Man that was hot, wasn't it? I mean cherry-red, smokin' ass hot! No, I mean Cold, as in Blue, as in frosty, shivering, nut-swellingly blue. Just another example of how Emily Maynard has more sense than just about anybody I've ever seen on this show. Emily has never come across as a prude; although Little Ricki is often portrayed as a religious icon on this show, Emily has never bothered to try and claim she was conceived through an immaculate conception; nor has she tried to con anybody that she's spent the interim six years from the time of Ricki's birth until now, being celibate. She just refuses to publicly bang three guys in one week on national TV. Besides, for any of you huffing about the wisdom of anyone getting engaged without trying out the goods first, remember the history of this show: plenty of people over the seasons have been given time to slip away privately with one (or more) of their suitor/ettes. Did you really think Fleiss was going to show his angelic single mom soiling herself in the Fantasy Suite? Uh, no. He'll let her soil herself in private.(Besides, whether you take a roll in the hay or not, how many of think getting engaged after 7 weeks and three dates is a good idea anyway?) What he will show us is a full thirty minutes of her neverending agony over having to dump anyone. Hey Fleiss; lighten up!
Once the show started, I came to one conclusion instantly: Harrison is already drunk. And I see events at the Rose Ceremony bear me out (more on that later). Twenty minutes were gone before I realized he was a no-show. While the Wingman, and the ABC interns he doubtlessly commands, staged drunken panty raids on the women in this weeks resort, Emily was left alone to tell us how damn miserable this all makes her--gut-churningly, heart-rendingly, butt-clenchingly miserable. This was boring; no Boring; I mean BORING! Jesus, Fleiss; let it go! We get it! She's nice, not a heartless hag. Move on! And by "moving on" he must have thought I meant recap the whole season. Minutes crawl by as I see what I've already seen so Fleiss can warm up the Johnny and Jane Comelatelies to what the rest of us have watched all season. Yeah, I get it. A huge number of people wait every season until the last few shows to join the parade and they haven't a clue who these turds are and why they should care about them. Ok, ok, let's go.
Sean's Immense, Genetically Perfect, Blueballs!
Once Emily is (finally) done moping and crying, first man up is Sean, The Genetic Marvel. Sean becomes the first of three to snatch a colored T-shirt out of the free gift pack and go and meet Emily down on the beach in Curacao. They sit and talk, disrobe to show off their matching genetic perfection, and…nothing. It was a flatline. Emily just sucks as an actress; she's terrible. She loaded him into a helicopter to float out to a private island, and these two looked like they were in church together. Sean never moved close, put an arm around her, nothing. Once they land on the island, it's even worse. They sit down on a blanket and she tells him that his family bus-axled him by telling her that he treats women like "buddies". He tries to defend himself but his family definitely painted him as a commitment phobe. He quickly runs out of things to say and the theme of the date is set: Sean needs to be pressured into admitting he loves Emily. She, the producers, and god knows who else, are determined to get this guy to crack. We're shown a short swim they take before night has already fallen. They start out along the beach sitting on pillows as the interrogation begins. She pokes, prods, cajoles, and works him over for the "L-word". Reeling under the assault, Sean pulls out a letter to Ricki that was doubtlessly inspired by his personal producer who heard about the success One-F-Jef had with his own letter on the hometowns, and reads it aloud. It's sufficiently heartfelt and cheesy without being particularly poetic. With the letter read, the pressure has built, and Sean launches the most reluctant "L-Bomb" I can remember hearing on this show. Emily beams, gives him a few tepid pecks as a reward, and then as quick as a cat, whips out the 'ol sexcard Harrison penned before going on his latest bender. Sean reads the Fantasy Suite invite aloud and quickly accepts. They wander into the suite, put on bathing suits and jump into a hot tub. Sean's eyes (and much else) bug out, but Emily is already hedging in a voice over. "Do I follow my ovaries or stay true to myself…blah,blah,blah." Suffice it to say, Sean's reward stops at getting a good look at her in a bikini and he is then booted out and limps away with his genetically perfect testicles swollen like blue melons, but his hopes (and much else) are never higher. The trap is laid. Which is more than we can say for Sean. Date over.
Emily's Throbbing, Genetically Perfect, Blue Ovaries!
Say what you will about One-F-Jef, but this kid's got Game. Jef is short, of a very average build that's never seen a gym; he's practically hairless save that awful mop on the top of his noggin, and he's competing against a genetic marvel and race car driving European hottie, but this kid's got the finish line in sight! If you ever want to know how to handle a Bachelorette, my friends, just watch and learn. Jef has bamboozled, charmed, flummoxed, humored, and intrigued Emily from the moment he arrived on his dumb skateboard. He tells jokes one minute with a air of insouciance and confidence, before he waxes poetic with considerable style and earnestness, and then retreats into a sublime indifference to her. Emily vibrates, laughs, is taken aback, and then melts like butter. It's been like watching Ted Williams hit baseballs; Gretzky shoot hockey pucks, or Ali dance around an opponent sticking and moving; just Bravo, Maestro! After watching Emily toy with Sean, this was damn near poetic justice. "We need to bridle our passions." Did you hear that? "Bridle our passions"? Did you hear that shit? Can you believe that shit? We are in a the presence of a master. Some artists work in clay or oils; others in stone or watercolors; Jef works in "Emily". Let's watch the master work:
Jef wanders down the beach sounding realistic, but skeptical. She greets him on a dock and takes him out onto a large sailing yacht. They sit on the yacht and try and talk against the wind and I have to turn my TV up to 11 to hear them. She probes him about his families reaction to her visit last week. She tries to joke but as is his want, Jef switches gears abruptly and asks her a serious question: "Do you think I'd be a good parent?" Emily answers "yes!" at once, but he doesn't let the meaningless platitude slide: "Why?" This is the first of about twenty times he will wrong foot her on the date. Jef lets her fully explain her reasoning and then tells us in a P.I. "Emily and I are this crazy painting that I didn't understand at first. But as I've stepped back I can see the masterpiece develop." Oh, so can we, Maestro. They jump from the boat and he surfboards her to the beach and we can see for ourselves just how much Jef has blinded her. The guy from an unknown religious denomination that starts with a "Mor" and ends with a "mon" should be about a mile out of his league here. He has the most average--maybe even bad--build I've ever seen on a serious suitor on this show; he's short, hairless, and looks like he's going to celebrate his next birthday at Chuck E. Cheese, but he's not only kicking, he's kicking ass! As darkness falls, they head to a set on the beach for dinner. The second they're seated, Jef dives in with deep, earnest questions: Where would we live?; Why are you still single?; Do you think I'm a good fit for Ricki? Emily, exhausted by assault kisses and the normal "You're so beautiful" platitudes, gets to expound on her vision for the future. Jef waits and lets her laud him as a perfect fit for her life. Emily, now sensing she has buttered him up for the big fall, whips out the sexcard and hands it to him, waiting to watch him start panting like a hound so she can slap him down. The master has other plans, however. Jef reads the Wingman's version of Penthouse Forum aloud and returns the bait job on her: "What do I think? I think it would be awesome to forgo our individual rooms…" Then he yanks the rug, "but…I understand that your daughter and our families will be watching this and there's a time and a place. I intend to spend the rest of my nights with you in our own little fantasy suite. So…" (Insouciant shrug).
Emily's jaw hits the table.
"Errr, uh, I'm so thankful you responded that way…" Uh-huh. She does everything but scream, "Are you kidding me? Are you blind--can you even see me?" Ha! In a private interview, we get to see one of those rare, honest (and funny) things on this show. Emily tells us: "He took everything I was going to say to him and turned it back to me. It was very sweet, but at the same time, I wanted to turn him down but he kinda turned me down!" Ha Ha! Learn from the master.
Jef now leads her up to Fantasy Suite where they sit on a couch and make out pretty hot and heavy. Emily waits for his temperature to rise and his trouser snake to take command of his brain, but he thunders on until her ovaries glow blue and then he…abruptly gets up and walks out. She stares agog at him as he limps down the stairs under the pain of an erection and looks back at the suite with a casual flip of his bouffant before he limps off into the night. Emily practically roars in frustration and slams the door before she collapses onto the bed in a swoon, surrounded by a cloud of estrogen. Date…and Emily Maynard…Over.
Arie's Enormous, European, Blueballs!
Oh boy. After watching Jef's amazing and subtle performance of long term seductive skills, this was like watching a chimp trying to solve quadratic equations. Noted European horndog, Race Car Arie, is up next to try his luck. That means he and Emily will say three words, pause, and Arie will ram his tongue down her esophagus. She greets him on the dock and they swallow each others faces before they head out on another, smaller, sailboat and keep tongue-choking each other. I see Fleiss has hired Flipper and his trainer to swim around the couple and scare the shit out of Emily. The tame dolphin shadows them as they swim around and Arie gets to be "protective" and wet hump her under the water. They finally give the dolphin a fish for his troubles and head back to the boat and mumble through some shallow platitudes before they make out some more. Arie pauses making out long enough to list his favorite moments of their "journey", and Emily correctly (and somewhat caustically) observes that all his favorite moments involve kissing. Incorrectly reading her complaint, he tongues her some more. He then lays her down on the boat deck and REALLY has a go at her. During the commercial Harrison dumps a bucket of ice water on him or something and they manage to get them off the boat. Darkness has fallen when we return and we see them head to dinner. Emily, showing some Native American ancestry, has turned as brown as a walnut from the sun while Arie shows his European skin by being burned to the color of a hibiscus and glows in the lamplight with a sheen of aloe smeared all over his face. Emily, once again, tries to move onto deeper ground. "I don't even know what you do? What's a Tuesday like for you?" Arie tries to turn it back to her but finally admits he sleeps in, goes to the car shop, and eats out with his buddies every night when he's in town, which isn't often. Emily frowns. Sensing his chances at the suite slipping away, Arie finally tries to actually talk instead of kiss. Emily gives him the same assurances she gave Jef--she will move to him, no moving to Charlotte necessary. Arie then gives his philosophy on parenting, but I can feel the ending I originally thought was going to happen, slip away. They have great physical chemistry, but Emily looks more and more skeptical as the night progresses and she starts to sound more polite than ensnared. She talks about how good looking he is in a P.I. and says she can't trust herself, so Harrison's last effort to sound like Henry James is never used. Frankly, I thought she held it back out of fear that he would throw her down on the table and take her over the Lobster Thermadore they were eating. Then, in a P.I., Emily starts to cry about having to tell people goodbye. Buzz! That's it. She's made up her mind. An since she was so hurt by Brad slobbering all over Ashley and Chantal on his second season, she is backing off. She might tongue duel with Arie some more in two weeks, but I think she's decided. We'll see. Date over.
Emily Agonistes II
As darkness falls, Harrison has finally gotten off the Charter Boat and makes an appearance. Not even bothering to change out of his Tiki Lounge clothing, he greets her sans his Wingman uniform looking sunsoaked and hung over…and I mean that. They head into the tropical lounge of solitude so Emily can mope and cry, cry, cry. She pouts and whines for 10 minutes as Harrison prods and probes her. At one point, Harrison, fighting to keep his bloodshot orbs open, tries to tell her to gather herself and makes to leave but Emily just goes on and on crying about all of the men. Finally he orders her to watch some videos and lunges for the door. Emily watches the video pleas from each of the men but Fleiss decides to use the trick of only using her watching Sean's video…I think. She is now officially Emily,the Depressed. She cries no matter what guy is shown speaking and mopes. All three guys tell her they love her in the video; Sean, with great naivete; Jef, with romantic smoothness; and Arie, like they've got some unfinished business to attend to (wink, wink.).
The Remains of the Wingman and Jef's Just Not Tall Enough for Primetime
Harrison, just thankful to be on his feet, has greeted the boys as they arrived individually as their videos played. Jef comes first and it's here that Fleiss has decided to needlessly humiliate the guy. Jef shows up in a white dress shirt, dark tie and slacks like he's just arrived on my doorstop with his bike and wants to ask very politely if I've heard of Joseph Smith. But Fleiss orders him to wear dark socks and shoes so he can have the poor guy stand on a box or something so he won't look so short. Don't believe me? Look at the pictures. Arie and Sean both arrive in Island Casual and Harrison lines them up while Emily cries because she's so guilty for laying such a good trap for Sean.
Harrison lines the boys up and hungover or not, he can do his job on autopilot. After one successful take of the usual boilerplate, he backs away for the nearest chair and an ice bag.
1) One-F-Jef--Step down off those stilts and go get your rose, little fella. The Master may have this in the bag already.
No Harrison interlude; no need to count to ONE. I think he may have passed out.
2) Race Car Arie--Easily dumped if need be. The prime difference between the Bachelor and Bachelorette. If this were the Bachelor, Arie would win cause he turns her on the most. Mama Emily is thinking with more than her genitals in my opinion. We'll see.
Dumped: Sean, the Genetic Marvel. Totally blindsided and appeared genuinely hurt, but in keeping with the sterling character he actually does possess, he keeps it classy and mans up. He takes it with great pain, but holds himself with dignity. Horny Wendy and about half a million other women race to their Facebooks to offer Sean "comfort."
Can you ever remember a Final 3 who carried themselves this well? Not sure I can.
Ok, Next Week: The Men Tell on Each Other. In two weeks: The Finale and Fleiss wants us to think Emily pulls a Womack of her own and dumps everybody, which means she doesn't.
See ya then.