Okay, here we are — it’s sex week. You know, the week where the Bachelor finally gets to wrap up his cocktail weenie and shove it inside three holes. One hole he’ll really like, another hole he’ll enjoy but maybe less, and one hole he can do without.
HOWEVER, this season one of the women — “I like Basketball” Madison — must finally reveal that she’s saving her pristine pink silk purse for the sanctity of marriage.
Before the final lot fly off to their final destination (pssst, it’s Australia!) Madison takes Peter aside. While I was expecting a whole “I’m a virgin!” confession, instead, Madison dodges the topic of her untouched flower and instead tells Peter that she wouldn’t be able to move forward in their relationship if he were to slip his pickle into the musty canyons of the other two. …
This week on ABC’s The Bachelor, we flit around America like a deranged magpie to visit the final four women in their hometowns. It’s a unique chance to meet the families who have shaped these made for tv slices of warm apple pie.
Will it be mommy or daddy who damaged their young leggy daughter to the point of finding love on reality television? Who should we hold responsible for these women being motivated by (potentially) making a US Weekly cover? Or is this nonsense merely a result of growing up Generation Zedd? Are love and clout the same? …
Last week there was a bonus episode on Wednesday night. I watched it, I wrote about it, but it’s all too much for me. Here’s what you need to know (and admittedly, it was a doozy):
Last week, I was in Toronto. I watched the show later in the week but here are the cliff’s notes of what happened in Week Four:
Peter continued his quest to find forever love by going on dates with some randos. It’s important to mention, all of the women he is “dating” are in their early to mid-twenties (one exception) and ill-equipped to define what meaningful love is to them beyond an inspirational quote they saw on Instagram.
The Bachelor was recorded and the footage from this week’s plane crash was ready to be reviewed. But I sat on my couch staring at the vacant tv screen, frozen. It took incredible strength to turn on the television and press play.
IT IS PHYSICALLY PAINFUL TO DO THIS SOBER, YOU GUYS. I’M TELLING YOU. I’M SO SERIOUS, IT HURTS. MY FEETS ARE SO SWOLLEN.
So I’m going to keep this brief.
We’re back and it’s time for another episode of The Bachelor.
Last week, audiences were left hanging as an emotionally manipulative woman known solely as ‘Bama tried o ugly cry her way back into another season.
“I don’t know what to do right now,” Peter said, as he moved his head toward her crotch and then gently rested it upon her breasts to contemplate. He stroked her back in a very ‘we had sex four times and I came all four times’ kind of way.
But if adulthood has taught me anything, it’s that no matter how much you ugly cry — you can never truly go back. We should never get back with our exes because it didn’t work out for a reason, like, for instance, a chronic cocaine problem or a refusal to perform oral sex. …
And yet, we’re here once more: parked on the couch, all buckled up for a massive three-hour premiere of everyone’s favourite study in modern love, The Bachelor.
This season on the Bachelor Recap, things are a little different. For one, I will have to write this in stark sobriety. A far cry from my usual one bottle of wine, which quickly spiraled into full-blown whiskey last season. Secondly, I’m now betrothed to a five-alarm babe so hypothetically I shouldn’t be as bitter? We’ll see. And thricely, I’m pregnant meaning I’m a dash hormonal. By “a dash”, I mean I can cry, laugh, and yell in the same human breath. …
The age of 27 was when I first heard a small tick. It was a delicate metallic chime barely sounding from inside me. Then that gentle tick gradually grew from a sound into a golden pocket watch, snugly held between the walls of my womb.
Over the course of three years, it morphed from a pocket watch to an alarm clock, into a wall clock, and so forth. If I hiccupped the timepiece might grow exponentially in size, so it was best I avoid eye contact with particularly cute toddlers.
By the time my thirties arrived, there was a 6-foot grandfather clock uncomfortably stuffed in my uterus. You could hear it ticking every time I parted my legs with its resonant CLANG, CLANG, CLANG! It’s difficult to find a comfortable seated position when you’re balanced on the finial of a huge stately standing clock and trying to keep the toe moldings from bursting through the seat of your pants. …
It’s Monday night at 8pm and the Bachelorette returns for this season’s seventh episode; serving up low IQ pride, gaslighting 101, and dare I say, some romance. The remaining men are carted off to Latvia. ‘Bama describes Latvia as resembling “a real set piece” — whatever that means.
“This is sick!” one guy says while walking through Latvia amongst his tribe of competing males. “Look at this building!” exclaims another guy, directing the group’s attention to a nondescript building.
Everyone seems pretty jazzed about how “sick” Latvia is, and how building-like the Latvian buildings are. It’s going to be crazy.
After many years of tuning in for ABC’s The Bachelor (Monday nights at 8.. 7 central) with nary a cable provider, I was thrilled to discover a free — and legal! — website where I could stream the show the same night as it airs. It was a revelation to discover as I’ve been seeking out this warlock for eight years.
On Monday night, I got home from my first real driving lesson. And you should have seen me, you guys! Driving the streets of a Richmond business park, high on the adrenaline of reaching a peak speed of 40km an hour, learning which way to bash the stick to make the blinkers blink good. I yelled “I’m driving! I’m driving!” …