Tag Archives: vacation

You Are No Sweet Genius

This may be off topic, even for a blog that technically is about USC football, the Bachelor and things I do when I have too much bourbon and hang out with the Mad Men.  That said, what kind of fucked up week gives you a Saturday on a Wednesday?  Come on, America.  France gets like 2 months paid vacation.  We don’t even get a 5 day weekend to celebrate YOUR fucking birthday?  Don’t be that asshole, America.  Not with the Olympics coming up.  You need us now, tonight.  You fucking need us more, than ever.

All that aside, I write to you to call us out as a nation right now.  I need to shed light on the realness right now because you are all either celebrating too much about Obamacare or threatening to move to another country with socialized health care because you don’t understand what Obamacare is.

I am writing you because we have let pastries get out of control.

Social media is the ultimate recognizer of trends.  If this was 1994, only half of you would have known what “Call Me Maybe” was.  Only a third of you would know the joy that was dancing like an asshole to “Levels” and then “Levels (In Reverse)”.  Hell, most of you would think dubstep was a new way of getting high that involved farting into a plastic bag (ironically, even when I am enjoying the drop in Cinema, it still sounds a little like that anyway).

Social media is the reason that despite not being a pastry person, I know what all of you are eating.  I know because you guys tweet and shoot photos of everything you eat.  I can dig that.  It’s a good way to see what’s out there.  Until a trend in pastry gets out of control and it brings out everything you hate in everyone, movies, society and humankind.

I think I first noticed it when everything was chocolate covered bacon.  It was like, chocolate covered bacon ice cream.  Chocolate covered bacon foam on a bacon frittata.  Bacon cupcakes.  Bacon fuck you.  I can’t deal with this just coming off the food truck thing.  Food trucks are like restaurants.  They are sometimes good, sometimes not.  Just because it drives and tweets doesn’t mean you suddenly lived in Brooklyn for eight years and were a successful DJ in Sweden.

The next trend was red velvet cupcakes, cakes, pancakes, you name it.  This shit got so popular, people were literally freaking the fuck out in the streets rubbing cream cheese frosting on their faces and crying.  You’d be in your office and hear people oohing and aahing and you’d walk over to see what you hoped would be something awesome.  Nope.  Someone went to Sprinkles and time and space started going in reverse.

Nevermind that red velvet cake has been around forever, was a treat in the south dyed red with beet juice and is basically just a chocolate buttermilk cake dyed red.  Nope.  It’s the new hot thing and if you aren’t on board, kill yourself.  Hell, I learned to bake them just to make a point to co-workers that if I could do it, it’s not special.  Ironically, this type of thing taught me how to cook and now I am ever MORE attractive.  BRB, gonna look in the mirror for a while.

[twenty minutes later]

Damn, that was good.

After red velvet (and the totally ass-backwards blue velvet, remember?), there was salted caramel everything.  Again, this has been around forever (just ask Alton Brown) just like putting salt on a grapefruit.  That didn’t stop the world from fascinating itself with exotic sea salts on every kind of caramel you could think of.  Salted caramel gelato, salted caramel cupcakes, salted caramel covered chocolate dipped bacon red velvet cupcakes.  Whoa, aneurysm.

We survived all of this only to get to the most ridiculous trend of them all.  I thought it was going to be the cake mix in a jar thing, but turns out that is actually practical enough that people aren’t obsessing.  They just appreciate the convenience of “just add eggs”.  No, the new trend is obvious, in fact, it’s not that new (which means it’s about to get uncomfortably big).

It’s turning everything into a fucking popsicle.

Because a bite size cake wasn’t enough.  You needed to shove a stick up it’s ass.  You said, “I don’t look like quite as much of an asshole as I thought eating this chocolate bacon red velvet cupcake, I know, let’s eat it on a stick”.

It doesn’t stop there.  Once these things came into fashion, we had to start putting sticks in everything.

What do we need a pancake pop for?  Can we just as a society commit to eating a fucking pancake on a plate with syrup?  Like Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter intended?  The point of a pop in the first place is to eat something more conveniently.  Like a FROZEN, STICKY ICE CREAM BAR or A STICKY, HARD CANDY LOLLIPOP.  We have the technology to eat our cakes and pancakes on a plate and for those of you that wanted it bite-size, that’s why they made cupcakes.  It’s convenient enough without making you look like the kind of asshole who is amused by a fondant wrapped cake shaped like Hello Kitty that you can eat in 2 seconds impaled on a stick like it was sitting in front of King’s Landing.

And don’t tell me pies are convenient.  If you went to middle school, you know they solved this problem long ago.

That’s the American way.  We’ll make anything more convenient to put in our fat ass, but we ARE NOT DOING IT TO SHOW OFF WE ARE DOING IT BECAUSE WE CAN.  No one looks cool eating a cake pop.  Rule of thumb, unless you NEED a stick to eat it, find another way.  What’s next, meat and vegetables on sticks?!

Oh, but we aren’t freaking out and posting pictures to every social network about kebobs are we?  We’re not painting eyes and mouths on skewered lamb chunks, are we?  No, we aren’t.  That’d be awkward.  Kind of like putting a popsicle stick in something you could just as easily pick up and eat with the world’s original convenient eating tool:  your fucking hand.

Until I see someone win Sweet Genius with a cake pop, it’s not happening.  Ron Ben Israel (RBI as my brother in law calls him, which is amazing) is the only judge of confection I trust.  Why?  Well, he’s hilarious for one.  Two, he was an Israeli soldier and has probably killed people.  Then, he tops that by becoming a professional modern dancer for ten years only to retire and become the world’s leading cake maker.

He will tell you if you belong in his magical world of desserts and if you don’t, tough shit he’s been trained in Krav Maga to kill you, but you should just kill yourself because you failed RBI.  You are no sweet genius.  You do not share his obsession with confection.  Sorry, bro.  Go stick a popsicle stick where the sun doesn’t shine.

Here’s a suggestion from the bearfighter.  This Fourth of July, do what our forefathers intended.  Bake a cake and cover it with fruit to create a noble depiction of the stars and stripes.  Like Martha Washington never did.



Filed under Rants and Musings

Bachelorette Recap: Week Six

This season consistently surprises me.  Literally, every time I think it can’t get any worse, it ties me to a chair and urinates on me.  I never thought looking at a hot blonde girl dress like an asshole could be so boring, but at this point I literally would pay hard earned US American dollars to get Hey Bear back to do a dance routine in some vaguely Asian market somewhere.

But hey, let’s talk about this week.  [fart noise]

If you have a friend who likes to go to Europe and then come back and brag to you, you probably already know that Croatia is so hot right now.  Croatia.  So hot right now.  While the poor rich kids are trying to cross off their Europe bucket list of taking Instagrams eating a baguette in Paris, drinking in a pub in London, smoking weed in a coffee shop in Amsterdam and eating tapas in Madrid, the really rich asshole is talking about next level shit like sleeping on a boat in the islands around Croatia and having sex with Aussie tourists that don’t give a shit about things like “STDs” and “alcohol poisoning”.  In terms of Europe, Croatia is the new Prague (or as your asshole jetsetting roommate called it “Praha”, but despite that attention to detail I PROMISE YOU they still pronounce Chipotle as “Chi pol tay” like it isn’t a fucking phonetic word).

does this look at all like the place they were? wasted opportunity.

So with Croatia being so dope these days, what does ABC do?  Hide Croatia under a deluge of bullshit product placements and lazy production work.  When the star is boring, the crew gets bored and eventually, everyone just says “forget the helicopters, hot tubs and adventure let’s just [insert fart noise].”

Let’s just rip this band aid off and hope next week is better.

We start in beautiful D’breadsticks, Croatia with it’s old world charm and Game of Thrones architecture.  It is also a place seemingly devoid of humans.  Just well lit castles.  From the beginning, you got the sense when Croatia signed up to host the show, they hadn’t seen it.  Then they watched it and were like, yeah, you can’t go to the beaches or we’ll lose the drunken Aussies.  Here.  You can go to D’breadsticks and figure it the fuck out.  It’s creepy there.  Enjoy.  Don’t let the locals steal your teeth when you sleep.

Chris Harrison was nowhere to be found, either because he’s not allowed back in this part of Europe or when he was told he was going to D’breadsticks and not some dope beach with drugs, he just stabbed a producer and skydived out of the plane flashing the middle finger the whole way up.  Or he was busy getting divorced.  Either way.  This season lacks Chris and helicopters and I hate Lady Veneers for it.  And all of West Virginia.  And Ricki.  I don’t care that she’s a child.  I want my Bach to be #bachtastic.

Veneers says it’s going to be really hard leaving Ricki Bobbi at home, but honestly eventually there’s gonna be some sex and Ricki is already messed up enough from this show.  I don’t need her in the fantasy suites.  Same time, REALLY GLAD you had to mention her, Emily.  I almost forgot you had a kid in between title cards of you holding your kid in a sun drenched field.  Wait, are you a mom?  On a scale of one to ten, we fucking get it already.

Date one is with Travis, who I don’t even think has been interesting enough to give a nickname yet.  He reminds me of the catcher from Major League II who can’t throw the ball back to the mound and has to memorize Playboy to not overthink even the simplest actions.  But I am guessing most of you haven’t seen it (but it’s on HBO On Demand right now so maybe take a peek and then swoon at how fucking right I am basically all the time about everything.  Yes you can touch me.  Five dollars.)

He had the egg, but somehow it never go creepy enough to harp on.  Whatever.

They had a KILLER date planned with no helicopters.  Thanks.  I got an idea.  Let’s literally just walk around town and say nothing.  Let’s dance for 8 seconds with some random ass band the producers probably flew in from Disney World, Orlando and then let’s cut right to dinner.  Yeah, Travis.  You are totally getting the rose, bud.

At dinner, I blacked out from boredom.  Travis talked about how his engagement broke up (who fails at being engaged?  why even get engaged if you aren’t going to go thru with it?  I have long felt the word “fiancee” was punishment meant to speed up marriage.  “wife” is so much easier to say.  everyone sounds like an asshole when they say fiancee).

Anyway, Chompers cut Travis, no rose, tough shit.  Scrambled Eggs is his nickname now, too bad he’s dead to all of us.  Seems nice enough.  Hope he finds love like the rest of us, as in, not on television with a woman who got a shitty Croatian spray tan and turned orange for no apparent reason.

Group date was the worst product placement for the ABC family of all time.  It was Disney/Pixar’s Brave, which I am stoked to see.  If I wasn’t so down to watch the film, I would have probably flipped my screen onto the ground and dumped everything in my refrigerator on it.

The ABC overlords made the dudes watch Brave in some old theatre, we had to watch them eat popcorn (Strawberry Lemonade eats like a weird teenage girl) and then discuss the characters.  Sweet.  At least Lady Veneers tried to have sex with Kermit during the Muppet integration.  This was just annoying and pointless.  ABC, we get it, she’s a mom, but you are only allowed one of these things a season.  We know it costs a lot to pay Harrison’s bail money and coke debts, but keep it real.  We allow one shameless plug for your intellectual property.  This has been two and if Mickey shows up as the chaperon for the fantasy suites, I am going to Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and leaving dead fish all over it.  And Space Mountain.  No one expects the Muppets.

So after the film, they do the most traditional Croatian activity of all.  Put on Scottish kilts and compete in the highland games, even the the highlands are not in Croatia.  Disney, no wonder our children grow up dumb.  “Mr. Geography Teacher, you’re wrong.  Braveheart was about Croatia, I saw it on the Bachelor”.  Derp.

So to make amends to Croatia, the dudes have to ride to the games on donkeys, because that is traditional for Croats I guess.  Perfect, ABC.  Problem solved.

Then they faked Chompers being able to shoot an arrow and showed that Spidermehhh is the worst athlete ever to be filmed.  They had to shoot arrows, do a caber toss with a bullshit baby caber and then point their junk at each other while wearing skirts and then pull on a wood log (so manly).  Check out what a real caber looks like:

Bigger, right?  By like a football field.  Way to take the training wheels off, ABC.  This season is less extreme than an old person eating oatmeal.  Spidermehhh got the “you’re a total bitch” cup and I think buried that hatchet with Dad when he challenged him to something or other.  Derp.

Night section was a waste of my time except for the ultimate One Direction moves.  He literally pulled the “first of all get under my blanket” move and slowly sprinkles more “I’m into boys” into his game.  Then he said “can I tell you something? you are so friggin hot” and my wife and I had to put off plans to have children until the 2020s because my sperm count vanished.  Thanks One Direction and congrats on looking like a toilet bowl cleaner.  Girls, never trust a guy who asks if he can tell you that you are “friggin” anything.  If he dresses great and knows what a Chloe bag is too, just be weary.

Spidermehhh gets the rose.  Don’t care why.

Final date is Filibuster, who I gave the perfect nickname to.  Bear witness to my greatness.  Look upon my scribblings and gasp, for I am the great prognosticator.  I can spot a douche from a mile away.  You really should send me questions about your personal life.  I will solve them.  (for those that did, I am on it).

We got to see Filibuster’s grooming ritual.  He really goes big with that beard.  The last time I spent so long grooming myself, I got in a limo afterwards and went to prom.  He picked out some turquoise shoes.  He gave himself some compliments.  All of it was useless because earlier in the show he was wearing a woman’s tank top.  That thing was insane.  I feel like some dudes had that in 2003, but most of us knew better.  Not Filibuster.  He knows nothing but the fact he needs to just keep repeating his mission over and over and it will eventually come true.  Dude should replace Romney on the Republican ticket.  Obama vs Filibuster would be the most entertaining election ever, politics aside.  I am entertainment first.  I endorse this message.

So they went oystering (which isn’t a word) on their date and at one point they spoke to an old guy with no teeth.  I could watch Filibuster talk to toothless Croatians all day.  It would be better than Frozen Planet.  It was the best.  He will not break his game for anything.  They got on the boat and were going to eat an oyster and Lady Veneers could not take it.  We were treated to the most awkwardly sexual scene I have ever seen where Filibuster commanded her to swallow the oyster until she eventually walked away and spit it off the side of the boat and then told the captain it was delicious.  I felt uncomfortable being that just ten minutes before I was being sold Disney’s Brave and hearing about Emily being a mother.

Filibuster kept calling her a trophy wife and then for dinner she dressed like a trophy just in time for Filibuster to read her a list of the 11 commandments of being his wife.  I really enjoyed this list and am considering having it emblazoned on a plate to give my wife for our anniversary (just kidding, I am taking her to Hawaii and we’re riding a helicopter, no I am not kidding).  Emily was making faces like she was passing a kidney stone that knows karate.

So she dumped him.

ENTER THE FILIBUSTER.  I have never seen the move on this show before where someone just says “fuck it, I am going to keep talking”.  He was like the villain in a horror movie.  She had to kill him eight fucking times.  It was great.  Filibuster filibusterted until his dying breath where he caught a cab and said some crazy shit.  Then he said the guys would miss him cut against shots of the guys celebrating his show death.  Hunger Games, bitch.

The real topping on the taco was that homeboy said something about the dudes cutting the show portraying him right, not like some arrogant fuck.  The editors showed how much they actually hated him by making a point of showing his “true self” was the kind of guy who shaves a beard like that, wears blue shoes and writes lists for a future wife.

Adios, bud.  Thanks for the entertainment.  Might get hard to watch without you.  Cue the David Guetta.

Speed Racer sneaks out to the bomb shelter Lady Veneers was living in to make out and tell her if she hadn’t dumped Ryan, he’d have told her too.  Kiss ass.

Rose ceremony was boring.  Landon Datavan showed he was a good dude with the death card speech.  Dad was super creep about hugs and kisses and then did one of those I’m-gonna-lose-better-start-crying-about-my-kid things.

The real surprise was that with one rose left, Emily went out back to interrupt Chris Harrison blowing lines off a producer’s neck to change the rules.  She comes in with no rose and makes it out like both Landon Datavan and Dad are going home, but GUESS WHAT?  Harrison comes in buzzin’ with two roses and she keeps them both.  HOORAY!

They are off to Prague (or Praha as your asshole roommate said) and if there is no helicopter soon, I fear I may retire at season’s end.  I need some more chaos.

Like the fact I was totally right that this is all an act.  Check out THIS US WEEKLY report that Ricki’s grandparents hate Lady Veneers now for dragging their grandkid into this whole mess and how everyone says she is a diva now.  What really bums me out is not that she is a diva, it’s that she is not being crazy with that power.  If you are a diva, be ridiculous. DO SOMETHING.  PLEASE.  SOMETHING WITH A PROPELLER THAT FLIES.  KTHXBAI.

Here’s another great shot from  reader Vicky (who has more education than I received).  Send in a pic that flatters me like this and I’ll put you in here.  I will accept that rose.

Lastly, 10:30am PST on ConnecTV in the Watercooler room I do a little live chatting.  Join me!



Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

Bachelorette Recap: Week Five

Had the Bachelorette existed in the 1700s (apparently just after Filibuster believes Shakespeare was writing, sweet Jesus), our forefathers would have had it so much easier.  There is no way after seeing the travelling shitshow we call “entertainment” that they’d have fought so long and hard to retain the colonies.  I mean, truly, after watching this group tour London I am positive, the Redcoats wouldn’t have been coming, they’d be leaving.

The hardest part for me about this episode, besides everything that happened during it, was listening to Lady Veneers pretend to give a shit about London and recite the same 3 lines about William and Kate getting married.  Look.  London is one of my favorite cities.  They managed to shoot there on the 5 days a year it is not grey and foreboding.  That was misleading because while London’s foggy gloom usually foreshadows a wicked hangover for wild bucks like me, in this case it would serve a fair warning to Lady Veneers:  THIS IS NOT GOING TO END WELL FOR YOU.

We had to be spoon fed our obligatory watch Chompers and Child play on a hotel bed scene.  It was great.  We learned Ricki, despite being what, like six, still thinks dragons live in Buckingham Palace.  I don’t want to be hard on this girl, but isn’t six like a first grader?  Or almost one?  By first grade I understood the rules of baseball and am pretty sure I had no expectation that a fucking dragon was flying out of the Getty Villa.  This is what you get when your rich child has a 1700 sq. ft. bedroom and you let her watch Game of Thrones.  She probably thinks her mother is Khaleesi.

Anyway, the dates got rolling with some steamy ABC After School Special sightseeing with Strawberry Lemonade who was so excited to be in London they made him pack three pairs of “knickers” in case he got too excited.  Which he did on the double decker bus.

What immediately was offputting was the fact that Lady Veneers was clearly sick and had a frog in her throat.  This was mildly disturbing given the fact ABC went out of their way to show that it was possibly Lady Veneers was, in fact, having a torrid affair with Kermit the Frog.  A “frog in her throat”?  Chris Harrison, you pervert!  Emily is from North Carolina now and if there’s anything we learned in their last election, it is that marriage is between a man and a woman there.  Man and a frog?  Do you realize what kind of scrutiny you have put Chompers in?  How will Ricki Bobbi go to school and learn that dragons don’t live in Buckingham Palace (also the name of a Raleigh-Durham strip club) if she is constantly ridiculed for having an amphibisexual mother?  Why ruin the life of someone with such perfectly fake horse teeth?  They take marriage WAY SERIOUS in North Carolina.

I am kidding.  I support all marriages, even the 50% of them that fail.  Or 99% of them if they were formed on this television show.

Anyway, I wish I had more to say about Strawberry Blonde’s date, but he is so boring I want to find the dragon in Buckingham Palace and wear armor made of bacon in hopes I was set ablaze, eaten and sparred the obligatory “can I kiss you” move that everyone does with Chompers.  Is this because she is so hot that guys are freaked out just to let it rip?  Is this because she is from West Virginia and they based the film Deliverance on there and they are afraid she will lure them back woods and Ned Beatty them?  Is it just because with teeth so powerful you want to make sure she’s not chewing gum and creating the potential to have your face chewed off in light of the zombie apocalypse bath salt talk that’s been going around the east coast?

Nope.  It’s just because these guys are weak sauce and there has been one fucking helicopter so far and it is week five.  All of you apologize to Ben Flajnik right now who took helicopters JUST TO GET TO the helicopter he was going to use to go somewhere extreme.

When they made him say London is calling and then played a rip off too-cheap-to-buy-a-license version of the Clash’s “London Calling” a little part of me died and my wife and I spent forty minutes burying it in the yard.  Our neighbors love us.

They rode a double decker bus [fart noise].  They took a picture in front of a soldier [wet fart noise].  Then they had Strawberry Blonde give a speech about love where he sounded like Atticus Finch’s mentally challenged inbred donkey child.  Like, he was speaking like a lawyer-reverend-3rd grade speech class student.  And what the fuck was he even saying?

So you know what my wife deals with, I would have gotten up there and just read the beginning of “Trainspotting” (even though they weren’t British) while randomly nodding my head and flicking people off.  At the end I would have thrown someone’s digital camera over the fence behind me and than ran the opposite direction singing Girl From Ipanema.  Yes I’ll accept that rose, obviously.  You never expect the Muppets.

They kept trying to say London is romantic.  It isn’t.  It’s an amazing city, but it’s a city where they will give you Yorkshire pudding with beef jus in it while you are drinking heavy ale in a pub you can smoke in.  If you go out all day in London and blow your nose, it’s got soot in it.  Cops fight drunks in London over their pint which they have just walked into traffic carrying.  London plays for keeps.  It doesn’t play for romance.

Proof?  You went on a date to the Tower of London.  All that tour is about are dudes called Beefeaters (hilarious) telling you that you need to tip your executioner a lot so he cuts your head off in one fell swoop as many prisoners suffered a grisly death of like ten blows before the head came off.  If you have been to London on this tour, you know that it is just all about gross out stories.

So yeah, let’s go inside, eat food shipped in from an organic restaurant in La Jolla and talk about how many kids we want.  And what better place to talk about how many kids you want than the Tower of London in romantic…London.

And how about that?  Emily.  These dudes will make babies with you.  If you don’t quit asking, the porn music will start and you will have to put your money where your mouth is and conceive these kids.  Hell, you want so many kids, just have one with each of the top five and then marry the one who has the best DNA (or at least the one you think can get Ricki off thinking dragons exist).

He gets a rose, I went and got a scotch.

Group date was more England racism.  Let’s go perform a bunch of Shakespeare again.  The Talented Mr. Lipstick was legit creepy the whole time.  He took it really seriously, when the correct answer was this:

Which of my readers would not fall in love me with if in England in front of a bunch of hard core thespians who take shit way too seriously I just did a scene from Billy Madison and played BOTH Adam Sandler and that other guy?  Wait, you are all in love with me already?  Yes, I accept that rose and no it’s not hard to be so humble.

Filibuster grew back the Seneca Wallace and perved out hard when he got to kiss Chompers.  Speed Racer kept getting a red face and every girl everywhere was all like “awwwww”.  Seriously, from my California home it sounded like there was a cat genocide.  Get over yourselves.  Egg Guy was fine, but like I still just don’t have a name for him and whatever [fart noise].

The only other note was Kalon telling Chompers to “run along” so he could practice and America was outraged at the fact this douchebag was still a douchebag. DUN DUN DAH!

Also, Emily responded by saying “this isn’t Broadway” and I am thinking, Jesus ABC, you got her to memorize all this other shit about London but you couldn’t get her to say West End instead of Broadway?  England like invented the play.  THEY WERE IN ENGLAND DOING A PLAY FOR A DATE BECAUSE ENGLAND IS SO FUCKING THEATERY.  Just because Veneers is boring and her daughter still believes in dragons doesn’t mean you get to phone it in and not give us helicopters or fact checking.  I mean, shit.  In Belize they were like explaining the top exports and gross national product over a ten year span.  GET IT RIGHT.

Then, in more English racism and because Harrison had to go pick up some Diana Ross (they call cocaine that there sometimes, especially if you look dumb and American, are on Spring Break lost in the West End after your mother bought you tickets to see Lion King and you drank a lot of tequila in a weird bomb shelter bar right before curtains up), they went to a pub for a pint.  Derp.

That’s when the fireworks started because Talented Mr. Lipstick called Ricki baggage, and in fairness, who wants to tell a kid dragons are only on Game of Thrones.  Dad decided to throw him under the bus and then Filibuster stood up and was all “that was not a cool thing to say” and the pile on began.  Lipstick was defenseless.

Lady Veneers said she was gonna go West Virginia, hoodrat, backwoods on him, only then she let Doug do the hard work.  I don’t think she knows what West Virginia, hoodrat, backwoods is, because again, it’s Deliverance.  It’s a deformed kid playing a banjo.  It’s “squeal piggy” (please don’t see the movie if you can’t handle rape, Burt Reynolds or both).  It’s not kicking a man in a women’s sweater out of a pub to leave England in a minivan.

Filibuster bought Emily a present and what was hilarious was she totally started coming around to him, proving my point that to be on this show you need to be the kind of girl that can be bought off by jewelry and 11th grade football player game.  “I’m gonna ignore your beard shape and the fact you are a walking erection and just accept this gift because it would go great with this racerback I just bought”.  Seems like only yesterday he was writing her 7th grade poetry and calling her a future fat chick.  I love Filibuster so much.

The worst part of this date was that Emily, who apparently wants a man’s  man, expected all these guys to puke and tell her what Kalon had said.  A man’s man doesn’t puke.  He gets a guy like One Direction to puke and then says “I was gonna tell you but he beat me to it”.  Emily is creating a house full of super whiner assholes out of a house of whiner assholes.

Next date was One Direction who was wearing a suit right off the Bonobos catalogue.  How did he pack for this trip?  He had casual high sock Bermuda wear for last week.  Now, he is ready to go riding in case the show’s British racism lead to a spontaneous polo match.

They went to an etiquette class that was just a failed experiment.  Jef was fine.  Emily was sick and bored and just for good measure, they faked it like they ran out.  The lady came back in doing her best Hogwarts professor “WHERE ON EARTH DID THEY GO”.  Speaking of which, anyone else feel like HBO has been playing Deathly Hallows Part Two on repeat for a month now?  It’s the new “Call Me Maybe” which was the new “Levels”.

They left to… GO TO A PUB.  Again.

Jef ordered two pints and a fish and chips.  Racist.  (I know this is not racism, but nationalisticisimsmsm, but let’s be honest, I don’t remember what I just wrote.  You never expect the Muppets and on a scale of one to ten…  Dragons).  Look, fish and chips is fine.  I get it.  But two “pints”.  This is like ordering two “glasses” at a bar in the use.  A pint of what One Direction?  Tartar sauce?  Urine?  Oh, beer?  Got it.  Pick one.  We have 200 on tap because it’s England.

Then, super fun, One Direction says something about a Chloe handbag.  I do not claim to be an alpha male (alpha males don’t need to claim anything, we built this city on rock and roll).  I mean, look, I lived in Beverly Hills and am aware of ladies’ brands and the basics of couture.  My Chuck Taylors are made by John Varvatos.  I mean, I am kind of a dick.  The thing is, I didn’t know what a Chloe bag was.  Now I do and I know one thing:  Jef shouldn’t know about it.  He also said like “a Chloe handbag you’d want to keep forever”.  I always thought Jef was just a mellow slow roller, but maybe he’s just super into fashion or maybe, like Emily, he is into Kermit the Frog too.  Like, he’s not a Miss Piggy kind of guy, but I bet he knows what purse she wants.

Yeesh.  Emily was won over by Filibuster’s dumb necklace, so Jef might be the new Ames.  One Direction seems wrong.  Both Directions, probably.  Good for him.  That’s so not Salt Lake City and I dig it.

They then went in the London Eye, talked a bunch about nothing and it was boring.  Jef did however say he would have non-stop all night dance parties with Ricki in Salt Lake City which sounds terrible, just like Salt Lake City.  [fart noise].

Then, like everyone else, he asked to kiss her, but at least wasn’t gross about it like Speed Racer, who leads with more tongue than an ear, nose and throat doctor.

Cocktail party, Chompers just interrogates everyone as to why on earth they wouldn’t sell out a guy who would never ever win.  Filibuster continues his headfuck by just doing the thespian thing AGAIN, but it works and now Emily can be bought by jewelry or the even more timeless male tactic of “be a dick, then be nice, rinse and fucking repeat”.  Thanks Agoura High School for teaching me everything I needed to know to cover bad reality television.

In the end, having only to do with the fact he was the last non white dude on the show, Alelelelejando was booted.  Forget the fact this guy was gonna be a banker.  Forget the fact that the “mushroom farmer” as ABC calls it actually invented a way to grow gourmet mushrooms out of recycled coffee grounds which he has sold to Chez Panisse and Whole Foods and got a grant from Berkeley.  Emily likes white dudes with Seneca Crane beards that bribe her and treat her like shit.  And will lie to Ricki about the existence of dragons.

Off to Croatia.

Couple things…

FIRST.  A BIG ASS HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO KAARIN O. AND HER LOST ANGELES FANS WRITING FROM SEATTLE.  Seriously, I hope this birthday feels better than a helicopter ride in the Alps.

SECOND.  At the urging of many of my readers and now a few of my friends, I am going to do some advice posts.  Send me an email at lostangelesblog [at] gmail [dot] com and ask me your question.  I’ll hide your real name, all that jazz, but I will also solve your problems.  Want to Filibuster?  I can help.  Want to STOP A FILIBUSTER?  That too.  Send me some emails and I will post more content and probably save your world.  All I ask is that you name your kid Zack (boy or girl, don’t care) and buy them a hot ride when they turn 16 so they get some hot dates.

LASTLY-  FOLLOW ME.  My tweets are legend.  Instagram is now heating up.  Facebook fan page gets extra content.  Keep an eye out for me on ConnecTV, I’ll be doing some live chat on Tuesdays.  Google them to learn more.



Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

The Women Tell All

I spent most of the week trying to figure out how NOT to write about this train wreck of an episode.  I mean, this is the episode where Chris Harrison comes in and feels good about himself for torturing girls that have already ruined their lives.  It’s like in Hunger Games where they make all the tributes interview on live-television before they have to go kill each other with tridents and like swords and homemade bombs.

First off, thank you to one of my Twitter followers for pointing me out to Chris Harrison’s blog post (there are many other drug users whose writing I prefer, namely Hunter S. Thompson).  You know by now it’s my theory that Chris has to do extreme amounts of narcotics to be able to continue doing this show.  We got some concrete proof today.  HERE is the link so you know I am not making this shit up:

I usually don’t worry about watching the Women Tell All episode before I write this blog, but this year I had to because to be honest, there were some segments I don’t quite remember. My son was nice enough to give me his cold so I started the day worried about losing my voice, but by the end of the show I was desperately trying not to pass out. I’d like to apologize to the ladies, the audience and the crew, as I had to hold up production for about forty-five minutes while I “regrouped.” By “regrouped” I mean lying down backstage on a couch with ice on my head trying to remain conscious. What made this worse was the timing. I felt terrible all day, but it really hit me right when Courtney came out to join me. Honestly, I don’t remember much of what she said that first segment so I was glad to go back and watch that interview as well as the entire show. Turns out, I’m a pretty good interviewer in a semi-conscious state.

If you simply substitute “my son was nice enough to give me his cold” to “I spent all night eating E and dancing to dubstep” his entry reads pretty much like one of my recaps.  He needed forty-five minutes to “regroup” from a cold?  You recoup from a night in New Orleans.  Let me be clear, chicken soup doesn’t cure what Harrison had.  If it did, every first aid kit at every night club would have a can of Campbell’s in it.

I mean read this!  “Turns out, I’m a pretty good interviewer in a semi-conscious state.”   I can’t make that up.  But in fairness, I’ve known since I first watched this job that this was the key to being the host of the Bachelor.  Drugs, therapy and helicopters.  That’s how you get through.  Also, Chris.  When you say it “really hit you” when Courtney came out, that means that you took too much buddy.  Side note, I am available to kick it with you whenever.  I’d like to see you in action.  You are my hero, but I fear you like a magical dragon that eats people’s dreams.  I am here to serve you, Sweet Lord of Roses.

So, this fucking episode was a hot mess and I don’t intend to give bullet by bullet accounts of everything.  I will just jump around a bit.

First, can we talk about this audience?  They found like the 30 women willing to stop watching Twilight and dreaming of a vampire to come make love to them in their sweatpants and then two guys who are definitely in the friend zone and then they sit there gasping like they have never seen this damn exercise before.  Courtney comes out, they shake their head shocked like this isn’t the Bachelor.  It made me think there’s a slew of people at home that are shocked each time they fly in a helicopter.  Like they are at home and everything on the show causes a double rainbow reaction.  By the way, Chris Harrison was there when they filmed double rainbow, why do you think that guy was so messed up.  Double roses, all the way.

Let’s talk Contagion.  Anyone else notice she sounded like Stephen fucking Hawking compared to everyone?  Like, someone with average intelligence, maybe above average except for the fact she was on this show, seriously sounds like a genius.  That said, she was pretty self confident and reasonable.  All things considered though, if you are surgically enhanced, don’t wear a dress like that.  You know?  All things considered, I’d take you home to Mom, you can rap, you look cute in a helmet like War Horse.  You’re smart except for that whole I was on the Bachelor thing.  You came out like roses, just not on the actual show where you came out like you didn’t get a rose.

Speaking of peaches, Sally Field came off the best.  She should have won I think.  She handles herself super well no matter what and from what I know about marriage, the key is sort of being able to handle anything from a financial problem to a fart in public.  It’s like American Gladiators of love and I feel like she could battle through.

Totally forgot how much I hoped Samantha would fall down a tall flight of stares.  Between her and Scary Bradshaw, there was so much weird face going on.  Watching her is like putting your hand through a potato ricer.  It’s like an alien incubated the body of a sorority girl but hasn’t figured out how to work the face yet.  Like Men in Black shit.  She squeaks like a “chihuahua” and then makes faces like she smelled a nasty fart.  That’s her in a nutshell.

When Courtney came out, the real fun began.  Courtney’s agent had her auditioning big time for a role where she needs to cry.  I’m sorry, I am a veteran of crying women, having served 3 tours when my wife had multiple female roommates and let me just say that wasn’t real crying.  She could turn it off in two seconds.  Here’s my rule of crying.  I don’t believe you unless you cry ugly.  I mean, with the exception of Sally Field, a woman turns into a newborn baby when she’s REALLY crying.  You can’t just shut if off unless you are in a movie acting.  Which is what Swimsuit Issues was doing.

Also, anyone notice how little makeup she wore on the show.  I mean, she’s actually hot when she bothers to drop the ugly tank tops, powder the T zone and put some makeup on.  This further confirms my belief models do not know how to put on their own clothes or makeup.

A highlight for me was when Candy Striping Hooker said that everyone called her a stripper but Courtney is the only one that got naked.  Strip club wisdom.  Then she took the fight to Courtney by asking why she called her a hooker on television.  I felt bad for her until I remembered she actually is a stripper and TMZ caught her giving a lap dance like two weeks ago.  So, yes Courtney sucks, but let’s admit the best way to not be called a stripper is to AVOID GIVING LAPDANCES ON CAMERA.

That was part of the speech I plan to give my future daughters before their first day of high school.  The rest you can solve.  TMZ is forever.

I’d say more about Courtney, but like, we get it by now.  She’s a lying asshole.  She’s awesome at the Bachelor.  I think we’re all ready for the season to end and for her to be where she belongs:  in the background of a commercial her family Tivos and makes their friends watch while drinking neon green margaritas in their Scottsdale home that they NAMED.  Fuck it, I am naming my house too.  Let’s call it El Rancho Guapo.  Boom.  El Rancho Guapo, home of Captain Handsome and his circus of trainer lazer bears.

Oh crap, did Chris Harrison drug my coffee?  Let me ask the glowing sea otter sitting next to me.  No?  Okay, we’re good.

So then Ben comes out and Chris totally let him off the hook with just a few questions.  I never understand this part.  In my “worst” breakup, after a long relationship, I probably wanted to talk about what went wrong for a week or so and that was after years of servitude.  After that, it’s standard protocol to cut and run.  Sever ties and bail.  You blame everything on the other person and then live well, start a blog and become popular until one day you are so stuffed with caviar and bourbon you don’t really remember anything and assume ALL past relationships ended really well.  Duh, right?  Like, right out of the owner’s manual.

Jennifer (bad red hair) chose the other route, again throwing Blakely (really?) under the bus and demanding to know how Ben could pick a stripper over a girl who let a fifth grade class color her head with red spray paint.  Look Jenny (can I call you Jenny or does Cherry Bomb work), if you can’t get over getting kicked off a show about having sex with strangers in favor of a professional stripper, you are never going to be self-confident.  Move on, dye it back and maybe move to NYC.  Girls like to do that when things aren’t working out.  Ever notice that?  Tangent, I know, but I feel like that happens all the time.  Like, dude broke up with me, the answer is New York, where guys are all nice and living is easy…  Right.

Some of you are from New York or moved there for the right reasons, sorry to you guys, but admit it, you got at least one friend who you were like “why the fuck is she moving here, she’ll end up in Brooklyn eating week old pizza and mad DJ Dubstep isn’t returning her texts and then admitting she misses home and should focus on her career”.

Courtney did mention that she “loved” Ben, which blew Twitter up.  ARE THEY NOT TOGETHER?  DID SHE WIN?  Then there was the US Weekly thing.  Look, I haven’t spoken to Ben about this other than that his sister’s roommate who is watching his dog Scotch let me know the dog is a fan of the blog:


Look, when you are on this show, you are NOT allowed to talk about what happened.  Remember Brad and Emily on After the Final Shitshow?  You live apart, watch the show and then if you survive (which no one does) you can date.  Ben and Courtney clearly are in the “we can’t talk about it phase” and are probably not even together.  No idea why if either of them are dating other people this is considered cheating.  For one, Ben kissed almost every contestant this year, but that isn’t cheating?  No, it’s the Hunger Games bitch.

Two, all of America hoped Courtney got a parasite for the last two months and change.  Can we just avoid the media rollercoaster and say that if Ben got out, we’re happy for him?  Look, I haven’t read any official spoilers and I have held back asking Ben questions until we kick it at a ballgame this summer, but in the end, is it shocking a dude needed to get away from Courtney if that was the case?

The season is almost over.  I am ready for the MOST CONTROVERSIAL FINALE SINCE THE LAST FINALE WHICH WAS ALSO THE MOST CONTROVERSIAL FINALE.  Wonder if War Horse rides out on a horse just to get not-engaged.  Stoked for some Neil Lane ring shopping.  Some pensive balcony morning-of testimonials.  Stoked for some “I can picture spending my life with this person I’m about to emotionally rape” dialogue.

Also, stoked for my mini sabbatical before tearing Emily Maynard to shreds.  Tick tock, Bad Mom.



Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette