I was gonna be a priest” pick up line on a girl, buy me a hooker.  Chloroform me, steal my wallet and charge a prostitute to my AMEX.  You will be doing me a favor.

My wife just closed the browser.


There was an igloo everyone went in.  Hashtag: Please Stop was like “this isn’t an igloo, it’s an ICE HOTEL” and was like this is an ice one-bedroom condo stuffed with sausage.  Speaking of which, the boys wearing blankets phenomenon was kicked up a notch when they decided to share blankets and do god knows what under them.

Lady Tom Brady tried to form sentences and was giving air HJs with his arms until Des made out with him just to get him to shut up and I appreciated it.  They looked like two blowfish stuck together.

Later, Little Big Head was making out with her and Lady Tom Brady freaked out and spied on them from a corridor that was shaped like a giant vagina.  For real.  Then he got the rose, creepers prosper.


Back at Hotel Vontrouserdroppen Medusa was prepping for his Two on Juan date vs Sunstroker.  He used some fighting words.  Like, he said he’d kill him.  And he’s a lawyer.  Strike one against him representing me, but cheers to his tasteful chest hair maintenance.

Lady Tom Brady gets the rose.  Next.

Two on Juan starts with a psych out like they are going to polar bear plunge, but instead they are going in the coolest thing ever:  a boat that is a hot tub.  Then when told it was called a “Hot Tug”, the rest of Team Smedium came sprinting out of the building with their pants down only to be super sad.  News flash fellas.  You don’t need a lake for a hot tug.  BACK TO HOTEL ESSENTUGGENHOTTEN!!!

This boat ride was pretty much Medusa calling Sunstroker an absentee dad, a bad christian who wouldn’t go to easter at a catholic ceremony and various things that were true.  But was this smart?  He who slanders ends up on the plane home.  Also, something was up with his


The night gets so awkward that eventually Sunstroker goes outside to polish his sweet lat tattoo (latoo) and get red faced knowing he is a shit dad, a dude who talks about being Christian all the time regardless of how he lives and probably murders puppies.

Somehow, Sunstroker gets kicked off the show and Medusa lives.  Apparently he is a better lawyer than I thought.

Sunstroker was mad weird on the car ride home even saying let’s go out in Munich, let’s meet a chick, etc.  Look, ten minutes ago he’d never crossed any of the oceans.  Now he’s crossing one twice.

That night, Bargain Bach came in looking like Sybil didn’t die on Downtown Abbey.  Oops, SPOILER.  Oh, fuck.   You’re supposed to do that before you spoil something.  YOU NEVER EXPECT THE MUPPETS.  KAISER SOZE IS VERBAL KINT!  DARTH VADER IS LUKE’S FATHER!

My film school professors just closed the browser.


Harrison, looking bloated and tired from banging tavern wenches and drinking Hoffbrau yawned through some questions to Des, the only interesting response coming with who she wanted to kiss.  Lady Tom Brady and Secretly 50?  There’s hope fellas.  Every girl has a type.

Gabagool goes home, Little Big Head left to mourn after their tender face rub at HOTELLEN TOUCHENFEELER.  But he has more to do than mourn.  He better watch his ass because word is out that he wants to run Chicago and meet tall women (but he’s short?).


Next week, fireworks.







Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

BachCap Week Four

I learned some new things about reality television last night.  Instead of share them, I am going to use them as poison tipped arrows to Katniss all over this episode because in the parlance of our times… WTF.

Before we get into specifics, Desiree has finally earned a nickname that matters here for Week Four.  I am calling her the Bargain Bach.  No, you assholes, this isn’t about her upbringing living in tents because South Park has a monopoly on poor jokes, plus, that’s not really my style.

Des is the Bargain Bach based on the fact that they have spent less than ten dollars on her season.  They have cast a bunch of stage dancers from an off-Melrose performance of Rent as her suitors, they have had almost every one of her dates within driving distance of the mansion and when finally they decide to leave almost halfway through the season, instead of the private jet to Vegas date where you get to use the Bellagio fountains as a bidet, they go to Atlantic City and…  Well, we’ll get there.

Think about Ben’s season.  He was eating in fancy restaurants.  By this time his season, he had rented out a theater and ate at a bistro in Sonoma, climbed up the Bay Bridge with a chick he had no intention of marrying while a helicopter flew around them, turned a street into a ski slope and had women in bikinis skiing down and gone to like Montana or some shit.

Bargain Bach has gone to Malibu (where the house is), Ojai (an hour and half drive from where the house is), Sunset Blvd (40 minutes from where the house is), and like Malibu Wines (next to the mansion).  Oh yeah, and the cowboy shit seemed like it was at Malibu State Creek Park (next to the mansion).

Fucking Emily Maynard, Lady Veneers herself, was taking private jets all over the swamp.  Des, for all her being a sweet person, is getting the raw end of the deal.  The Bargain Bach indeed.


BTW, you are only getting shots of Team Smedium oiled up standing on stage.  That’s all.  Sorry.  You need to feel the pain I feel and this is how I achieve that.

But, let’s fucking BachCap.

Des’ journey to find love for all the right reasons heads to dilapidated and depression inducing Atlantic City, home of saltwater taffy, prostitution and a certain emptiness only felt when you are eating a burrito at 3am after vomiting and can’t remember what dive bars you went to and your groin itches.  That’s Atlantic City, but hey, the saltwater taffy is super good.  Even if there is no way they use the poison saltwater under that boardwalk.  Unless hobo urine is a flavor now.

Back to the Future (Get your damn hands off her Biff!) was excited to travel with someone he loves, which narrowed it down to any of the guys getting on that plane.  I mean, this show has turned into America’s Next Top Gay Best Friend.  I am all for it, but I feel like Bargain Bach doesn’t realize she is floating the bill for a bunch of dudes that were immediately Google Mapping how far Atlantic City was from Fire Island.

Team Smedium was staying at a hotel with a weird glowing ball at the top that stood atop a frozen springtime Atlantic Shitty.  City.  Who cares, at least they have each other.


holding hands this time

holding hands this time

First date was with underbite champion Cable Guy, who when he cries looks like a bulldog being forced to sniff pepper.  They went to a saltwater taffy plant, so they were one hand of blackjack away from covering everything there is to do in Atlantic Shitty.

They went down to the pretzel room which I mistakingly thought was a fake dog poo plant.  They proceeded to just have at it, grabbing the food, pouring shit all over it and covering their faces in pretzel feces.  This was such a food safety issue.  Fuck anyone who wasn’t outraged, especially if you care how your meat is killed.  Me, fucking shoot a cow in the face and let’s charcuterie.  But I would much rather eat a tortured animal than a chocolate pretzel that was mouth raped by a couple reality television stars.


They ate dinner in a light house, which was depressing.  I knew this date was going poorly because Cable Guy actually ate.  When they show you eating, you soon be leaving.  I guess the random, unexplained sandcastle they sat by earlier, probably commissioned to a creepy artist living under the boardwalk didn’t get their juices flowing.

Cable Guy literally talks in sounds.  She asked what he likes to do.  I had to rewind six times.  “I like to chill and sometimes just bongongongongong”.

Is that jerking off?  He talks like Matthew McConnaughy acts.  In noises and gestures.  Oh well.   Bargain Bach is just like, “hey let’s climb a million stairs, I want to be out of breath when I dump you” and then she cut him loose citing he could spend more time with Maddux, his son, who I am sure the producers hand to remind her his name 100 times, if not write it on her hand.

He was nice about it, but I was expecting the full Jim Carrey “soooo, what are you trying to say?” after she cut him.  Instead, he got in the car and cried like a bulldog blowing pepper lines.

This must have been a relief for Secretly 50 who did the obligatory Bachelor staring at someone else’s date and get emo vignette.

Bargain Bach said something about love should be a shining light, cuz, you know, they were in a fucking light house.  I AM TIRED OF THEMES.  MOAR HELICOPTERS.

Group date was perfect.  Mister America Pageant, which literally for Team Smedium would have been like telling my advertising friend group that we were trapped in a room of bourbon and steak and would have to eat and drink our way out with only a couple swimsuit models to cheer us on and maybe light some fireworks here and there.  That’s where my mind goes.


This officially became the Search for Des’ New Gay Best Friend.  We had Juan Pablo oiling up Gabagool.  That happened.  That’s like taking advantage of a foreigner.  Everyone made me want to kill myself.  I really don’t want to talk about this date any more.  I wanted the Muppets to fucking show up.  I wanted Hey Bear to show up.  Hell, I would have been down for a fire at the theater.  Anything to stop Hashtag: Weird Ass Story About Tap Dancing from performing or Gabagool getting naked and doing roid push-ups.  Smedium loves each other more than I’ve loved anything in my life.  They should cut the season short and let them be together.

Meanwhile, Little Big Head was taking a bubble bath, eating strawberries and wearing a robe, drinking red wine.  So, totally straight.

Second solo date gave me balls so blue I had to sit on a hot compress.  Little Big Head and Bargain Bach head out and finally, sweet baby Jesus, we get our FIRST HELICOPTER OF THE YEAR!

They are taking off, but when the triumphant Bachelor theme never comes on, when they never start saying “I can’t think of a better place to find a guiding light on a journey to find love for the right reasons” it hits me.  We’re about to get PONZI’D.

They aren’t on a date.  They are on a helicopter tour of the ruin porn from Hurricane Sandy.  Everyone watching in New Orleans was like “fuuuuck this.”  Shit, there are parts of New Orleans that still look worse than this all these years later.

So they are on this date, the roids are making Little Big Head cry, they are trapped with this horrible lady just talking about death and destruction and I’m thinking that not even James Bond could get ass on this date.  His best chance of getting a rose at this point was to chloroform her and take it by force.  If only the ruin porn tour guide would leave.

Sidenote, CLASSY MOVE ABC on the moment of Twitter silence.  The world just closed the browser.

But it was just getting started.

They land and are forced to hang out with a nice old Russian couple that lost their house and listen to how shitty their life was.  I checked my guide to make sure I wasn’t watching PBS.  Damnit ABC, I’m here to watch millenials fuck their lives up, not to watch people that actually have fucked up lives.  Why are we doing this?  Was this part of getting Atlantic City to pay the bill for Bargain Bach’s season?  We had to have an educational portion intended to make us cry?

At the end, Bargain Bach figures, fuck it, they aren’t spending on me anyway, let’s give these two people our date.

SMART PLAY.  Real people actually eat on the dates.  I was so thrilled to see them eat that I forgot how nice it was they had an intern photoshop their ruined life album back together.  While this was a Red Cross commercial, here’s guessing they didn’t retouch all the photo albums lost in Katrina.  This is why this show needs to stick to ruining a few peoples lives and not saving lives.  Leave the life saving for people like Oprah.

Later, they eat at an Italian place and Little Big Head is doing pretty well going with the moment until he decides to talk about how he cheated on a girl way back when.  So way back when that when I started to do the math, I was like, soooo he dated her in fifth grade and cheated on her in 10th grade?  And we’re supposed to care?  Back then you broke up with people by just not informing them you were not dating anymore.  We all did fucked up shit back then.  Hunger Games, bitch.

Des took it well and let him live another episode.  Frankly, if there was a reason to lose interest in Little Big Head based on this admission of guilt, it was that he decided to do it on national television.  I am sure his clients in advertising love that.  He’s definitely who you want protecting the weird shit your parents did to you.  Yikes.

Back at Home Base Smedium, Zero Dork Thirty starts having war flashbacks and needs to know Bargain Bach is in it for the long haul immediately or he will kill a Smedium once an hour, every hour until he kills himself (which would be more interesting than anything in Atlantic City).

They took the old couple out and then gave them the best gift in the world.  Darius Rucker.  You have a Russian couple that lost everything.  Solution?  A brother who went country.  How convenient.  They were totally just listening to his “CD” in their CD player that totally survived Hurricane Sandy.  May God have mercy on your souls.

The cocktail party was stupid.  Sunstroker wore his 11th yellow t-shirt confirming again that men from Dallas dress like assholes.  Medusa drew letters and recited a poem that totes made him more masculine…  Sorry, just puked in my mouth.


In the end, No Neck Zak W gets cut and burns my alma mater USC.  Zak, we never knew you, but you will now have to live with knowing that you lost to 2 juice heads, 10 guys that like guys, a guy who is in love with his son and a disturbed army vet.

At least you get to go home to the OC, throw down at some bars, snag a Newpsie mom or two and publish the fuck out of some books.

Oh yeah, and Gabagool said “you make me sweat” when he got the rose.  My sperm count went immediately to zero.  It was like when honeybees all die at once and the colony collapses.  So fucked up.  I hate you Chris Harrison.

This episode played like a bad mission in Grand Theft Auto.  The good news?  They are going to Munchen next week.  Beer, pretzels, football and, knowing this show, a couple tours of Nazi death camps.








Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette