7/6--The Funeral of Greaseball Wes

Oh, lord that was pathetic. Greaseball Wes has just showed himself to be the dumbest contestant ever in this show's history. Never has any cast member ever given Producer/ Human Trashbag, Mike Fleiss, so much ammo to bury him with--he practically handed him a shovel and dug the hole himself. Now, absolutely no one with an I.Q. higher than a stapler has doubted that the country-fried loser came on this show to pimp his sorry music career, but I have the feeling that Wes, his manager, accountant, hell even his next door neighbor, must be wondering what the hell he was thinking. Whatever career in country music that Wes had is over after that. Parents of children dying of rattlesnake bites wouldn't buy his crummy CD now, even if it came with a free dose of antivenin, after that little performance. But on the bright side, Wes did provide a lot of entertainment tonight to hide the fact that Jillian cock-blocked everyone else. It was an episode of Jillian and her Canadian Blueballs Parade, and it makes you wonder whether or not any true happy ending is in the cards. If you can't do the nasty in Spain; just where the hell can you? Hawaii, I'm sure. But that's for next week.

The Torture of Kiptyn and the Kryptonites.

First up is the resident alien from another world, Kiptyn from Krypton. Jill meets him in Madrid where she tells us she has adored him from the start, but in another of her flashes of low self-esteem, she confides, "He may be out of my league." No, Jill: Robotic, diffident, uncaring maybe, but of your league? No. But perhaps Kip came across as so uncaring and uncomfortable because he sensed the hell she was about to put him through. They start off with a talk about their possible future, and he makes it pretty clear that any proposal is a "ways off."(And I'd say that roughly translated into: The 1st of NEVER.) Then she takes him Flamenco dancing so she he can squirm with discomfort and she can demonstrate that Canada is probably no threat at the next Olympics in Ballroom Dancing. (She couldn't even clap in rhythm.) A Flamenco Dance babe comes out and puts them through their paces and Kiptyn looks like he would have more fun swimming in a shark tank, or wandering around the streets of Pakistan with a sign that says, "Infidel wants your women!" Deciding that he doesn't look miserable enough, the Producers make them dress in genuine Flamenco clothes so Jill can show off her flat chest and Kip can get his balls crushed by some tight bedroom drawers. He comes out looking like the whitest matador in history and they dance together Flamenco style, and do it so badly that the Canadian Special Olympics Team would pass out laughing at them.

Next, she forces him to drive her to dinner on a moped and he drove like he had never even learned how to ride a bike. He weaves down the street and crashes into the curb when they arrive. Well at least the crash helmets weren't just for show. (Not exactly The Wild One.) Anyway, after escaping serious injury, she takes him into a restaurant where the producers decide to make him squirm some more by ordering the happy couple a plate full of snails. Yuck! Nothing says 'romantic dinner' like disgusting food fit only for a desperate Survivor Challenge. They gulp it down like someone is holding a gun on them off camera, (and with this show, someone might have been.) She then ups the creepy vibe by telling him that he reminds her of her own dad. I assume by this point that she had decided to give him a case of blue balls, because that statement would have sapped any starch from his snake anyway. Deciding he hasn't been emasculated enough, she declares that her mom often wears the pants in the family "too much" with her dad and she is worried Kip just isn't tough enough to handle her spunky Canadian self. He sideswipes her by telling her "If I really care enough, you'll know it." But his effort is weak, so when the 'ol sexcard Harrison likes to write appears at the table, Torquemada cock blocks him, but still takes him up to the suite, jumps in bed with him, and tortures him to the point of insanity. His balls swollen like blue watermelons, he finally crawls away whimpering. Volunteering hands from Kryptonians all across the continent rocket into the air to help Kip with his 'problem'. Date over.

Reid's Soy Grande! (Or at least he claims to be)

Next up, it's the Seedlings turn to see their man in action. Jill meets Reid in Sevilla, Spain and they go shopping for groceries and and demonstrate a complete ignorance of the Spanish language--it sounded about like a uni-lingual version of Pig-Latin. They end up in a butcher's shop to try and buy a picnic lunch? Reid practically shits himself at the sight of all that raw, disease-carrying beef right in front of them, so they settle for some bread and cheese, to go along with whatever booze the Fleissmonster is providing. A brief walk in the park lands them on a bench where Jill attempts to engage the Neurotic One in a serious conversation about their relationship and possible future together. Apparently anything as icky as feelings is hard for ol' Reid to talk about because he constantly cracks up and interrupts himself to ask: "I'm bad at that this, aren't I? I'm really bad at this!" Relax Shakespeare, she just wants to know you see a future together between you two; you don't need to pen her a book of prose. (Yeah, I know: camera's are there. But I think if you're into the girl enough, you can ignore them a minute when discussing whether you're ready to propose or get her pregnant or whatever. If she had hold of your wang, you'd ignore them.) But I digress. Despite all of his stumbling and bumbling, Reid turns out to be funny, which is a major plus for the guy in my book. His humor is often dry and self-effacing, but it is there and compared to the other robots, it's a breath of fresh air. Over dinner, when the sexcard arrives, she goes to demure again but it's painfully obvious that if he'd a pushed, it was his for the taking. He shows some jealousy and she obviously likes that too, but like a gentleman, leaves it up to her. A piggyback ride down the riverbank ends the date as far as we can see. After that? Who knows. (Wink)

Refuses-to-Stay-Dead-Ed Makes his Pitch

It's on to Ed, and his Deadheads all stand and cheer. Doubling up on the cities, Jill meets him in Sevilla too and intercuts let us know that the Formerly Dead One is ready to lay it all out for her. She confesses that the reanimated corpse scares her and says: "He broke my heart a little bit." Really, do tell? I hope all of that bawling wasn't just over some guy you liked a little, Jill. Anyway, they meet in the park and go for a carriage ride where Jill, acting like a real woman, reminds him of his mistake in leaving her...AGAIN. Thoroughly castigated, Ed moves like the Casanova the folks on the Internet claim he is, and hits her with some smooth cheese. Jill promptly melts into a puddle and they stage a make-out session all over town that would have gotten them arrested in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. (Trust me, I know.) Ahem. Anyway, talk is cheap on this date until they get to dinner, and unlike her other suitors, Ed launches the attack without prompting. "Could you see yourself living anywhere else? Moving to a new city?" She is so pleased she only knifes him gently about not getting to meet his parents again and then finally coos: "What would we have done?" Ed tells her he would have taken her to a Cubs Game, and they talk fairly animatedly but he refrains from making eye contact (again!) The sex card arrives and she goes to demure, but unlike the other gentleman, the Dead One, has other plans. Argh! "I think we should do it; just hang out, and do more catch up." Heh-heh, not bad. Jill caves like she wanted to originally and takes him to the Fantasy Suite and insists they'll "sleep in their clothes." Yeah, Jill, wasn't his shirt a little big on you? Argh, yet again! Odds are heavy against the Nerd Romeo, (Once dead; twice shy), but don't count this boy out just yet.

The Funeral of Greaseball Wes

The opening stages of this date are barely worth relating; Jill met the Greaser in Barcelona and took him for a bike ride. They picnic under a gazebo and the Greasy One stays so far away from her you would think her dad was sitting behind them with a shotgun. Unsurprisingly, Jill notices and wonders what's up. They go to dinner and there the real fun starts. Becoming increasingly suspicious of his completely disinterested attitude, she stars grilling him--no, I mean that--she really started hammering him with questions and wouldn't back off. Instead of defending himself with his usual lies, Wes gets pissed and all but admits he is only here for his lousy CD, and spends a good part of his time glaring at her while she hurls questions at him like thunderbolts. I took all of this to mean that Wes had had enough of the Bachelorette Experience, and wanted to go home. He didn't even try to charm her. When she pegged with a heated question, he merely shrugged and said: "Hey, it's all about numero uno." Women across the Continent began gnashing their teeth at this douche. The sex card arrives and he has the nerve to say: "Yeah, I think we should." Translation: Sure, I'll tap that! Ha ha. If she'd been a hooker and he'd had five hundred in cash at that point, it wadn't gonna happen. She tersely tells him: "We'll skip it!" and walks him out to a cab and throws him out. The sad part is that some women will still want him. Don't believe me? Serial Killers get love letters in prison. Enough said.

The Greaser is Leaking Oil!

This was the most pointless ceremony I have seen. It had one, and only one point to it: to allow Wes the opportunity to commit career suicide and like Kevorkian of the Gutfiddle, he obliges. Jill walks out and Wes, looking drunk already, and dressed like he sleeps in a dumpster, whispered to Kip: "If its me, remember, I'll be gettin' plenty of sex back home." The other three move away from him and Ed can't control a giggle that he's actually met someone this fucking stupid. Jill hands out the flowers and without the wingman anywhere in sight, she makes to walk the stumbling, bombed Wes down the hill to his limo ride of doom. She deposits him, he opens a bottle, and goes on to demolish his career chances and whatever small amount of decency he arrived with. Wes helpfully decided that since he was leaving, he should help with his own funeral arrangements, and even jumped in the hole and pulled the dirt over himself. I wonder how long it will take the Spanish authorities to get the oil stain out of the ground? Slice and dice audio edits start immediately and he starts shooting his mouth off like he wants to be Fleiss' butt-buddy for life. "Losing to Reid? C'mon, the guy's a retard! Ed? These guys wouldn't get a nibble back in Austin. I'm gonna' cut loose tonight! The shackles are off and I'm a free man in Spain! First man ever to make it to the Final 4 with a girlfriend! My acting career is over!" Ha ha, so's your music career asshole. Can you get thrown out of your own band? If it can happen, he's done. Ha ha. Couldn't have happened to a bigger asswipe either. Once in a very great while: BOOM! Karma happens.

Next week: Hawaii, part 1. See ya then!