"My Daddy Lives in a Really Big House! Nahhhhhhhhh!"
ZipperRipper Chantal prepares a statue of Brad Womack to meet her loaded parents.
Welcome to Week 8 of this season--otherwise known as the "Daughter Auction". This is the episode where Brad Womack travels the country and goes a courtin' and gets to meet the families who were dumb enough--or desperate enough--to unload their daffy daughters that they let them go make fools of themselves on national television to try and land a Texas bar owner with a spotty record in the commitment area. These same parents will welcome the Bachelor into their homes and practically beg Brad to take the dead weight off their hands. I'm waiting for the season where they actually catch some dad down on his knees and pleading, "Good god, can't you help a man out here?!" Ah, Women's Rights. But this season we're in for a break; many years the families are crazier and sleazier than their kids. Not this time. 'Ol Brad Womack not only managed to meet some nice folks, but he even stumbled into what looked like a gold mine or two while he was at it. And truthfully, I'm just being a dick...mostly. The families were cool. The women were cool. It's the producers who suck. So what's new?
Baron O'Brien and Squire Womack
Brad starts the episode out hanging around on a freezing balcony navel gazing about the women while wearing some dorky English Racing hat. That looked organic, didn't it? Brad normally wears a English Racing hat? It looked like Queen Elizabeth wearing a Stetson. Anyway, once Brad recaps why he can't dump any of the women he's going to, it's off to Mercer Island, Washington to meet this season's nemesis of his wardrobe: ZipperRipper Chantal. She awaits him in some scenic park as Brad drives up and they do the run and hug. Brad gives us a ominous-sounding PI: "So much of her is perfect, but I have concerns. I do not need a roller coaster in my life." Uh-huh. Settling in on a picnic table, Chantal fills him in on what's to come. She wants to run by her house, a mere 4 blocks from her folks, and introduce Brad to her menagerie. This was an odd date for these two. Considering the locales, and purpose of the trip, this was the 1st time they didn't look tempted to rip each other's clothes off. As they sat in the park discussing their future home in Austin and Chantal's current one around the corner, Brad didn't look fully recovered from last weeks Anguilla assault. Truthfully, he looked so stoic I was waiting for a pigeon to come perch on the top of his head or take a crap on him. Chantal, however, dropped into her giggly girl mode and before long he is laughing along playfully with her. They leave for her digs and Brad gets his first opportunity to raise an eyebrow, "Wow. Nice place." It is. Chantal must be the best paid Executive Assistant on the West Coast. Must be nice to have Daddy's Sugar Palace to crash in. She leads him indoors where they are greeted by two gray blobs she assures him are cats, and one nauseating little dog. Now, I'm a dog guy--love 'em, but is it some kind of requirement that at least one girl in the final 4 has to own some little piece of shit dog? How come no woman ever opens the door and the Bachelor gets floored by some gigantic Marmaduke? Chantal tells us the odd-looking little thing is named "Boca." Brad looks at it like he wants to step on it. You'll forgive me if I don't have the Make or Model of this particular animal, but it appeared to be some kind of hybrid. The only thing I'm sure about--besides the fact it was nauseating and dressed in doggy clothes--is that it probably cost more than my car. Same thing with the cats; they didn't look garden variety either. Chantal is flashing the animal bling. They have a seat on her expensive couch and talk about how she and the animals are a package deal. Brad nods ruefully and says he'll have to buy a new house. They then do something really odd for this show: they actually have a real-sounding conversation. They talk about limited closet space. Huh? Since when are we ever shown any mundane conversations about real life? Brad plays with the little dog and they have a talk like two people preparing to shack-up. Weird. They finally dump the animals and head over to her folks' house, or should I say Palace. As they walk down through the gate that leads to the front door, Brad's eyebrow disappears into his hairline, "Wow!" Wow, is right. This message is for all the people on the internet insisting that Chantal's dad is just pimping her on TV to sell a few more cars: suck it! This guy obviously has more money in his couch cushions than I do in my bank account. They walk up to a front door that probably cost more than my entire house and go inside. Greeting them is Chantal's sister. Huh? Her what? Her mom!? Yeowza! Holy crap, Mr. Womack; plastic surgery notwithstanding, this appears to be a rather deep gene pool you're fishing in here!
Ok, that's it! I'm done. I've tried to be selfless, but I have failed. Cupids and hearts, cupids and hearts--I was blind but now I can see. It was meant to be--Team Bremily all the way! Go on, Brad, dump her! Dump her right here in her daddy's fancy digs! Go on. Yes, do it now. I'll wait by the door. (Turning about and doffing my ostrich-plumed pirate chapeau), "Mrs. O'Brien, allow me to introduce myself; I am Frederick J. Barbarossa, humble ship's captain and occasional scribe, at your service. Pirate? Ho, no. Pirate is such a strong word. I prefer the term 'opportunistic entrepreneur', much like you dear husband. Yes, I'm afraid it's true, Brad is on his way to break your darling little girl's heart. Yes, he's certainly no changed man in my book! As a matter of fact I think we can both agree that he's quite the douche bag, if you'll pardon my French? No, but I'm afraid I have even worse news. You see, there's some sleaze bag named Mike Fleiss on the way to your house as we speak, and I'm afraid he means to sign your lovely daughter up as the next Bachelorette. Now, Mrs. O'Brien--may I call you Bille Jo? You see this silver-tongued devil means to put a hoard of fancy-knickered, Nancy-boys onto your daughter. Oh, no, no, you wouldn't want to do that. Chantal is a lonely young woman and the chance to maybe meet some decent fella hiding among the potted plants this Fleiss-devil will try and sic on her is too great to pass up. Now I know a way to circumvent that devil but good. You see, Chantal needs someone she can trust hanging out there with her. That's right--you. You can stay there the whole time and vet these losers to make sure she gets a good one. You and Chantal can spend your days lounging about the pool in your bikinis comparing notes..."
All right, honey, I'll stop. Let go of my ear! Ahem. Where was I? Oh, yeah, Brad crashes into the O'Brien mansion and is met by one hottie-assed MILF of a mom, some tall, strapping lad and finally Baron O'Brien himself. Mike O'Brien takes in a deep breath and smells, like always, the powerful fragrance of money, and then eyes Brad Womack with a steely gaze. Brad shrinks about a foot. The Baron hauls Brad aside for a man-to man and these two quickly figure out that if Chantal and Brad don't make it, that Mike and Brad would make a mighty cute couple. They trade tales of growing up with nothing and making a bundle. The Baron even takes Brad into the stadium-sized arboretum to show him some giant-assed statue he has. Then they tour the wine cellar arm in arm and Brad stashes that bottle of Two-Buck Chuck he'd brought along as a gift. Before Mike and Brad get carried away with each other, they all have sit down and Brad immediately rats out Chantal for popping him in his hairy mug the second she met him. General hilarity ensues. Finally, the ZipperRipper and the ZipperShredder go have a cry fest while Brad and Mike adjourn into the kitchen for Mike's blessing. The Baron quickly proves that he has better writers than Fleiss: "I don't know when we'll see you again if ever, but if the time comes and this all works out, you two certainly have my blessings." Unsolicited, Brad rings one up, and then kicks the shit out of himself for not taking Chantal on that shopping spree instead of the mortuary chick. The food that piece of shit dog eats will probably make that Bally's handbag look like a real bargain. Chantal walks Brad out and he tells her, "I don't want to leave!" (Who the hell would?) as the baron puts the exclamation on the evening: "Brad is sincere; a great man." Date, and Stephen Bradley Picklesimer Womack: done.
Disconnected Along the Border
Madawaska, Maine: Ashley Sherbert greets Brad in her freezing small town and takes him to dinner at the local French-speaking greasy spoon. Sherbert bee bops around with her mosquito-like energy and offers him a local delicacy called, "The Colon Blaster." No, not really. It was some French-sounding thing that I can't pronounce or type, but the meaning was the same. It was a bowl of french fries topped in gravy and cheese. "Would you be into that," she asks. Brad frowns, "Uh, yeah." Brad, who doesn't look like he's consumed a carb since adolescence, cringes as the waitress brings the dish to the table. "You like?" Brad stares at her and decides to try out some Frenchy-talk, "Uhhhh, si!" Quite the cosmopolitan is our Bradley. The waitress shrugs and drops the fries and gravy-cheese on the table and departs. Brad stares at it like it's a giant bowl of horse squeeze, but reluctantly picks up his fork. Sherbert stops him and digs her finger into the morass and offers him a gravy cheese fry. Swallowing with disgust, Brad open his mouth as she drops it in. "I saw your crown," she reminds us she's a Dentist. Shame she wasn't a doctor. Brad's eyes bug out and he goes into instant carb-shock. By the time they can roll the cameras again, its time to leave che greasy spoon.They gab about the need to reassure as Ashley takes him shopping for lobster and they stop off at a "honor-system" veggie stand. Brad, being a Texas redneck looks genuinely happy to meet French-speaking Yankee rednecks. It's definitely his kind of town. "I can see myself living here." Uh-huh. They arrive at the modest Sherbert home and we quickly see where Ashley gets her high-energy chipperness. The family is cool, but borders on spastic. The real surprise is her sister, Chrystie, who's pretty damn hot but covered in tattoos. Now, I've confessed to liking them on women, but this gal looked like a billboard. They all eat lobster before Ashley's step-dad takes a Brad aside for the point of the visit: to let Brad know Ashley is going nowhere until she finishes dental school. Doubts now abound. Her feelings, his feelings--no one has a clue what they feel. Dad tells Brad the thought of kids might scare Ashley. I'm surprised she even got a rose. This one isn't long for this TV world. Date over.
Brad Gets Mortified
Speaking of people not long for this TV world....Brad now heads to the hometown of the hottest undertaker I've ever seen--Chico, California--home of Shawntel Munster. For the third straight visit, Brad loves her town. He steps into the creepy Munster Family Mausoleum--cue creepy organ music. It's gonna' be that kind of date. Why? Is Shawntel some kind of death-obsessed freak? Is Brad all into lying on embalming tabbles for kicks? No, it's cause the producers are douche bags, that's why. Brad hugs the hottie Munster and tells her how beautiful it is around these parts. "Oh, wait till you see the rest," she says innocently, pointing further into the mausoleum. Dial tone. C'mon, Shawntel, we all know you're intelligent. Lose the brainfart sweetie; he's talking about your town, not your creepy funeral parlor. She tours him around the business, including the crematorium and then hauls him into the embalming room. Speaking of dial tones, Brad's all over that: "Uhhhhhh, ok." She suggests he lay on her embalming table and starts playing with some evil-looking tools of the trade. Brad grimaces like he's holding his ass checks clenched so he doesn't drop one on the floor. Finally bowing to producer-pressure, he lies down while she hovers over him like Dr. Frankenstein, complete with surgical mask. Brad visibly shivers and I'm expecting that Madison chick to come hopping out of a closet at him with her fangs bared. Lovely visual as Shawntel gets waaaayyyy too graphic in her dissertation about how she drains stiffs. Mercifully, they are allowed to leave...and after about 5 uncomfortable minutes, Brad looks like he wishes he was back on the embalming table. They go and meet her family and I see Pops Munster is on the early embalming plan. But as dead as he looks, he still possesses the power to weave a guilt trip better than my mother. Shawntel confesses she is deep into the Bachelor bubble and is just crazy about Brad. Pops' pinched face screws up like he just sucked a lemon. "But I always meant for you to carry on when I retire?" You did? Then why the hell did you agree to meet some Reality TV Star who would haul her to Austin? Brad squirms--its Austin or nada. Pops takes Shawntel aside and pulls out the big guns of guilt: "Shawntel, you certainly have my blessing to leave with this hairy-faced, double-dealing man who is far too old for you, but I just want you to know that the entire town of Chico, California will be nothing more than smoldering ruins if you do." Shawntel wanders back in and Pops smiles at Brad: "Well, you certainly have my blessings, you bastard. Kindly go ahead and take her so I can go jump into a freshly dug grave. Have no fear, Shawntel, I'll have some other undertaker who actually cares about this community embalm me." Brad beats feet in a hurry. Date over.
The Ricky and Ricki Show
That's right--Ricky and Ricki. Brad and Nascar Emily? Eh, not so much. But I don't care. I'm Team Bremily now anyway. I just want to see Chantal and her MILF mom next season...and the Baron look down his rich-assed nose at some quivering douche. So, cupids and hearts, cupids and hearts! Brad gets to meet little Ricky-tick. Never saw that coming. Hope he was happy with that too, cause she is the only family member who could make it. For some odd reason, none of Emily's family even show up and we're never told why. That's a first. Anyway, Brad duckfoots his way into a park carrying a kite and meets Emily and her 5 year-old daughter Ricki--hereafter known as Ricky-tick--which makes the kid sound like a bug. Odd nickname, but whatever. The poor little girl is shy. Some people make a big deal out of the fact that the poor kid hid from Brad or ignored him altogether. First of all, what 5 year-old would relax with 20 sleazy producers and a camera crew sticking boom mikes into her face and trying to coerce her? Besides, we have trained any female under the age of 21 to treat any man they don't know as a potential rapist. Of course the poor child was scared! She hides behind her mom like any normal 5 year-old under the circumstances and leers suspiciously at Brad like he's Chester the Molester. He pulls out the kite and gives her some space and finally they fly kites together just like he did with her momma. They head back to Emily's and I'm relieved to see that Emily is the best paid, 24 year-old, "Hospital Event Planner" in the nation. Cool, Brad; gold mine part duex. Touring some of that Hendrick's Money Castle, Brad plays clown to get Ricki-tick to like him. They play board games and other highly romantic things and finally Emily puts the Tick to bed. The little one hands him a hand-drawn picture that still adorns his refrigerator (Hmmm?) before she heads off for the night and Emily tells Brad she wants him to tuck her in. She did? Conveniently, Emily tells Brad she's already asleep as he arrives at her bedside and he gets stiffed again. Finally, they head downstairs for some adult time and just when I think this is going to get good, Brad pulls a wimp-out worthy of a full Mesnick, with a slice of Weatherman vagina-whine on the side. "Your daughter is upstairs and I could kiss you. But I'm just not." Emily stares at him like she wonders if he's gay. "Hey. If this works out, she's always going to be up there?" Truer words. But Brad pulls an all-time pussy choke and is about to leave before she corrals him by the door and forces him. Jesus, Brad; John Wayne just sat up in his grave and cacked up a furball. Awkward, and embarrassing. So this is the epic lovestory, eh? Hey, fine with me; cupids and hearts, cupids and hearts! C'mon Chantal, and bring your mom along with you! Team Bremily all the way! Date over.
Dump 'Em Danno!
The wingman manages to bestir his lazy ass, and Harrison emerges in week 8 to finally do his job. Keep phoning 'em in, Harrison. He and Brad do one of those lame, generic recaps that tells you what you just saw, before he heads out to line 'em up for duck hunting season.
1) Ashley Sherbet: French-speaking rednecks from Maine. Who wouldda thunk it?
2) Nascar Emily: Cupids and hearts, cupids and hearts. Go to South Africa, Emily. Brad will molest you there.
The wingman reappears from the mists: "Surely you saw this one coming, folks? With the way Brad mispronounces the names of the two Chantal/Shawntels, you knew this showdown was coming. Drag it out Brad...when you're ready."
The ZipperRipper strides forward in a horrid red dress and funnel-cake hairdo. Damn, did the Money Shot fix her hair? Hideous.
Dumped: Shawn-tel-tal..............................................Munster! No kidding. I'm glad I took my blood pressure medicine for this one. Shawntel leaves and is classy to the hilt. Make a fine Bachelorette, but probably not to be with that profession.
Brad re-enters and toasts as they head to South Africa to pester some defenseless animals. The Pirate will be there.