Thursday, June 26, 2008

Spoofing: This Is Just To Say

Some weeks ago, I listened to (repeatedly) an episode of This American Life entitled, "Mistakes Were Made". The final act stuck with me the most, and recently resurfaced in me when I was forced to think about poetry, and to try to write like a poet.

"Act Two. You’re Willing to Sacrifice Our Love.

There’s a famous William Carlos Williams poem called “This is Just to Say". It’s about, among other things, causing a loved one inconvenience and offering a non-apologizing apology. It’s only three lines long, you’ve probably read it...the one about eating the plums in the icebox. Marketplace reporter (and published poet) Sean Cole explains that this is possibly the most spoofed poem around. We asked some of our regular contributors to get into the act. Sarah Vowell, David Rakoff, Starlee Kine, Jonathan Goldstein, Shalom Auslander and Heather O’Neill, all came upwith their own variations of Williams’s classic lines. (6 minutes)"

First, I present the original poem:

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
for breakfast.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

-- William Carlos Williams

And my spoof:

I ate the whole

You most likely heard
me slurp
the cheese.

Drunk tosses
of foil,
and rice,
and beans.

If I woke you up,
and you're angry,
don't fret...

I barely tasted it,
and I'll pay for it

You can hear the original podcast here.

The "Poet" As An Observer: The Mall Metaphors

[Sidebar: This past weekend I took part in an intensive writing seminar at BCC. Over the course of the weekend, I wrote four different pieces - each in about ten minutes. They've been edited (since I can't not edit) but the content is true to my in-the-moment inspiration. Recently, this blog has been dedicated to my lengthy Bachelorette recaps, so I'm happy to post something new. I hope you especially get a kick out of my poetry attempts.]

The Mall Metaphors

He glides among pyramids
He saunters around the pillars of the day
He smells of Gucci, and a lunch hour Chardonnay

He can fold a V-neck tee
As lovely as a wave folds up onto the sand
He can get you a key to the dressing room
As fast as a cougar runs on arid land

His name is Bo.
His code is minimum wage.
Welcome to the Gap, How can he help you today?

A "Poem": Becoming

[Sidebar: This past weekend I took part in an intensive writing seminar at BCC. Over the course of the weekend, I wrote four different pieces - each in about ten minutes. They've been edited (since I can't not edit) but the content is true to my in-the-moment inspiration. Recently, this blog has been dedicated to my lengthy Bachelorette recaps, so I'm happy to post something new. I hope you especially get a kick out of my poetry attempts.]


I am an editor.
"Editor" fits me to a tee.
"Creative" was a word I laughed at when applied to me.

Spelling, sentence, structure
semi-colon, comma, hyphen

To finish and see the beautiful
red-inked landscape of my
practical, ruled, application:
b r e a t h t a k i n g

Then. Then anger caused exchange of red
for black
for blue
for keystroke
for pencil
for marker
for eyeliner
for chalk
for cigarette butt

Anger motivated
and always comedy
and usually tragedy
and honor memory
and love family

Brought forth by music

"Creative" can be me,
has to be me

Only I hold my own view

And then I edit, I write, I edit, I write

Cheesy poetry.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

A Monologue: I Am A "Star"

[Sidebar: This past weekend I took part in an intensive writing seminar at BCC. Over the course of the weekend, I wrote four different pieces - each in about ten minutes. They've been edited (since I can't not edit) but the content is true to my in-the-moment inspiration. Recently, this blog has been dedicated to my lengthy Bachelorette recaps, so I'm happy to post something new. I hope you especially get a kick out of my poetry attempts.]

A Monologue: I Am A "Star"

So I was a guest on Letterman last night. LETTERMAN. He seemed to mock my celebrity, but it's hard to tell with him, ya know?
He was shocked when I told him I require a hundred grand to show up at a club. Hey man, if promoters are willing to pay it, Why not take it?
Do I deserve it?
Have I earned it?
I'm on a semi-scripted, boring-as-hell, reality television show. Truth be told: I hate that fucking show. But it's made me who I am.

Who am I?

I'm famous.

What do I do?

I'm famous.

What is my passion?

F A M E.

Sure, I produced my girlfriend's record; you could call me a producer.
Sure, I directed my girlfriend's video; you could call me a director.
But fuck all that.
I get to produce, I get to direct...
because I. AM. FAMOUS.
My good looks and commitment to my bad attitude gave me my fame, gave me my money.
Why would I opt for legitimacy?
Legitimacy is difficult.
Legitimacy requires talent.
Legitimacy needs credentials, and reputation and respect.
I don't want any of those things.
I want fame; and I want money.
My father... the big deal land developer of the OC...
He could give a fuck that I'm a renegade twat with shit for brains.
He sees me wheeling and dealing on my iPhone, he sees me drive up to his mansion in my brand new Escalade, he sees me pick up the check at the country club.
He sees, and he looks... impressed.
He looks... relieved.
He looks... fortified.
He looks... proud.
He's proud of his nasty, materialistic, illegitimate, talentless wreck of a son, and that's enough for me.
So fuck 'em!
Assholes like Letterman think it's nuts to give me a hundred grand to enter a club?
He's part of that machine that pays for fame, and I'm just a paid cog in the wheel until it breaks me off forever.

Flash Fiction: The Misunderstood Musician

[Sidebar: This past weekend I took part in an intensive writing seminar at BCC. Over the course of the weekend, I wrote four different pieces - each in about ten minutes. They've been edited (since I can't not edit) but the content is true to my in-the-moment inspiration. Recently, this blog has been dedicated to my lengthy Bachelorette recaps, so I'm happy to post something new. I hope you especially get a kick out of my poetry attempts.]

The Misunderstood Musician

His corduroys were so tight, and so exactly powder blue, and he was so impressed with his ridiculous taste in fashion. His shirt was only slightly better-looking; still just as tight but (at least it was) black. His hair was ratty and unkempt as usual -- except pulled back in an unusual ponytail. To be honest, he looked like a lengthened, malnourished, pastier version of that fitness dillweed, Tony Little.

He strutted in front of me, begging for my approval.

I sat on the well-cushioned bench of the sickly-indulgent tour bus, just trying to enjoy my beer before all hell broke loose, and he presents me this silly dick-cinching pair of pants.

You look like an idiot.

My dead pan declaration, coupled with my raised eyebrow indicated to him I meant it.

Really? I don't know. I think they're cool.
Did you show the guys?
Why don't you try them? Oooh, and can you take my audio recorder with you? I'd love to hear their commentary...shit, I can't find my clipboard...

He didn't take the recorder from me. Instead, he, in his tiny pants sulked off to the bus' tiny toilet.

Harsh Judgment: Just another perk of managing a band.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

The Bachelorette Recap #4: Dudes Like Fuckin' Cars

Brad's residual checks have met their inevitable end. RIP, Brad's residual checks, but glory be for the rest of us. I wasn't aware, but we find out this show has been produced in an effort to "heal her broken heart" - as if a television show attempting to put two culture-killers together is a healthy way to do such a thing. One item of interest that I noticed in the recap of the last episode: Ron and Jeremy, Arch Nemeses of Night Time TV Torture, are wearing the exact same anti-cowboy shirt. Plus, ABC considers Dee to be "America's Sweetheart" - a laughable characterization. I know Sandra Bullock, and you, Dee, are no Sandra Bullock.

The build-up to the episode is actually a good twenty seconds light to what we're used to, AND, the episode order on the website is in the correct chronological sequence that they are to be in, thus, I have few complaints from the start. Give me time, ladies and gentlemen, give. me. time. This is like dreading the inevitable shit stain which is the future of rock-n-roll.

Dip Shit hangs with Tweedle Dee, Twilly Dumb, and the Seven Dwarfs to remind the group of how this whole process works; i.e. the rose-winners of yesteryear get to move up into the house on haunted hill: Fred (love), Robert (vom) and Jason (...).

Dip Shit explains the week's dates: a group date, a one-on-one date, and a two-on-one date. He promotes the last date as the kiss of death, as one of these subpar politicians will be going back to his mistress. To earn the one-on-one, the competition starts as soon as his ass leaves the bunker. The challenge? To write and perform an original song for The Deevil. Awesome. AWESOME. AWWWWESOMMMME.

Jesse's reaction is appropriate, as far as Coloradan-snowboarders are concerned. He sucks at art and wants to punch Dip Shit in the teeth.

Cue montage of douche to legal pad. Brian says he loves putting verse on paper, and my lust-roots for him grasp tighter to the soil of the most shallow planter-box. When quizzed by Sean on the status of his love song, Brian responds confidently. This is the editing which reveals he most assuredly will lose this competition. Why reward hard work and passion, REALLY?

Fred hilariously struggles through writing his song, and Jason doesn't know what a refrain is. Incidentally, the workspace Graham writes in includes a table-ornament that closely resembles a grenade.

Dip Shit calls them back to the bunker's living room, in order to embarrass themselves and those they love by performing their musical non-masterpieces before a major network's significant audience-share.

DeAnna, judgiest of the judges, gets to pick at their efforts. She waltzes into the bunker with a "How ya'll doin this mornin?", two Livestrong bracelets--you know she had to wrestle away from Graham, and the ultimate Hollywood accessory: it's-only-a-matter-of-time-until-rehab UGGS.

Fred's up first. In a talking-head, he omigods, "Oh... my... god...". His lyrics are cute, and I'm pretty sure the melody rips from the Dukes of Hazard theme song.

Next is Graham (still in his pajamas), he interviews he'd rather eat glass and that's what he feeds us with his "wine" song. Notably, he predicted his bros would laugh at him to get him through. Absolute silence follows.

DeAnna appears to be sitting in a director's chair. DeAnna, I know Marty Scorsese and you, my dear, are no Marty.

Robert tries to sing, in a way that he thinks he can sing. Dee points out she thinks he thinks he can sing, and all I can think about is that chubbster, Garth Brooks.

Twilly performs some spoken-word-over-producer-scythed-cowboys-duelling-music. Jeremy raps; he raps. Sean Garth Brooks it up; Jason embodies some alien shit with robotic spoken word, which some how alludes to his bastard child. Oh yah, also? He's got Jesse's white sunglasses on.

Jesse's song is in the vein of Woody's "Kelly Kelly Kelly Kelly Kelly Kelly Kelly Kellyyyyy, K E L L Y" (tm Cheers). He one-knees it, and finds his way through her Ugg-fur to grab her hand. She flips her hair HARD in approval.

Big Brian steps it up. His muscular ass settles into the pool table, and it is there he reveals what it's like to live in "The House of [His] Pain." The song blows... yet, she still doesn't deserve it and I'd still be willing to go down on him. Funnily, his self-serious vibe causes his bros to undercover-snicker at his expense. Everyone, it seems, was in shock and awe at his willingness to offer his high school football subordinates hours of snark-time. His performance elicits a standing-O, and a Twilly reenactment akin to a duck, but do you think she'll choose him as the winner?

She fucking picks Jesse, because he touched her. He likens her to perfection. The three rosebuds depart with The Deevil, and my man Brian utters the most listenable sentence of the series, "We're losing our cook, our comic relief, and... Jason." Cue uproarious laughter, as it's warranted.

Proceeding the aftermath of the singsong, the "men" sit around pontificating on Jesse's ill-advised fashion choices for his outing - as men are naturally want to do - then lo and behold, a knock! at the door! An Executive Producer in fear of dispelling the allusion of romance, I mean, DeAnna, has messengered over a suit, courtesy of Men's Warehouse, and they have a group dick-suck over how much coin it must have cost a multi-million network. Jesse's freaking out over the loss of his Peter Pan lifestyle.

Poignantly, Jesse freaks out over the formal-attire required for the date. However, he acknowledges it's not that personality-representing shitty garb of colors and skate shoes in his suitcase, but rather shitty garb like that suit that Dee wants to date.

Dee pops out of her "home" in my prom dress from 1993. She enters, without knocking (RUDE), and beckoning back to memories of their high school proms and first times getting laid, their sixteen-year-old testosterone-drives deduce she looks so hyperventilation-good.

Dee talking-heads, "I'm not trying to change Jesse, BUT gnjwgbnogbrgrbgolgngwronog" aka, YOU'RE TRYING TO CHANGE HIM. Point of interest: Jesse is uber-tiny, like Dee-sized tiny.

The limo arrives at some Hollywood-landmarkian theater. Apparently, Dee's out of control since she put their names on a marquis. He's pooping and farting all over her, and she continues her shtick of shameless giggling.

In a talking-head, The Deevil lies that she feels good that Jesse is delusional enough to think this night is all about him. Side bar: They hug/touch each other a lot. He must be warm. Jesse, the historian, hypothesizes the building is "super old". Him and Dee gaze at the architecture and wonder where the closest Gap is, and then they serendipitously discover a dinner-scenario where the orchestra pit should be.

Nervously, Jesse farts.

At the bunker, the gonad brothers dick over a date card. The group date includes Brian, Twilly, Sean, Jeremy, Graham, and Jason. The message says, "Gentlemen, Start your engines." They all cum at once. Fred and Robert appropriately deduce it is them two for the two-on-one: The chef of sleaze vs the comedian of ease.

Back on the snowboard slopes, The Deevil forces Jesse to sing her song on the stage; several stanzas of awkward later, he finishes, to her personal amusement.

Dee talking-heads that she's seen Jesse's fun side and wonders if he has a serious side - because, really, how could a human have both? It's unimaginable in Dee's world-of-boxes. Back at the dinner table, which looks like it includes steak, Dee asks if Jesse's ever cheated on a woman. Of course, he denies it. In addition, we find out he's stubborn. This is not the opposites-attract-kind-of-world that Paula Abdul intended. Cos, guess what? The Deevil's stubborn too. Jesse remarks that he gets it as she was a total bitch the first night they met. She evilly laughs in recollection at her first-night gaming. Jesse and his locks-o-love pontificate that he was reticent at being able to find love on TV. For a moment, I think this whole illusion will dissolve in front of my very eyes, but then he lies at the realness of it all. BTW, Jerri Lor-Lor previously revealed to me that Jesse was televised on another reality show on MTV, and I know in an instant that Jesse is as much as a fame-whore as The Deevil is, despite his obtuse fashion choices.

Dee acknowledges Jesse's a "real dude" and as much as I want to give her credit since she used the nomenclature "dude", alas, I cannot, because they both suck. Jesse wants to toast to the reality of their relationship. I toast to my own alcoholic death - which will surely precede theirs.

His obsession with getting the rose is overwhelming. He dings the friggin' rose-plate every time he grabs for his Chardonnay. She finally offers him the boutonniere, to his enjoyment. I'm perplexed about the rose-speak. It's not like he's saying, "I want to be here with you cos I like you so so so much." Rather, he's saying, "Gimme the rose, I want the rose. I want to remain in competition with my competition. The Rose! The Rose!". She doesn't catch on, most likely since she's not privy to the talking-heads... that HAS to be it.

Just when I think the singing on this show cannot offend me any further, Natasha "Had to Google Her" Bedingfield shows up on the stage (accompanied by a suicidal-looking guitarist). Jesse looks utterly clueless, his face registering "Is that, like, Barbra Streisand?". It's just a guess, but I'm figuring his musical tastes hover somewhere around old Green Day.

So Jesse felt "swept away" (I'm guessing he means as unto the terror of a tsunami), and The Deevil shamelessly self-promotes (again), "When I'm around Jesse, I feel like I am the only woman in the world." Part of that may have to do with the fact that you are the only woman you've seen Jesse ever interact with in his whole damn life. My opinion: Dee does like Jesse, but we all know their relationship would only work in the context of this bubble. Their social and work commitments would look too entirely different, that conflict would inevitably crop up over and over, eventually overshadowing the fun of their fart contests.

The next peak of sunlight, we see all the men (less Rob and Fred)(oh yah, Dee's there too) board a bus. They're going to a race track to drive, since men love fuckin', and food, and fuckin', and football, and fuckin', and cars. Point of body contact: Dee's doing her best seventh grade interpretation of flirting by rubbing elbows with Graham while looking uninterested. Ah, memories. I haven't touched a boy like that since I saw The Goonies - IN THE THEATER. IN 1985. I WAS NINE.

Thousands of talking-heads later, we discover men like fuckin' cars. And chicks. The Deevil comes swaggering out of the tunnel, camel-toe in full effect. The guys hoot and holler like drunk construction workers, and I'm half-surprised production even gives her a jumpsuit. I mean, the only way a man likes a woman near his car is if she's in a string bikini and heels, rubbing her tits on the hood, while biting into a very meaty burger. I guess Dee's flashy kelly green tank top will have to do. She gets flag duty, too.

Brian can't get it into first gear (we're to believe). Once he does take off, the ripped-off Metalica/PanterA ass-kicking metal kicks in, cos men love fuckin' metal! Driving fast is like moshin' to metal, and then fuckin' to metal records!

"Pedal to the metal", "pushing it to the limit", "for DeAnna, I will go to hell and back.", and "definitely terrified" are all said during this segment. Oh, Sean says, "across the finish line or into the wall" AND "droppin' the hammer, baby". Who wins? Sean.

Sean offers nothing but race car analogies during his "gift" of a one-on-one with Dee. I stop paying attention and start counting the bugs swarming between them.

Some things you didn't know about DeAnna: She lived in Kentucky for six years. Her mom is dead. She's a redneck. She did something to Sean's pole position.

God, Dee so relishes this "I'm tiny and cute and a woman, but I can kick all yall's asses in every thang" role. Between her whining (I'm short!) to her clapping like a two-year-old and baby voice (yaaaay!), she intuits her performance comes off sexy to the men, and their drool confirms it. Quite frankly, it's grossly insulting to any woman who's ever had the distinct disadvantage (however, more rewarding) of having to promote sense of humor, awareness, and intelligence as modicums for attraction, rather than belly button rings and googoo talky talky.

Dee wins. Her prize? Sean will stuff her in his suitcase, and schedule a hymen-reconstruction surgery in an effort to get his bride ready for their nuptials.

Jeremy pulls away "the all-around athlete". He admits he's pushy, and so stupid he would spend his whole life with The Deevil.

The other bologna sandwiches discuss children's stories and their relevance to adult love.

Back on the bus, Jeremy whines he misses Dee. She lies about thinking about him all the time. Just then, Graham interrupts them, and Dee's pants go up in flames. Flames would indicate either she's turned on, or she's bound to come away with some kind of STD after this whole thing is said and done.

Dee proclaims the "most confusing situation anyone could ever be in" is choosing between Jeremy and Graham. It's as if words have no meaning to her whatsoever.

Jason correctly observes to the group that Dee's and Graham's respective nether regions have a magnetic attraction, and it makes him nervous as he's "in the process of falling in love with her." It's as if words have no meaning to him whatsoever.

Graham's a fucking infant. All Dee wants to do it make-out, and instead, he's insisting he won't suck her tongue's sloppy seconds. He's playing jealous boyfriend, which is an absolutely undeserved position to assume. The way he talks to her is so unjustified - as if she's the brain behind the whole bachelor franchise. Dude. You read the contract, you signed up for exactly the experience you're getting. Quit projecting your frustrations with your idiocy in decision-making onto Dee. She should have smacked him.

Back at Fantasy Suites, Rob and Fred check their date-mail. The first card says "who has the recipe for love?". The second is full of lies and a gross misuse of an ellipses. Robert answers the first card's question for us. "I've got lots of recipes for love... smooth, rich, succulent...". The tuna melt begins churning in my gut. He ends with a rapid tongue-flutter. Sexuality minus charisma equals creepy. I know Pepe LePieu, and you Rob, are no Pepe LePieu.

Porn-addict Robert, and my man, Fred, sit around a fire pit in the courtyard. Rob smarms the kiss will determine the Rose. Fred's nervous. He tells us in an interview that he has a recipe for love, and perhaps one for beef stew - that wasn't clear. I wish I had decided to recap a cooking show. I'm a vegetarian and I would kill for some beef stew right now.

At the race track night club (what's with the neon lights?), Dee gives the rose to Sean. Apparently, she assumed he was just a karate geek know-it-all, but today she discovered he's also well-versed in race-car analogies - which she's super in to. She pins him, and he pulls her head so tight into his shoulder, he suffocates her to death. We all get to go home!!

The next day, after the funeral, the guys decide to celebrate with a BBQ. They invite Dee's Ghost and the mansion men. There's talk about how this will be a nice and relaxing atmosphere; we all know from the previews that it most definitely will be no such thing. It most assuredly will resemble something out of a usual afternoon in daycare.

First off, Robert's to cook which he acts like he doesn't like. Plus, there's a kitty table set up for the top three. It's funny, it is, and harmless, and all in good fun. Bobbie no likey and throws a regular fit. He tosses the playful IKEA children's chair into the hillside. People awkwardly laugh, and pee themselves in fear.

So Dee's pouting that she doesn't fit in at the boys' camp. They don't seem to recognize her outside of a strapless gown or a polka-dotted two piece. Sean and Brian throw stuff off a bridge. Bobbie and his teal popped-collar polo hang out by themselves on the hammock. Twilly is "being Twilly". In an effort to gain masculine attention, Dee humbly begs Jason to roll up the sleeves on her new t-shirt. Weird, when I did that to my t-shirts in 1987, I usually was able to accomplish the task on my own. Graham's a total downer, indicting the show's premise once again. His response is to avoid her, which she notices. Outside of a shirtless, grilling Fred, the whole event looks as about as fun as a trip to Auschwitz, during WWII.

Dee discovers Bobbie being a titty-baby indoors, and she marches off to scold him. They have an interesting chat in which he states the obvious about Jeremy and Graham being the front-runners. She strategically avoids answering the issue by only saying, "I've never said that." At this point, Bobbie, your accurate and confrontational reply should have been, "You don't have to SAY it. Anyone with sight knows this to be valid. Can you honestly say that my assertion is wrong?" Instead he completely loses grip of the power he began with, and allows her to manipulate this situation so that she can throw a proper fit, and feel justified in doing so.

They go outside. The menacing drum score tell us shit's about to hit the fan. Allow me to script her monologue in it's entirety. The prose is too self-indulgent to summarize. Here she is, America's Sweetheart, in her own words, DeAnna the Fucking Spoiled Brat: "I'm really really upset right now [begin crying]. Cos right now I should be the happiest person in the world, and ya'll [strong finger point] are breaking my heart. [dramatic pause] K? [dramatic pause] Ya'll feel good about that? [voice crack, tear swipe] I came down here today, to hang out with all y'all. If ya don't want to hang out? Go home. This is not a joke! When I say I know exactly what you've all gone through, I know exactly what you've all gone through! I know how hard this is. I know how hard it is when I'm going on dates with other guys [ticks off a finger], that I'm kissing other guys [ticks off another finger]. I know exactly how you feel. But I'm the one here trying to figure things out and if you guys can't handle it then go home." There's some more, but as a conscientious writer, I can't continue to relay such terribly written dialogue. She storms off in a huff. Can't the universe help me out a bit here? A toe stub? An ankle turn? Rabies?

Jeremy's talking-head correctly deduces their little party totally backfired.

Graham is SOOOOO RIIIIIIIIGHT. That whole cry-baby routine was specifically executed for the manipulation of Graham and Graham, alone. Bobbie, internalizing her speech, kept apologizing and it had not one fucking thing to do with him. Yah, ok, Rob is a dick, but she's a cruel bastard for using him as a pawn to wield her emotional butt-fuck of Graham (with her spooge spraying the rest in her wake).

The next day the camera lingers long, long time on Robert, Fred, and Fred's adorable argyle sweater packing up their suitcases. Bobbie says he's bringing his A-game (thus far, I'm guessing we've seen the D range). Fred says something similar but minus the porn-ish delivery. The limo brings them to another mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Considering they just left a mansion, I'm guessing Dee could really give a fart about this date and is intending on axing them both. Oh, sorry, that last sentence should have been preceded with Spoiler Alert!

They sit down to dinner. Fred poignantly talking-heads he knows his personality can win out over Rob's master-chef routine. Uh, that's leaving a lot up to Dee's ability to recognize a good personality when she sees it. The Deevil asks them to relay the most romantic thing they've ever done for a girl. Robert pulls out every romance cliche in the book, and takes about the length of said book to describe it. I caught Fred snickering at him a few times - especially the whole five-bouquets-worth-of-rose-petals-spelling-out-I-LOVE-YOU trick.

Fred's story is more simple, economical, sweet. Dee seems connected to the sentiment. Robert's dwindling red wine illuminates his entire head.

A voice over from Robert admits it sucks having Fred as his competition since Fred rules. I cannot argue with that logic.

The next part, as much as I enjoyed the awkwardness, reeks of awkwardness. Robbie tries to go in for a kiss. DENIED. His voice over prophesies (unwittingly wrong) that it "could get naughty". In fact, he's doubly unwittingly wrong when he repeats, "it could get naughty". Does he have massive chin acne? Am I just noticing that for the first time?

Dee pulls the oldest cross-examination debate trick in the book, when she sets up his answer for failure with her loaded question. She asks how he handles problems in a relationship, he falls blindly into her trap when he responds with "communication". She goes in for the kill: but he didn't do that at the BBQ today. He back peddles; he didn't want to seem selfish by pulling her away. Her aloof "okay" indicates his ass is grass. And so ends their naughty, naughty exchange on the rented sofa.

Btw, Dee looks great in her white pants.

So Dee and Fred go out to the veranda (?) and sit on one of those outdoor couches. (Do rich people have their illegal immigrant house slaves bring those in when it acid-rains?)

A lot of non-talk about Fred being there for her. She thinks he's sweet. Is competition keeping Fred here? Her looks? He claims she has a good personality, but is he fooling himself? The answer is obviously yes. It seems he's been swept up in this "process" and has ignored, or been hidden from the real-deal of DeAnna. I can't, for the life of me, agree that he actually knows her. He's a catch. He could have someone his equal. It ain't her, buddy. Hell, you may be too nice for me even, and I can't pull off a half-shirt appropriately. However, I'd move to Chicago if you'd have me. And that's a legitimate offer. Well, as legitimate as the idea of Fred reading this blog ever.

Yummers sushi take-out is being had at the bunker, along with pontification over who's coming home tonight. They assume the hammer falls on Robert for his making The Deevil cry all over her shirt cuffs earlier. However, Jeremy intellectualizes Fred's precarious position. He's a great guy, but he may not be the guy for DeAnna. Jesse knucks him in agreement and whispers, "He is totally perfect for this amazing blogger I've heard about named Esmallass." Graham asks Jesse for my URL, but Jesse won't give it up since he's too busy stuffing his face with edamame beans.

Dee and Fred come back to a waiting Robert. The rose looms in the foreground of the shot. Dee blahs some crap about coming out of the closet and then rips Robert's spaghetti from his boiler too soon. His reaction is utter shock, and she walks him out. Now, there be Fred. You can feel the relief pour over him, as he picks up his beer. That fucking bitch.

Robert's wasted in the limo. He can't believe he's misread what he calls "chemistry" and what I call "your dick moves when you've been drinking a ton". Also, he's not used to rejection, meaning he gets laid all the time but it has nothing to do with him being "marriage material". He anchors his defeat with "it will be a long time before I let anyone in again". So, he's giving up gay NSA encounters he finds on Craigslist for like a month, but will continue banging drunk Google-employed chicks he finds in the Mission District.

Dee joins Fred, who's expecting to be rosed, yet instead he's given the old heave-ho. See, Dee realizes he's one of the best guys there but Graham's eight-pack is the eight-pack of her dreams, so no rose for Fred. She acts really distraught - even blatantly comparing Brad's machinations to her avoidances. But fuck her! This whole dismiss-them-both deal was underhanded and dishonest, even for TV. So Fred's hurt, but this is the best for him! You don't want to be entangled in the non-love of reality TV dating, Freddie.

At the bunker, they all freak out when both sets of luggage are whisked away. Graham looks beside himself. Jesse dudes that Fred was "stuck in the friend zone".

In the rent-a-mansion, Dee walks Fred out. She gets how fucking cool he is but she can't see a future with him. God, she's such a fake crier. Fred doesn't cry. He offers he thought fate brought him there (no) and he wants kids one day (no).

RIP, Fred. (P.S. I want you inside me.)

Dee goes back to creepy Jason at the mansion. He "comforts" her. They kiss, she opens her eyes. No way he's making it past the next round.

The requisite rose-ceremony night ushers itself in, and I know the end of the war in Iraq is in sight. Jubilation! The sandwiches make their entrance, and Jeremy finds himself getting alone time with his girlfriend.

Jeremy sells his bros out by pointing out he spent all stalker-Saturday with her when the rest retreated to hammocks. She liked that; she likes Jeremy. Big fat DUR.

Next, she wastes Brian's time. He dies to me when he matches her ignorance of real life-experience and the doubts of absolutes when he puts forth this "one time and one time only" bullshit in the context of marriage. Perhaps he thinks he'll wet her labia with such filth. All I know is mine dried up like a prune in the heat.

The next one-on-one time is spent with Twilly. He likes her, 'nuff said.

Graham gets that Twilly doesn't have a clue. You are correct, sir. Graham joins The Deevil outside. She believes he's trying. I've been there before; sometimes you just wanna fuck a dude and you delude yourself into thinking his shit doesn't stink. Let me tell ya somethin' Dee, Graham's shit stinks, it smells real bad.

The cocktail party turns into a pool party. Abs and ass later, Dip Shit comes in to kill the fun and tells them all to get dressed for the dirge.

Rose ceremony ensues... Jesse and Sean are good to go; Jason gets one; Jeremy gets one; Twilly gets one and Graham gets one. So I've lost two loves tonight, first Fred and now Brian.

Brian barely cares. He bonded with the dudes, and he knew it. He wants kids, but the loins of The Deevil will not produce such spawn. I hope he knows he's better off, cos he is.

The previews look as boring as a poetry reading; let's hope I can cope.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

The Bachelorette Recap #3: Girls Love Satin, Hate Hammocks & Football

First, special recognition: Congrats to the idiot intern at for loading and labeling the episode "parts" correctly this time. Your accuracy is appreciated. Your fixing of last week's order didn't go unnoticed either. Thus, going forward, I'll bully you with dimwit, rather than idiot. My happiness at easy webpage navigation doesn't quell the fire water in my belly over the indulgent length of this episode. I'm just sayin'... don't get too comfortable NETWORK AFFILIATES. (That's not a threat. I've just watched Puzo's The Godfather three times recently, and it's affecting my social interactions a great deal more than I expected it would.)

DeAnna! Paison! God, it be so much cooler if she was Italian.

Previously, on The Bachelorette, THE SAME INTRO plays. Does Brad get residuals every time they show his big face dumping her? I imagine he's cashing thousands and thousands of checks for ten cents, thirteen cents, a buck now and again. He's suffering irreparable carpal tunnel syndrome from endorsing them. He's also sitting in an New York apartment, in the early nineties, and Kramer swaggers in, unannounced.

Dip Shit recounts last week's trivialities to an absurdly detailed degree. Jeremy's parents are dead! She broke three hearts! (Mmmm, some one's making bacon, I smell it.) Cue preview for the episode which is literally to begin in ten seconds.

The new crap starts with Dip Shit in the bunker addressing the boys' team. He offers them congrats for being the final twelve. (Pausing on the scene, I see Ron is holding a football. Doesn't it seem like the dudes on the Bachelorette have so much more fun in their down time than the chicks do on the Bachelor? Did ABC even give the women a pool table and a football? Is it assumed women don't play pool, or toss around a football? Hey, Sexist Dickbags of ABC, women enjoy more than over-stuffed couch sectionals and Chardonnay.) So, nuh duh, last week's rosed, Paul, Jeremy and Graham get to move on up. Outside of that non-revelation, we find their rustic mini-mansion has been creatively dubbed, by them, "the outhouse". I'm not calling it that; my macro for "the bunker" has already been set up.

Talking-head Richnerd unknowingly prophesies his ass is grass; and the camera unsympathetically abandons him for guys who may actually win this thing.

We see the Deevil tanning herself by the pool, when the top three show up. In an interview, she neck rolls all over the place that she is "obviously" attracted to Jeremy, Lord of Death; for some insane reason, she wants to get to know Paulie better; as for Graham, well, she just likes his man meat. Yes, outstanding pecs DO make the most ideal husbands. You, my dear Dee, are making wise, wise choices for optimum time-suckage. She giggles at herself like a seventh grade cheerleader, and we cut to home movies of her seventh grade pool party.

Back at the bunker (which has a hammock) (I KNOW there was no fucking hammock for the Bachelor women), team Desperation Nation quizzes Jesse on what happens up there. There's a group wack-off to his seedy descriptions of the black magic orgies. Gross! No, he snowboard dorks, "hot tubbin', poolin'". Jason finally catches on that other dudes poolin' with his lady doesn't bode well for his relationship with her. On the I-know-the-women-didn't-have-one basketball court, Rob and Brian dole out judgement for Jeremy - actually indicting his trying to be with her as much as possible - or as Roberto cliches, his "white on rice routine". Tired Analogy is his first language. The camera rolls over Richnerd, who drops dead to me when I see his thick, gold cross pendant hanging from his thick, gold chain.

Back at the horrid puppy mill, sure enough, Jeremy is all kinds of white on Dee's rice. The most I can say about that is: I want a mimosa. Basketball court justice wants Graham to trounce Jeremy. Rob slimes Jeremy's "rubbed me the wrong way ever since we got here." Richnerd pulls out a graph he's constructed using the x, y axis relative to feeling DeAnna up. Its kind of funny to listen in on dudes over analyzing such a trite scenario, as if it's an Enron acquisition, or pi.

Up in Satan's lair, Paulie spooges all over the Deevil's arm, and as punishment, she sends them off with a date card. The three enter the bunker, showing off their Coronas and hard-ons, and the bottom nine know what else is up. Jeremy reads the message for Richnerd, "Join me for rooftop romance in the City of Angels, love DeAnna." Richnerd's reaction? "Go big or go home" and "put up or shut up". For being such a self-proclaimed geek, he sure knows a bunch of dumb jock talk.

Girls love sparkles and satin! Dee over-enthuses how much she loves about Richnerd but isn't exactly sure she understands their connection. She tops the bunker drive way. A few things I'd like to point out: 1) The guys have a fire pit. 2) The Bachelor women have never had a fire pit. 3) She begs for walking-help like a whiner. 4) In her defense, the drive way is quite steep, and constructed of uneven stone. 5) Jesse non-funnies something about her "closet of perfection". 6) Dudes laugh, even though it isn't funny. 7) Jesse still has those white sunglasses a top his ball cap. 8) No one laughs at that, even though THAT'S fucking hysterical.

Hi Fred!

The Deevil interrupts Richnerd's pool game and he says, "Not now, bitch! Can't you see I'm playing pool?" She bakes him a chicken pot pie while she waits. His whore calls, and leaves a message that she'll fuck him later than expected. Dee interrupts Richnerd again to explain the pie's done. All of a sudden, he doesn't want pie! He'll eat when he's out! Dee loses her shit and breaks all the dishes in the bunker. Richnerd takes off his belt and repeatedly whips her pregnant belly --- wait, no, I'm daydreaming about something interesting I watched recently.

Thus begins the most awkward date in Bachelorette history. It was especially horrifying for me to watch, as I have been on that date before. Ok, so ya'll remember Texas Greg? I met him on Myspace? All right, so we emailed, chatted, talked on the phone for a couple months, and we seemed to click. So he goes to Seattle for business and stops in San Francisco on the way back, just to meet me. As soon as I see him in person, I know I'm not attracted to him--a matter of human chemistry no one really understands. I forge on, facing the entirety of the evening with a man who's essentially a stranger, and who sort of likes me. All throughout dinner he is creeping me out, staring at me. You know when you like someone and you hold each other's gaze and it is this emotional, and lustful connection happening with the eyes? Yah, well that only works when it is two-sided. When one person is doing it, the other one just feels FUCKING UNCOMFORTABLE. That feeling, that I felt with Texas Greg, who was kind, smart, funny, nice - just as Richnerd is - that feeling is the same one that Dee is having the entire date and I want to hug her because it righteously SUCKS.

Up on the roof, they look at smog-encrusted buildings. Richnerd tells us he can't get over "the view which is DeAnna." Barf. That is totally shit Texas Greg would say, and it is then I know Richnerd's space junk is gonna go up in a fiery blaze. Their dinner conversation waffles between scientifically-interesting and gut-wrenching awkward.

At the pool hall, Jesse speculates there's no way Richnerd isn't coming back, further expositing Rich's impending doom. The date box shows up. Twilly is wearing this adorable sky blue knit hat that I want. Paulie reads the list of datees for the upcoming event. Jason's not on it, so we know he gets the next one-on-one. He promises Ty will finally be let out of the bag. Surely, he suffocated two weeks ago. I consider how much Ty will be spending on therapy as an adult, "He left me! For a fame-whore! And that's when I tried Meth for the first time..."

On the LA rooftop, dinner continues on with the more semi-interesting talk. Richnerd explains his job is more about his passion for science than his paycheck. Dee responds kindly. He thinks they are connecting "deeper" and "higher". Kiss of death: Richnerd admits he doesn't bring home girlfriends to meet his family. Dee stabs him in the neck with her fork. Hours later, she's huddled in the corner catatonically mumbling the words "ma family" and "oompa" over and over and over.

Ew, they move inside and Richnerd really sells his Texas Greg impersonation. He keeps lustily staring at her, and she keeps looking down. This 80/20 rule isn't working for you dude! This is rough. LONG SHOT of him staring, and her not knowing what the fuck to say. He puts her hair behind her ear. She half-giggles, half-cries, and looks down at her wine. (I'd be chugging that shit if I were her.) Cut to a talking-head, where Dee is subtlety telling us IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN, FOLKS. She further nails it when she offers he desperately wants a spark to be between them. Oh, but before that, he says TO HER he could be devoted to her the rest of his life! We are only three episodes in! Granted, they are long long long episodes, but still! He's only known her three weeks. I think he's drunk. Thank God they move on to another surprise. I couldn't stomach any more of that exchange.

The elevator scene is also sickly awkward. Please, just end it! This is truly the first time I feel badly for Dee. She's putting on a good act, but you can tell she wants to grab a taxi.

The electro-carriage pulls up, and so begins the Trail of Tears for old Dicky. His talking-head embarrassingly reveals he has no fucking idea he's about to be axed. He's falling for her big time, and she won't be there to catch him.

Here it comes.

She's taking her sweet time digging his heart out. You can tell, for awhile, he thinks she's cooing over her love for him, then reality sets in. You can actually hear his heart break at the exact moment when he clues in to the thesis of her speech. It's sad. It's rough. It reminds me of being on the train, and telling Texas Greg he had to go back to his hotel. That look on his face mirrors Richard's. Of course, I'm a cold-hearted bitch without a television audience, and didn't lie to a camera about all this "breaking my heart too" bull. Anyways, Richard hugs her goodbye for way too long. Then relief for us rolls in, and you know Dee is feeling like she just shit out about eight pounds, i.e. she's feeling fucking fantastic.

She voice overs, quite correctly, hurting him now is the right thing to do.

At the bunker, a PA gets tackled by Ron who thinks Richie's bags are being stolen. The men mourn the death of Mr. Wizard. The music takes this shit seriously for once. Who needs a beer?

The pain continues on as Richard voice overs how he feels like a fool. To the detriment of his teaching career, he cusses so despicably that it warrants a beep and a pixelation. Rest in peace, Richards and Texas Gregs of the world, rest in peace.

Sappy Dee carries on, back to her mansion in her Disney-gifted chariot, the un-gifted rose held tightly between her knees. All of LA senses the hurt we've witnessed here tonight, and weeps its special brand of acid rain.

Enough of the tears, let's do some fake cowboy shit! A trunk of Western-style clothing shows up at the doorstep of the bunker. Dee presents a similar selection to her personal orgy-squad. And even though Jason gets a one-on-one date with her, he still talking-heads he's jealous of them going to see Billy Ray Cyrus without him, since "any opportunity to spend time with DeAnna is a good opportunity." Brian puts the bitch in his place, in a nice Brian-way. Then, in a Brian interview, he suggests he'd rope a chicken for a pretty red rose. It seems excessive to me, but what do I know about love.

The men-folk insult The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, when they show up with only the ugly part. Jesse tells us he'll do all he can to get between Jeremy and Dee. I am truly at a loss about this Jeremy situation. Perhaps the editing has been off, and I do loathe Jeremy as much as the rest of the dweebs, but I just can't fathom why everyone hates this kid so much.

So the limo arrives at The Red Barn (?) which includes a cow (?). Dee is there in the same Hollywood spaghetti western meets Abercromie & Fitch attire. All of a sudden, that fakish Southern accent of hers comes racing off her tongue, going so far as to use the word "fixin". Cliched as you may imagine, they're "fixin'" to line dance. This activity is quite possibly the gayest and most non-existent of all cowboy activities. Hell, they're not even drinking whiskey; it looks like they're sipping on champagne coolies. And btw, Jeremy and Jesse have been her wing men since they arrived.

The dancing montage commences. Awesomely, the male dance instructor tries his best to emasculate the bachelors. Everyone looks stupid. Dee shows all those assholes up, proving she could do that shit in her sleep. The guys hoot and holler like they're at the goddamn rodeo, or a strip club.

Back at the bunker, Jason verbally abuses his son. While looking at pictures of his victim, he voice overs about Ty's demotion to second class citizenry all so his daddy can get laid by an E-list celebrity.

On the farm, the mechanical bull-riding showdown is underway. Everyone sucks, just like with the dancing (but due to the real possibility of lasting injury, it has more entertainment value). No real surprises show up here, except for Dee's misguided interpretation of the guys looking "bad ass". Jesse stays on the longest, which means he has the strongest inner thighs of them all. What a catch; I wonder how Jesse's thighs stack up against Graham's ripped pectorals.

Dee plays this weak "damsel in distress" routine, calling it a "trick". She's testing them to see who's a gentleman. Ron sure ain't. Jesse certainly is. But the real loser here is the womens' rights movement.

Jesse borders on cool when he articulately explains to Dee how he doesn't want a girl who's identity is wrapped up in being his girlfriend, or an "arm doll". Dee wonders if he thinks it is important for him to live with a girl before getting married. He answers by farting. According to Dee, finding out a human farts is akin to learning about them. Jesse's talking-head reveals he considers his fart-talk a show of his serious side.

Back at the dude ranch, Twilly leads the group in some kind of clap-chant, which, having been a child myself, sounds vaguely familiar. Alas, he fucks up the ending; he admits to it though. Graham takes a pulls from a Maker's Mark bottle, and I now understand his hottness. Dee whisks Ron away to yell at him about picking on Jeremy.

Ron can't even begin to effectively defend his position. He pontificates, like a Berkeley grad student, about "guy's guy", "iron sharpening iron", and Dee's not having it. Her body language is telling; her ass is as far away from his as possible. He lies that it's really a non-issue and smugly smiles at her for like a million years. She clearly sees red, and her fake smile and "ok" indicate "YOUR GONE, DOUCHE BAG."

Ron rejoins the group at the campfire. He looks a bit distressed, angry. When Ron is questioned "what's up?" by his bros, he totally turns on Jeremy with "ya lack something brother". OK. Again, I'm not sure why all the dudes hate Jeremy so much, why he rubs everyone the wrong way. I can't say that production has been able to prove that case in the clips we've seen so far. No doubt Jeremy sucks, but for the most part, he seems quiet. Where and when is all this rubbing occurring? Maybe the guys are just jealous of him? It's obvious Dee likes him, perhaps this is eliciting the malicious reaction? I really don't get it. Can anyone explain it to me? And why didn't Dee return to the campfire with Ron? Did production yank her backstage, knowing this confrontation would occur?

Ron has the balls to indict Jeremy on his "tact", which is laughable. He generalizes for like ten minutes, but then actually says his indictment of Jeremy has nothing to do with Jeremy. Jigga wha? It's as if Ron isn't thinking, he's just repeating phrases he's read in kung fu novels. Jeremy calls his ass out on that shit, which, really only makes me like Jeremy more. Way to shoot yourself in the face, Ronnie. I think Jeremy correctly identifies Ron's shtick as being "full of himself". The other numbnuts never air their own grievances, however, Twilly incorrectly terms Ron's crap "wisdom".

Dee pulls Jeremy away for alone time. A weird edit moves us from a serious conversation about the gonad-drama to Dee giggling and putting her big cowboy head on Jeremy's shoulder. I'm nonplussed at the nonsequitor of this poorly edited exchange.

At the campfire, swollen Rob bitches he wants anyone to have the rose besides Jeremy. Cut to Graham and Fred sneaking up on Dee and Jeremy. (I hate that shit. Why are you hurting me, Fred?) Amidst the eavesdropping, we hear Dee say to Jeremy that he is different than the other fellas as he's not buddy-buddy with them. THIS IS HUGE; she recognizes he may be the only one there exclusively for her! Get a clue, boys.

Heh, Fred and Graham scare them so much so, Dee cusses her fucking brains out. I'm starting to like this girl more and more. To Jeremy's credit, he smiles, and graciously moves off camera. Hmm, it looks like Dee has her leg crossed over onto Fred's. Part of me wants her to like him, and part of me wants him to leave the show so we can domestically partner.

Back at the group site, Rob's crabbing about his one-on-one time dreams. He's crying like a baby Stella (tm Detroit Rock City). He doesn't just want to be taking up a spot; if Dee hates him, she should send him packing. Agreed. GO!

Dee comes back to them. She deduces the mood is tense. Twilly gives up Rob, and the two of them meander off -- Dee and Rob, not Twilly and Rob -- although that could be a good match.

One-on-one time is spent talking about how they don't talk, and about chemistry, mostly. After they balance a few equations, Rob's fingers have gone numb from the elements. You can tell that Dee is attracted to him, as she has that goonish grin on her face the whole time. All I wonder is: Why doesn't she ever talk to Brian?

So she gives the rose to Robert. His sincerity promotes this fungal-like growth on me, and then he smarms, "Bobby boy is movin' up to the big house." The night ends with them drunkenly singing Home, Home On the Range.

Daylight at the bunker, Rob's popped-collar grabs Jason's date box. He reads the message aloud, "Let's reach for the stars." An unrecognized voice half-guesses they are going on roller coasters. No way; that would be fun, and these dates aren't made for fun. Rob, delving into that sincere region of his gut, asks Jason if he'll bring up Ty. Jason has no idea how he'll break the news. Jesse guesses, "fifty percent of her is gonna love it, and fifty percent of her is not gonna love it." I'm no statistician, but that sounds dumbly accurate and dumbly obvious.

Dee talking-heads, she knows Jason must be feeling pressure since Richard was dissed and dismissed earlier. She has no idea the real reason why Jason is crapping his pants. Dee shows up, comments on how the dudes are messy and calmly reasons she's sticking around as they have to wait on their ride.

Cue ride: a helicopter. Everyone freaks out at Jason's luck. Commence scenery montages among "oh my god"ing from Dee.

In the bunker, Twilly funnily suggests that Jason shout his kid news over the loud propeller sounds of the copter. He gets a lot of laughs, and for me, this is the first time I actually think he may have a sense of humor. His being funny-looking still stands out as his most notable feature though.

More romantic scenery.
They finally land at an observatory for star-gazing, dinner, and non-getting-to-know-each-other chit chat about how they don't have enough time to get to know each other.

Around the fire pit (lucky unemployed bastards), Rob suggests Dee may not be ready to take on automatic motherhood just yet. Karate Sean, who we haven't heard from in a grip, says he's dated many women with children and doesn't consider it a big deal. Jesse, the devil's advocate's devil's advocate breaks it down, but Twilly brings it home: mano y mano, all things being equal, a dude with a kid is generally less desirable than a dude who's kid-free.

Observatory blather is: ON. They eat dinner in the library section. Fascinating reveal: Jason's fave food is hamburgers. Prodded by ABC, Dee asks if Jay misses his family. Here it goes... Aha! Ty lives! Jason talks sweetly of his son. Dee also finds out Jay's divorced, but he blames the bitch (his ex-wife, not Dee). Finally, Dee buys a clue and realizes life is bigger than her silly, and unrealistic absolutes. The mood shifts from alive loved-ones, to dead loved-ones when Jason asks Dee to talk about her mama. Dee opens up a ton, and goes through the whole story of her mom's sickness and death. I won't lie; both times I watched this episode I cried during her recounting of such tragedy. Part of me felt icky that reality TV was the platform for her pain, and wondered further what her mom would think of Dee's foray into finding love this way.

Interestingly, Dee reveals she's never dated anyone who cared to know anything about her mother. Furthermore, it's been a long time since she's opened up about such things. This dinner conversation is the best one in Bachelor/ette history by far as 1) I didn't fall asleep and 2) I felt empathy and compassion for two TV numbskulls and 3) I cared to know, what are they eating?

So she roses him, and they fondle telescopes and mangle astronomy lingo for the remainder of the evening. Oh yah, he kisses her too, after he gets express-written permission from the sappy music score. Side bar: He's a chin-grabber.

The next day (?) they stretch limo it to the Ellen Generes studio. Dee wants Ellen's opinion on the guys. Wise move on Dee's part. Jesse sports his sunglasses-a-top-his-hat look, and wonders aloud if he'll SAY something dumb. Last of your worries, buddy. They record the show, and Ellen is funny all over the place. She puts them through the ringer. Ooh, I just noticed Sean's haircut - brilliant move.

Ellen embarrasses the shit out of the guys via dance off.

Ellen is a great judge of character, and nails everyone to a tee. And the fact that she loves Fred, well, that speaks volumes of her instincts. She loses me a bit when she forces them to parade around in Ellen underwear - not my bag, but she pulls it off being a lesbian talk show host and all. The most funny bit is when she carries the rose down the line of guys holding a boom box which plays the dramatic rose ceremony music. Ellen roses Fred! I love Ellen! I love Fred! It is really sweet that Ellen has taken such an interest in Dee's relationship woes. This show has stepped up its game in the last ten minutes. Is this how brain-washing begins?

FINALLY, the rose ceremony. Dee first pulls Ron away. She voice overs she's intrigued by him. I suppose I am intrigued by most nut bags I know as well. He foots-in-his-mouth some shit about waking up and thinking she isn't the one, but via a scorching case of crabs he caught from Rob at breakfast, he now has "a case of the DeAnnas". She asks him to tell her something fun about him. He offers "everything about him is fun". He abuses about three sentences in a row, and she's left dumbfounded. Your done, dude! Jeremy swoops in to save her, the frat boys eavesdrop from inside, assuming Ron will deck him.

Dee thanks Jeremy for the save, thanks him very much, in fact. Ron is clueless.

Indoors, Jesse continues in his capacity of fucking instigator. The men sit down to discuss what the hell just happened. Um, isn't is obvious? DeAnna's BOYFRIEND saved his GIRLFRIEND from an unaware, self-righteous tool bag. Ron creeps some cliched, and inapplicable analogies, offers how he could use them all, and does use them all. By the time he's fucking over himself, all of us have been married and divorced twice, and in and out of rehab four goddamn times. Ron even calls on the name of the Lord for help, yet, still, JESUS HATES YOU, TOO.

On the patio, Jeremy must have roofied her since she is ALL ABOUT HIM. No wait, he didn't roofie her! She just likes him; I'm talking to you, bologna sandwiches in the living room. The couple acknowledges the barrier between them has disappeared. End the f'n show already; if she'd abandon the Infallible Royal Family of Justice & Premature Mom Death to be with the red dirt and roaches in Texas, she obviously likes the kid. He then admits his emotional damage, I mean, involvement, and then kisses her - in a way that BOYFRIENDS AND GIRLFRIENDS kiss each other. I'm one-third pissed at how obvious the winner is (editors, do your jobs); I'm one-third pissed that I have to carry-on recapping as if the winner is unknown; I'm one-third pissed that we will inevitably be subjected to Jeremy-complaining from the other dudes cos they're too fucking clueless to read the 100-point sized neon orange writing on the wall!

Back inside, two-faced bastards that they are, the men nugg up Jeremy, and ask for the deets. Up against a wall, he waffles between not wanting to kiss and tell, and not wanting to further alienate them. Graham voice overs he's having a tough time with this whole screwball scenario of love-discovery.

Cut to Graham being nervous with Dee. Of course, Dee will ignore her own voice over which reminds us of Ellen's opinion - the boy cannot open up. To him, she only says she's worried at his lack of experience. Does. Not. Compute. He non-answers he can't change history, and oh, how he cares, oh so much for her. She's melting. Then he turns the table: Why are all of these other dudes around? Where did that camera come from? I have reason to believe this isn't really YOUR house!? Don't lie to me, DeAnna - if that's even YOUR REAL NAME! The mental patients continue to rub shit all over each other. Dee: Tell me something about you. Graham (who continues to rub shit into her palm): Ok, I'll compromise. Dee: Good. WTF? I have a feeling this is the work of shoddy editing, but I can only judge on what I see folks - and dems peoples es crrrrazzzzy.

They make-out.

Poor, insanely deluded Dee lies to herself, her dead mom and all of us when she talking-heads she accomplished her goal: Graham opened up. I can only assume she meant they kissed with tongue.

The Deevil comes back to the group. Paul double-teams her like seven times with his eyeballs and gold cross. She chooses Jason for some one-on-one time. She had some barf named after his son; confusing. No wait, I was listening to the voices in my head (they're loud sometimes). She had a STAR named after his son. Jason weeps all over the certificate - which actually makes the deal null and void - and Dee reacts like a self-satisfied trust fund brat who takes a university-level class in "volunteerism".

Anyway, this is her way of saying she's OK with it all. Kind of rude to call Ty "it". He doesn't mind - he's thinking ALL ABOARD THE PUSSY WAGON!

Off to the Rose Ceremony, or what I like to call: Rack your brain for an analogy to describe your ouster, Ronnie.

The more she talks about breakin' hearts, the more I hate her. She's so fucking full of herself. If you took her to a lesbian bar, she'd tell you over and over about how everyone is looking at her. Oh, I completely ignore her conversation with Dip Shit. I did catch her calling Ron "a motivational speaker" and calling Jason's certificate of barf "a consolation prize". No wonder this show is so friggin' long, blah blah blahing about shit we knew about relationships in like SIXTH GRADE.

Six roses to hand out: Twilly FIRST; Jesse accepts; Jeremy accepts, cut to the biggest sneer Ron's ever sneered; Brian accepts; Graham accepts (he should thank his lucky stars she's a total horn ball); Sean accepts; I feel mildly bad for Paulie since he's such a tame sap. FUCK OFF, RON!

Talking-head Paulie is pathetic, but he's young, he'll figure it out. Talking-head Ron ACTUALLY USES ANOTHER ANALOGY, and accepts absolutely no responsibility for his total SUCKAGE. "I didn't get rejected, she just chose other guys." BULLLLLSHIIIIITTTTT.

Friday, June 6, 2008

Asparagus: More To It Than Pee Smell

So I know veggies, in general, are good for me; however, I'd never read about the specific health benefits of asparagus until today. I was blown away by its far-reaching, multi-organ impacts, and look forward EVEN MORE SO to my Sunday farmer's market trip to load up on some of the goods.

The article isn't lengthy, so take a peek. Surprising and titillating detail? "Asparagus is also a powerful aphrodisiac and one of the best foods to increase libido. Just check out its shape."

This is fucking fantastic for the lucky, sexually-active folks. For the rest of us losers: "Asparagus fights depression and puts you in a good mood."

Seems I'll need that emotional boost to counteract my unfulfilled and newly percolating hornball-ness.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

The Bachelorette Recap #2: Twilliding Away A Rose

Let me first begin with: F. U. ABC. Why is this episode as long as the season-opener? And two, will they all be this long? What happened to programming which exists within the acceptable parameters of one half-hour or one hour? FEATURE FILMS are two hours, not faux-love reality television shows.

Oh, and I'm looking at you, fire your intern: that idiot labeled the episode-order incorrectly.

Once I figure out which part to play first, we get the exact same opening sequence from last week to remind us of our well-earned PhD's from the Brad Womack School of Heartbreak. I have a gut-feeling this stock footage will make an appearance every week; as it should: the Midwestern-mom demographic is well-known for having a sick, sick marijuana addiction, thus shooting the memory all to hell.

And speaking of Midwestern mothers, mine never read the recap I sent her so you get none of her comments. She's so supportive of my writing!

A recap of the first episode shenanigans points out Jeremy (last out of the limo, first to a rose), Jason (hiding-it daddy), and Jesse (loud jacket, louder personality). Dip shit voice overs about the incredible lengths the boys phoned in to get the Deevil's sneer: duck-called and dismissed, the Karate Are You Kidding Me?, and the wet Canadian with a charming backside. Richnerd brags to his old high school football team tormentors about his snatch-chances, and the Deevil makes them cult-chant "Oprah."

...And Tonight!

They actually show a preview of the crap we are ABOUT TO SEE. I guess it's a teaser to keep you coming back after commercials, like the nightly news without any real news bits - again, like the nightly news (or the morning news).

Most important observation of the evening: Paul (her name on his ass) is wearing some kind of golden medallion around his neck. And it might be the aviator wings they hand out to kids and Tom Cruise. Wait, no, it's a cross.

Wait no. A more important observation of the evening: Karate Joe... cannot remember his real name... is also wearing a chunky metal medallion necklace. However, this one intrigues me as it is a HORSE SHOE. Initial reaction: Colts fan! Colts fan! Friend of mine! Cold reality sets in when I figure it is just a good luck thing. I assume he wasn't wearing it when he waltzed into Supercuts for a "just a trim".

Um no. The most important observation of the evening: Ron, the divorced barber, has his sunglasses wrapped around the back of his neck. Thus ends our divorcee-alliance.

Dip shit blathers about the rules - how they have to suffer in a bunker while the rose winners get to shack up in "her" mansion.

Sappy music, a hairy chest, and condescension accompany Ron in his talking head. He's disappointed "the boys" with roses get to have a slumber party with his lady. He suggests something stupid like, "I guess all that first impression stuff matters". And may I remind you, last week he suggested something stupid like, "love finds us." At least his dating bullet points are consistently without reason.

Jesse, who has his white shades wrapped around the front of his tool-cap, Richnerd and Jeremy are welcomed by the Deevil. In her shit-pretty interview, she says the 67th most idiotic sentence of her show biz career: "I do believe this is the best way to find love." Ya got that? Well, I guess I am fucked!

Dip shit shows the boys the way to their mini-mansion, I mean barracks. It actually looks kinda rad, and I guarantee any Berkeley co-op doof would fuckin love it. RON gets another interview. He claims they're in the middle of nowhere and forced to be goat farmers. Isn't that another faux-love reality show? Is that a shameless plug for an ABC affiliate? I attempt a Google search, but fall asleep.

Upon waking, Dee shows the top three to their room. We cut away to see the bunk beds reserved for the losers. Karate Sean reveals he's never been to karate camp, as he's never shared a room with twelve other karate kids, and promises, "I want to get up into the mansion", "mansion" being a euphemism for her vagina.

Cut back to Dee showing off her 4-head shower. She comments her shower has four heads. I assume she's suggesting a group shower...

...of course, she is not. This is only a way the show can explain the cut back to the boys' shower, which is outdoors, has no privacy, and only expels freezing water. WTF? They would never pull this shit on the women. The pixelation of tiny balls must be considerably cheaper than the pixelation of waxed crotches and big chemical balls (tm Larry David).

The "big boys" from the mansion come back to the splendor of poverty where they offer the first date card to the outcasts. A bunch of dudes' names are announced, and Jason offers, talking-head style, that he is elated at his boner-fied outing, as if he has some kind of advantage dating six men.

So the date is promised to be "magical". The Deevil says she's excited, and they hijack a limo to-what looks like-a haunted house, but we're told is an "exclusive" magic club. Considering no one goes to magic clubs, I assume "exclusive" is a fancy way to explain "unoccupied" or "vacant" or "ignored, as it is undeniably boring - even kids loathe it".

There's a bunch of magic shit-filler; then the Deevil leads them into their own private magic suite and a paid Peter Pan starts in with illusions to which I am reminded of the Arrested Development episodes I own and wonder how those are doing.

ABC has really lost it, as this is the worst conceptualized and executed date ever (and I've seen many episodes of Next on MTV). The magician gives Jason the dove, and asks Dee to be his assistant. She gets her pick of a secondary, chooses Jason, and off the bird goes to Ryan. Let me add that Paul is WAY too into this whole charade and it looked like 1) Either Ryan was going to kill the dove in a ritualistic sacrifice to his God or 2) Sean might karate chop its head off as a show of his karate dexterity with even smaller animals than Jesse.

Ala kazam! Ala kazoo! The box shows up empty! Ryan's and Fred's reactions are priceless: mouths agape, worried eyes, wondering if the magician's actually disintegrated the stars of the show. Production is having too much fun editing the montage of doofus reaction shots. There is absolutely no dialogue, only a dove coo.

Cut to intact Dee and Jason, as they enter a private room for some of their own word-magic. Of course, the magician is absent from the proceedings so we get word-vomit instead. Dee obviouses Seattle has rain and Tom Hanks; Michael Jackson used to make hits; she could "drink salsa out of a bowl".

Cut back to the boys wondering if Jason would kiss and tell.

Cut back to the date where Jason doesn't kiss or tell, as he wusses out again on the kid-reveal. However, we do learn that Dee works in real estate, and would like to carry around two kids, like watermelons, "all day long". Talking head Jason justifies his ball-lessness, and we are left pondering why Jennifer Grey got that nose job. It seemed like a real career killer, if ya ask me.

Jay and Dee return to the sweaty waiting room, where Ryan has become a dove whisperer, and tells us that Jason is lucky to have smelled Dee's salsa breath up close. Then they all laugh and laugh and laugh at what a mockery they've all made of their own lives and the idea of true love itself.

Back at the bunker, the next date box is opened. Graham gets to be judged by her first. His reaction borders on happiness and sheer terror; I couldn't really tell, his dumb rubber band bracelet was blocking his face. Chris picks his ear in response and Graham deems this action as a show of "jealousy". How could they be jealous? They have a pool table!

Back at magic camp, Sean gets picked for the next one-on-one. Him and Dee enter a room, at which point Sean explains to America the science behind a "love seat". Did you guys know they were built for two people to sit on? The scene dissolves into awesome when the phantom-played piano mocks him at every syllable he utters. He gets P I S S E D. It would have been even more awesome if he would have done a spin kick to the keys, but he composes himself instead. All the while the Deevil is giggling like a witch. I love you, piano! My boyfriend plays again when Sean is trying to explain to the camera how he has something more interesting to say. (Seriously, the piano stole that whole scene. Considering its talent and range, can we get it its own show?)

Ugh, still more magic to endure. Of course, the rose is worked into the show. Amateur-hour commences, and Dee deems the tricks "little". Then Twilly makes a goddamn fool of himself. He weaves a lengthy yarn, using Greek mythology, mindless chatter, and that weirdo mouth of his. The audience falls asleep, and Twilly slays them all with his sword!

Richnerd and Dee rise from the ashes, and he gets to know her better through origami. She "aws" at him like he's mentally retarded.

Uh oh, the real mental giants discuss Dee's absence and someone, I missed who, actually says, "this is quite a process, but it is the best way to find true love." Dude, take stock: a camera crew is with you, you're in a magic club, sitting in a room with five other dudes and not a single chick, and you're not gay - exactly how is THIS scenario the best way? Then the finger-pointing starts. Twilly, trying to avoid looking desperate, offers he's just along for the ride. Ryan smarms at Twilly some shit about him not being all about winning her black heart. All I think is: Ryan looks HAMMERED. Twilly defends his honorable intentions, and I have to believe this whole show - since season one - has been entirely scripted or is the best fucking real-life-looking animation ever produced.

Then Ryan gets one-on-one time with the Boss Lady. Creepily, he catalogues his virtues: no spitting, no cumming, no cussing, no over-eating, no crossing against the light, no more looking up old ladies' skirts, no pick-pocketing, no lake-polluting, no leaving the lights on when he's not at home, no forwarding annoying emails, no yelling at his grandma to "wake up and get over yourself already", no fun, etc. She looks... scared, really. He thinks his life-rules set him apart, I think I finally get why the general public loathes Christianity. Sinners, Paul and Fred rescue her from confession and they go to a topless bar.

Fred sweetly offers he admires her for going through this hell and "putting herself out there again." She, in all of her self-aggrandizing swagger, agrees she's the strongest person ever born, and then further grosses how love is all about her fucking needs. Realizing she's made it all about her AGAIN, she attempts to find depth in Paulie. He sing-songs, "I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me." He interviews her, "where do you see yourself in five years?". She replies she'll do her damnedest to contribute to overpopulation, and gets out another memo about her mother passing when she was young. Fred gets absolutely NO face time, which causes me to love him even more. Evidently, he doesn't say any camera-friendly, IQ-dropping fallacies about eternal love so the show's editors have no idea how to cut in his illuminating comments regarding the difference between single-malt and double-malt scotches.

Dumber even still... PAUL gets the rose. Come on, she deserves a failed marriage. He's twenty-three and wears a gold rope necklace. His only definable attribute is his Canadian nationality.

Back from commercial, we see the riveting "Paulie showers" scene.

Then, the Deevil shows up in a talking-head in which she suggests Graham is like so cute and she can't wait for her date. Cut to the date starting without a bang, when Graham, wearing Umbros, can barley bring himself to touch her cold, cold arm. After some prodding, he does hold her hand, and we get a close-up of his gaudy, over-accessorized wrist. She drives them off in "her" product-placed class and gender progressive!

Dee says Graham is "unbelievably, smokin' hot!", and he better try to go down on her tonight.

They show up on a beach, at sunset. The gender roles fall into place with a regressive thud when she dumbs, that since he's a man, he should know how to fly a kite. Let me just say that last year I went on a camping trip with a fuck-ton of lesbians, and we flew that kite high and long without the assistance of any man. Granted, they were lesbians, but I'm pretty sure most dudes would still characterize them as women. Hell, I'm no lesbian and my kite soar. So, I know that Dee just said some shit because it was expected of her, but I can't like her when she says something so completely backward and thoughtless.

Anyway, they suck at flying a kite - penis and all - but they had fun with the laughing and the failing all over the coast.

Back at the pool table, another group date is offered. It's a baseball date. Excitement erupts, and the boys seem to genuinely enjoy each others' company. This point of observation is made so much so clearer when we cut back to awkward on the beach.

Graham breathes in the beauty of the ocean, and deems the majesty of the landscape, "nice". Gayley, his body language is suffering. He's like a foot away from her, holding hands with himself, and looking down at his penis - begging it to say somethiiiing... anythiiiing. She looks wounded at his lack of macking. He lets her know he's recently out of a serious relationship, which amounted to two months - and that was in dog years. To Dee's credit, she offers extremely honest conversation about her expectations and fears for this show. He looks at her with a serious disconnect in his eyes. Really, I think she sees it, but for whatever reason (relationship pathology perhaps), she ignores the red flag. I'm as uncomfortable as their asses inevitably are, but the camera keeps on them, hoping to catch a tit-squeeze or somethiiiing... anythiiiiing.

She straight up tells us, she isn't sure if Graham knows what he wants and even compares him to Brad! Proceed with caution, Dee! Graham blah blahs to her some more disconnecting propaganda, but as soon as he begs to feel her up, her caution turns to glee, and I know this bitch is sunk.

Back at the dude ranch, the discussion has turned to sex. Barf. Robert face-swells his sex is important; Ryan hair-gels he's "a virgin, guys". They all congratulate him for being master of his domain, and assume he must be transgendered. His rhetoric is so tired, and he is so far from any kind of awareness of himself or others. There isn't a single likable quality I can find here.

So Graham gets the "Dee is a sucker" rose. She does admit to him her concern, yet roses away all the same. So yah, she deserves a failed marriage; it may be the only thing that rips open her guts and shows her her own emotional ignorance and fear. Anyways, she felt really good about the way the evening ended. I wondered if I had any whiskey left.

Twilly tells us he wants to corner Dee and reveal his psychotic side. Interestingly enough, he asks Jason for his council; I can't deny I am impressed at Jason's obvious concern and graciousness for his friend, Twill the Dillweed. Twilly's gonna go for it. He straps on his blade, paints on his Joker lips, and heads out the door.

The music score matches his menace, and the limo pulls in. Twilly waits and watches, patiently. Graham looks at the pavement for somethiiing... anythiiiing to say, and comes up with zilch. He half-heartily kisses her Greek cheek and runs far, far away.

Dee uncomfortably takes a seat on the bench. Twilly, in his resolute opportunity to shine says, essentially, nada. He spews out some crap about how he's there for her and there's another side to him. She's not feeling the blade he's scraping her arm with, and he just looks like he wants to get back to cut-throat in the billiards hall. Inter cut with Graham returning to the gonad BBQ; cue high-fiving. Twilly uses the word "stinks" and I know his only time to shine has burned out. Graham briefs the troops on the difficulty of winning her over; they're fearful of Don Pappas.

We see so much stock-footage of LA, and move into a stretch limo. Dee says AGAIN how amazing all this free swag is. Oh yah, the bod-squad is there feeling amazed and being amazing.

The group enters Dodger's stadium, Robert brings with him a pink polo and man-boobs. The rest carry their own poop. Tommy Lasorda drags his belly from the stadium accompanied by a stack of disappointment. Although it was Dee's "surprise", Tommy introduces himself to her like they've never had a conversation. Brilliantly, he comments on the shit-options she has for mates, but then drunkenly slurs a motivational speech about them believing in themselves so much so that they could win over a girl no one finds likable. (I'm pretty certain his speech is underscored with the same music from the movie Independence know, that scene where the President asks them to fly themselves into the bowels of the alien ships to save all of humanity?) Dee wears pink wrist bands.

In true unoriginal Rosie O'Donnell embarrassment, Chris sings the National Anthem - having no idea what the words are or how annoying he's being. Apparently, love has something to do with home-run hitting, so the boys square off in such a competition. This is one use of the home-run metaphor (having to do with sex) that works in a real world way. Robert tells us he wishes the activity were more in his element, aka, la bedroom, and I call my mother to discuss exactly how small Robert's penis must be and whether or not I should mail Dee a replica of my effective vibrator.

Chris, the minor league pitcher, sucks at batting - as pitchers are known to do - and Jeremy wins the jerk-off with six "in the Bachelorette-field parameters" home-runs. Jeremy offers Tommy Lasorda to have a good day, and they enter the dug out.

Jeremy is guarded; he has a familial past. He WAS close to his mom, but... dead. But wait, dad?... dead. She's sorry for asking since she almost doesn't believe him. A post-it changes hands, and we find out Dee's mom's dead too. So many dead parents to connect over; I feel left out.

Over processed antibiotic-filled wieners and wine (who doesn't love hot dogs and wine?), we find out the guys are having a blast, but Erik gets some private time.

Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek, Greek... Greeeek! Greekness, Greeky, Greek, Greek, Greek-ding-ding, Greek makin' copies, Greek, I'm Greek; You're Greek; let's Greek out some Greek babies and call it a day. Greek giggle giggle Greek Greek.

Brian gets coerced into a one-on-one. He rules. He's sincere and lovely to talk to, and she doesn't deserve him. He's a high school football coach; she couldn't possibly understand how committed he is to his team... or even what a wide-receiver does! I hope for him to ditch the fucking mess he's in, and his salt-n-peppa hair comes to find me.

Back to the picnic, rose discussion ensues. We find out nothing we couldn't have deduced on our own.

Back to the bunker, Jason further destroys his son's sense of stability and security when he calls him to get a weather report. Outside, Jason tells those smart-enough-to-use-condoms about his kin; they could give a fuck, and are so thrilled the cutie now has a liability.

Tommy twilight-years that he likes his new team and further wonders when his new season will begin. She breaks it to him that his career is over, and this is just a shitty ploy to fool people into thinking love can work on television. Dee then takes Jeremy away to castrate him. The surgery is a success; since he was such a good boy, he gets a rose popsicle!

In the meta-statement of the season, the resulting end of Dee and Jeremy's convo is telecasted via Jumbo-tron, and my boy Brian wisely yells out, "don't do it DeAnna!". She ignores him. It's weird how internal voyeurs (bachelors) are being voyeurs while being watched by the external voyeurs (us), and the scene ends with Jesse chucking his bat into left field.

Dee shoots fireworks from her ass, and we all sit at wonder of the length of the episode. And Robert (for once) correctly observes that Jeremy is "the front-runner in this competition." Thanks, Rob, for finally saying something that wasn't completely dispicable.

The final rose ceremony commenses -well, kinda- we have to have much hugging and "i don't know"ing from the Deevil (with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress, devil with the blue dress on).

Stupid drama is focused on by production when the conversation squares on Jeremy telling the others, "Welcome to our home". Ron throws a hissy-fit, as hair stylists are want to do. Then, Ryan gets his virginal boxers in a bind over who's penis is the cleanest. Ron calls her ass out on favortism (i.e. the way real dating actually works), yet she defends her position. Yah, Dee! Tell them girlfriend! "If they're feeling threatened by Jeremy, maybe they should step it up a bit."

Anyone want "a case of the Twilly's"? Didn't think so. Yet Twilly wonders if Dee has 'em. So he pulls her aside to infect her. Twilly (who I feel sorry for at this point) nervouses his way through nothing of interest to Dee.

Cut back to the living room where Ron is still holding court. He wonders about Jeremy's intentions. Apparently, Ron's confused about the show. See, Jeremy is ditching his new friends left and right for a chance at true love, and this is a problem. Ron! Check your contract, (whispers) it's what you signed up for.

Rosed and rosed and rosed again Jeremy steals prom-dressed Dee away from the Twillster. It takes like six hours, but the non-Jeremys realize the real Jeremy's taken Dee from Twilly. Make a note: Dee confides in Jeremy her angst about the other dudes being pissed at his status - as if Dee sees Jeremy as a real friend, or they are possibly in a real relationship. Ron and Erik, specifically, get all malignant about Jeremy's cause, talking like catty passive-agressive bitches behind his back.

Richnerd explains to the thick-headed dolts that their relationships with each other are not priority one.

We cut back to a greasy-faced Jeremy, who explains those mystical foreign words he spoke on the first night were about her. Knowing he is about her solidified her feeling that Jeremy was about her. And being all about her is what gets you a fucking rose, man.

Jeremy and the Deevil kiss, a real kiss, and then they head back in to Ron being a dick. Some group discussion ensues ensconsed in jealously toward Jeremy, and then Ryan says something so dirty, so against God's plan, so unacceptable to primetime TV audiences, that his mouth had to be beeped and pixelated. I'm guessing he called a dickhead a dickhead. The music would have you believe this is serious; reality would have you believe no bachelor has a fucking clue as to how lame they are being portrayed.

Ron gets pulled away to justify his stance on secondary marriage (and secondary divorce), and ill-conceivably mentions he wants a herd of kids. In other words, her womb will be working overtime. He's so not right for her! He talks to her like he's her fucking father. No rose! No rose!

Back to the group, somehow a push-up marathon erupts. I am reminded of when my dad challenged me to do ONE, ONE man-style push-up, in order to be rewarded a new Porsche, and I couldn't do it. Thus, I am kind of in awe of anyone who can do a push-up, even a man. Woah, Jesse did 98 push-ups. He "wins" time with the Deevil. There, he reveals his dream is to be a cool parent in Georgia.

Dip shit shows and we know the episiotomy - I mean, the fun, is nearly over. Take that bitch away to make up her fucking mind.

Paul, Graham and Jeremy already have already been sentenced, so the rest will have to forge on and hope for home. Ron accepts; Jesse accepts; Robert accepts; Brian (yay! no! run away to me!) accepts; Jason accepts; Fred (yay! no! run away to me!) accepts; Sean accepts; Richnerd accepts; Twilly is chosen over Greek Erik and Chris and who gives a shit about RYAN. Chris was cool; she's an idiot; duh. Good riddance to the others. Chris nails it when he offers, "she doesn't know what she wants." Ryan has no clue when he creeps, "it's hard when a girl tells you no", then further demonfies himself with "I was voted most friendliest in eighth grade". Oh God, he keeps talking, offering, "there are few women in this world who intrigue me, and DeAnna was one of them." WHAT? In the WORLD? GOODBYE, NO ONE LIKES YOU.

We cut back to the rose-ceremony set, the Deevil has to excuse herself from the execution machinations to CRY. This, is episode two. She's crying over crap already. Sean reassures the peanut-gallery, "she's upset, bro".

Cheers all around! Episode II is over, and George Lucus should be proud of his hours and hours of production.