1-17--Wait a Minute--Did Harrison Actually Tell the Truth?

Good god, what's this world coming to? Earlier this week, Bachelor host, weakest of wingmen, Chris Harrison tweeted with his usual hyperbolic aplomb that tonight's episode was going to be "Our most emotional ever!" Yeah, right. But I'll be damned is he wasn't telling the truth for once. Other than some Bachelor finales, I found this episode to be one of the most emotional I've seen. This band of women, obviously recruited for the mother-less Chris Lambton, became a parade of lost loved ones. Did producer-cretin, Fleiss and his casting mob cruise funeral parlors for these women? It sure sounded like it. In all seriousness, it was one of the best episodes this show has produced; the emotions flowed and damn if they didn't seem real too. The normal stupid human tricks were largely absent, replaced by three cool dates I wouldn't even mind going on, and a bunch of women baring their souls. Pretty terrific television. With that said, it's time for me to rip it apart anyway.

Butchering the Seal

Did I say "largely absent"? Yeah, I did. Michelle Money--the hardcore Money Shot, is still a member of the harem and as long as she is, the stupid human tricks will continue unabated. She was around the entire episode to play up the craziness, crassness, and cattiness while the other girls took a break from it to tell their stories. I'm sure she'll have a partner or two soon enough. The episode opens with Harrison wandering into the Cathouse from wherever he lurks and announcing this week's date line up: Two of the coveted 1-on-1 dates and one large group date. He closes with his usual fatherly advice by warning this high strung crew that not everyone will get a date this week, so those that do should act like they're on the set of porno Soap Opera (which they are) or risk getting the dreaded bus ticket back to their real jobs. The threats concluded, he drops the first date card; which goes to First Impression Rose recipient, Ashley Sweetums, who was largely absent last week. The clue on the card says something about "music" and Ashley tells us in her North Carolina twang that if this is karaoke, she will just "Diiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!" Ouch. No dear, its our ears that are about to diiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!

Brad, back to his therapy sessions and incessant navel gazing this week, comes screaming up to the Cathouse in his chopshop Aston Martin and collects her. They head straight to Capitol Records and I start to cringe. These music dates are really painful and I feel no better when Brad pops up onscreen to predict it's going to be "a torturous event!" Oh goodie, sign me up. He drags her into the recording studio and she sees the chosen song they're gonna' maul is Seals "Kiss by a Rose." The dead relative parade gets underway when she tells us that her dad, who died 2 years ago, loved this song and they used to sing it together. They step up to the mike as I grab the arms of my chair and hold on. They then try to sing. And I emphasize the word "Try". The studio must have needed fumigating because there isn't a a rat or even a cockroach that could have survived that performance. Insects and rodents dead within the walls, the studio engineer keels over the sound board face first, his spleen obviously ruptured. Brad steps back up to the mike and says, "My apologies, Mr. Seal." WRONG! How about "Apologies, Mr. Barbarossa," because my eardrums are shot! Brad then walks her into the studio next door where the real Seal has been hiding to escape the auditory assault. He sings the song correctly and even manages one more to pimp the album he must have coming up, while Brad and Ashley listen and she springs the first of many leaks tonight. He hauls her up onto the roof of the Capitol Records building so they can eat and she can drop the "Dead Dad" bomb on him. The bomb lands dead on target and out comes the first rose of the night. She collects the flower and they slow dance before Brad finally kisses her. She's a sweetie but was anyone else feeling the "friend vibe"? I damn sure was.

The Cheesy Action Hero

Brad awaits a bevy of his babes on a grimy-looking warehouse to film an action movie sequence. The Money Shot is along on this one, so we are guaranteed much diva-pimping, just like a real Hollywood movie. "These girls, I hate them!" Good for you, you whore. Anyway, the girls all pile out of a cargo van where Brad awaits. He begins to explain why they are in a place that looks like muggers alley, when explosions go off, and a bunch of stuntmen try to attack him from all sides. Brad does a pretty good Chuck Norris and faux-kicks their asses. The women are impressed. So was I. Pretty cool date. The women all train karate moves and filming gets under way. Truthfully, since they were working with pros, and since most of these women looked athletic, what they filmed looked pretty damn good. Combine a little training with professional stuntmen, film editors, and sound effects, and its a pretty good package. Quite a few of the women looked studly in that Angelina Jolie Tomb Raider way--which is hot. The Money Shot got her only moment of the night to look truthfully funny instead of like a vain, manipulative hosebag, by doing an impression of Lisa from Oz and her less than frightening karate squeaks of vengeance. But the Star of the show was clearly Shawntel Munster, who showed that in addition to burying dead people, she looked like she could create quite a few of them. She mimed beating some dudes' asses pretty convincingly and then very convincingly mauling a rope-bound and (naturally) shirtless Brad. Yowza! My pirate pantaloons got tight there for a minute. Argh!

They conclude the days filming when Brad finally agrees to put his shirt back on for a minute and take the women to the roof of some hotel for an After Party. Brad immediately jumps into the pool fully clothed and instantly removes his shirt. I guess it was chafing him. (rolls eyes) The women all pile in too and conveniently have their bikinis on underneath their clothes. Yum. Damn fine-looking group this year I must say. Anyway, the 1st one-on-one time goes to Chantal O. Chantal has been largely relegated to narrator duty since slapping Brad the first night so I'm expecting some standard "How are you? Good to talk with you at last" talk. But apparently they have spoken some before because Chantal whips out the big guns of openness and says that the despite the tough girl image he has seen of her, she is adopted. And not only did her real father dump her and never contact her in 15 years, but when she went to contact him, his new wife told Chantal he had just died. She cracks open and leaks like a watering can. There's drama here, but it didn't feel faked. They hug a bunch and Brad says, "We got some chemistry here." "Too much," she grins, not meaning a word of it. He looks like he wants to attack her but she beats him to it and they make out big time. Quite an intro. Hello, Chantal, nice to meet you...and you're damn hot too. Anyway, Alli Booty gets some time with Brad, but unlike Chantal and her solid gold TV tale, Alli must have been a bore, because the producers send the Money Shot into the private cathedral Alli has Brad trapped in to break it up. Alli storms out and rags Michelle as an "evil bitch" to the other girls as Michelle shows us the difference between real emotion and manipulation. Using motherhood as her sword, she tries twisting him about her finger. Brad, ever the walking hard-on, swallows it and goes after her tongue first. If half of what the tabloids are reporting about her is true, Alli had it right. Regardless, when the date rose comes out, Brad does the right thing and gives it to Shawntel Munster--who deserved it. Good job, Womack.

The Angel Descends to Earth

The second 1-on-1 of the night goes to overwhelming fan favorite, Nascar Emily. During the end of the Action Movie Date, Emily had her name called for the last 1-on-1 date and proceeded to sit with a couple of the girls and fully tell her story of her dead fiance who died in a plane crash while she found out she was pregnant with his baby story. It's powerful stuff. The other women bawl, even Madison the famewhore vampire, who starts to develop a conscience about pimping herself on this show. Meghan the Nobody gets to do a private interview where she confirms Emily to be Mother Teresa. My, lets lay it on thick, shall we? Brad arrives and takes Emily to the airport in his Aston Martin. Emily (and us) stare at the plane while Brad, still clueless, asks if she is nervous. Great TV. They finally land and Brad loads her into his jaunting car and they drive to a vineyard. Where? I have no idea and I bet you don't either. This was one of the few Bachelor dates ever that had nothing to do with the location. Brad could have taken her to a racquetball court and fed her a cornbeef sandwich for all it mattered. This date was all about her story. They sit on a log in the vineyard near the jaunting car sipping wine and Brad opens with the preamble I thought he was gonna' use on Chantal: "I don't know a single thing about you." He then presses in with some personal questions and Emily starts batting them away like a hockey goalie. Her favorite technique is to say something bland and then turn it back around on him. "And what about you?" Unsurprisingly, Brad starts to looked nettled. As darkness falls he takes her into a bar for dinner. A barn? Nevermind it doesn't matter. Once inside someone has informed Emily that it's time to spill, and she does. Brad listens as she relates the tale and then stammers, "So he was killed in a plane crash?" She affirms and then adds the part about being pregnant with his baby. Brad stares at her like she hit him in the head with a brick. I'll let any reader decipher his body language from there, but his reaction is stunned, but appeared positive. Brad produces the flower in an instant and she accepts. Cue harp music. They make out. Could this be the gal? Certainly could be. Now, I'm gonna' say something that probably isn't going to be very popular (What's new?) But I'm sure the message boards have probably lost all perspective. Emily is hot, she seems damned nice, and overcame a terrible tragedy. She did not however pull five people from a burning building or win the Medal of Honor in Afghanistan saving half her platoon. There is tons to be admired about her, but what she really did was cope with tragedy that was forced upon her. Admirably so. The shame of this is that with lost perspective, if Brad dares choose anyone else, he's going to be vilified as a douche bag, and that's sad. There are many quality women left on this show, and they may or may not be a better match for him. Emily is no doubt terrific, but I suspect she doesn't have any trouble sleeping because she can't get her angel wings under the blankets. Just saying. Anyway, Brad gushes: "I can see Emily being the woman I spend the rest of my life with." Is it this easy? Maybe it is.

Time for a Therapy Re-up

The wingman, being a lazy bastard, decides to skip the usual pow-wow recap with the Bachelor and sends in Brad's fruity English shrink instead. Dr. Whateverhisnameis comes walking in to 'treat' Brad. The sit around trading psychobabble about "opening up" and Brad mentions his dates for the evening. He comments about Nascar Emily and her tale--"Intense Connection"-- and also speak of Ashley Sweetums and her dead pappy. Strangely missing was Chantal's story of being adopted, dumped, and then finding her dad dead. What that means, who knows? Brad vows that he's gonna' "open myself up" and sounds ready to disembowel himself with a samurai sword if that's what it takes to get the job done. Bully.

Sunrise for the Vampire

The cocktail party gets under way and Brad comes bouncing in looking like a man dating 17 women: Happy. He toasts and then takes Alli Booty aside for a talk. Alli starts it off by referencing a giant bow on the hideous dress she's wearing by saying, "I wrapped myself up for you!" Brad starts to fall asleep so she throws in a sex story about her cheatin' daddy to open his eyes. This gives the Brad the chance to tell her (and us) that he has never cheated on a woman. He then gives her a tepid hug and escapes as fast as he can. Walking across the patio, he's waylaid by the Money Shot who tries to hog him. He brushes her off and goes and gets Chantal for a sit down. He quickly starts mentioning their strong physical connection and even slips aside under the blanket their sharing so he doesn't bust his zipper. Physical chemistry? Check. He then starts apologizing to her for not opening up enough when she shared with him by the pool. Ladies, allow me to translate the Oprah-talk: You told me something serious about yourself but I was so turned on I mugged you. Sorry. She thanks him and they stare at each other for second before the Money Shot arrives for the steal. Chantal looks at her like she's something she wouldn't want to step in, but leaves the patio anyway. $Cha Ching$ does her vamp and preen and Brad, looking more like a horndog than ever, defends her actions because she gives him a stalactite in his pants. ZZZZZZZZZZ. All is looking too smooth for our boy, so here comes Madison the famewhore vampire to ruin his evening. He sits her down for a talk, and suddenly she isn't sure she should be in the house. She basically says that other women are already putting it on the line for him, and she would just be taking their turns away from them. Honorable, or just plain telling Brad she could care less about him, I can't tell. Things continue downhill as Ashley Sherbert, the winner of the 1st one-on-one last week, suddenly shows signs of melting glue. She can't deal with the jealousy and all but asks to go home.

The wingman finally bestirs himself and comes in tinging his glass.

Get Dumped, Danno!

Already safe: Ashley Sweetums, Shawtel Munster, and Nascar Emily.

Roses:

1)The Money Shot--yick

2) Chantal O.--Brad's new zipper buster is looking good.

Madison suddenly walks out--cue dramatic chase scene as Brad runs her down and she pretty much tells him she wants to leave cause either A) she came to fall in love and....nothing. B) It all seems so real. C) She couldn't give two shits about Brad but would never forgive herself if she stole him from Nascar Emily. D) She's a fuckin' lunatic. Take your pick.

Brad wanders around and then finally back in, and basically tells anyone who wants out to haul it. None do.

3) Lisa from Oz

4) Jackie

5) Ashley Sherbert--good for now

6) Marissa--who are you again?

7) Bony Britt--low under the radar this week

8) Alli Booty--makes concrete seem interesting

9) Lindsay--mute

10) Meghan Nobody--thanks for coming. Seriously.

11) Saucy Stacy--yow!

Dumped: Kim not-worth-a-nickname, Sarah P, and Brad. Kim marches out and they're no tears for her. As a matter of fact, she's rather cryptic: "Fuck Brad!" Argh, little lady. Looks like well leave that task up to others, dear.

Kim's lack of tears are more than made up for by that girl the TV keeps saying is Sarah P. If they say so. Sarah cries so much she becomes a living commercial for waterproof makeup. Lovely raccoon look on her way out.

The other dumpee, Brad Womack, buries his tears and goes back in the room and toasts his remaining harem. Madison the famewhore vampire waltzes away into the distance.

All in all, a rather terrific episode. Two in a row? Not counting on it. See ya then.

1/11--The Money Shot!

"Smell the Money Pit"

It was drama time last night on the Bachelor and that can mean only one thing: $Cha-Ching!$

After a beginning of Brad Womack bowing and scraping for unneeded forgiveness last week, episode two of the Bachelor got back to what we've come to expect: one pushy, obnoxious, actress-wanna-be agreeing to play 'vixen' to pimp her barely existent Hollywood career, and two, grating, obnoxious drama-queens hastening their way to the exits with tears-a-flying. In other words: all is well again the in Bachelor-Kingdom. No need for slap controversies for PC clowns to get all upset about, nope, just good clean Bachelor-fun: crying, embarrassing ethnic stereotypes, group-dates that turn into mouth-rape orgies, and maybe a minute or two of realistic dating.

The Sherbert Icicle

First up, its time for the wingman to make his quick appearance to announce the date line-up. Chris Harrison comes strolling into the mansion looking like exactly what he is: the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. Hugh Hefner probably calls this guy and tries to trade job descriptions. Anyway, looking relaxed and (naturally) without a care in the world, the wingman announces the rules to the babes: Two, 1 on 1 dates, and one group date this week. He also reminds them to go crazy whenever possible or they won't get anything but a bus ticket back home. The veiled threats at an end, he drops the first date card and they all obediently squealed like it was a bar of gold. Former boxer, and this week's narrator, Chantal O., hops up and calls out the name of Ashley Sherbert as the recipient of the 1st one-on-one date.

We see Brad strolling about Malibu and for some reason he's hefting a football. Is he about to complete a pass to the desert? There's nothing else around. Or is this a subtle dig at all the men who are missing the National Championship football game because their wives have hijacked the TV? We can't know. Anyway, Brad drops the pigskin, and races up to the mansion in a stolen sports car to pick up the Sherbert, who fittingly, is dressed like an icicle. He hauls her deep into the dark woods before the lights come up and we see that the producer's have set up a hick carnival for them to enjoy. Brad races about like a ten year-old as he and Ashley go on rides and mix cotton candy and wine (Barf!). They take a break to vomit the noxious combination, and things get all serious. Ashley lets him know she is strong and going to take care of herself because her dad was a drunken no-show. Brad swallows hard and starts to spill about his own loser father, then they make-out big time. Disney music blares as these two are made to look like the ultimate peas-in-a-pod and some viewers will undoubtedly think that Brad has met his match. Maybe he has. But I ask you to remember that the 1st one-on-one dates on this show rarely win. The Fleissmonster never makes it that easy. Despite the fantasy music and strains of love in the air, the cameras have switched back to the mansion and we get see the focal point of tonight's show: Michelle Money. She puts on a show worthy of Cleopatra; whining, vamping, pimping, and preening, Michelle lets us know that today is her birthday and her half-life on the Hollywood shelf is coming to an end and she's willing to do anything on this show to extend it another five minutes. The producer's are going to get their dimes worth out of this one. $Cha-Ching!

Gazpacho Brad

Hiding under the auspices of a Public Service Announcement for the Red Cross, Brad now takes 15--yes, I said 15!-- girls to a studio to insult any latinos in the audience and to let him play manwhore for a day. The bosses assign the girls costumes to wear for the shoot that must have been doled out according to how much the skeezy producer's like them. Nascar Emily, her of the widowed, single-momma sob-story and Pam Anderson-beauty, gets to play a naughty maid who does married men. While Keltie, the crazy Rockette with the unfortunately cavernous mouth is dressed like Larry the Cable Guy...that is if Larry had just gotten run over by a John Deere. Saucy Stacey, and her fake cans, are assigned to play Brad's hot-blooded wife while Madison, the famewhore vampire is attired appropriately in a Catwoman's suit. But the best is saved for the Star; Brad is dressed with fake-chest hair and an enormous, cheesy mustache. So much for PC. He looked like a slimmed-dow version of the Frito Bandito. They play their little piece abut those wild, hot-blooded latinos that is supposed to be tied to giving blood...somehow. Anyway, Brad's "Gustavo" breaks up a catty, slap-fight between his 'wife', Saucy Stacy, and the maid he's boinking, Nascar Emily. But he is interrupted by Lisa from Oz, sporting a bowling ball belly that's supposed to be "little Gustavo." Damn, Brad; Gustavo gets as much tail as you do. But the scene can't be run without $Cha-Ching$, dressed like--well, a whore; vamping and pissing about how her birthday is ruined by watching other women rape her boyfriend. Brad then sits at a table so 31 year-old, Meth Head Melissa, can play 'cougar'. She sits at the table, needing no make-up to look old enough (and debauched enough) to play cougar to 37 year-old Brad. Yeah, she had a chance. Before the Latino-insult ends, Meth Head races in to try and gobble Brad's mustache in some unscripted famewhoring. Subtle. The table scene ends with Madison ordering Brad to lick her jackboot. And people were pissed about a slap? Jeesh. Part two of manwhoring consists of Brad, sans mustache and insulting accent, portraying a drunken pick-up artist. Chantal O. and Bony Britt dress like a couple of barflys and accompany Brad back to his pad to have a 3-way. Britt, her mesmerizing green eyes flashing, says she is "shy" and "a bit of a prude". She then tackles Brad on the bed and mouthrapes him so thoroughly she would have swallowed his mustache if he hadn't taken it off. This is all for $Cha-Ching$ and she races for the nearest exit refusing to play anymore because Brad is a manwhore. Obediently, Brad chases her down and proves his gullibility by assuming she is genuine.

After Party: Brad gets the laughter started right away by calling for: "No drama, just good clean fun." You do realize you're on the Bachelor, right Einstein? Meth Head Melissa snares a one-on-one and tells Brad she crashed the set to kiss him because she is "spontaneous." Damn, I need to go re-check the dictionary. Yep, sure enough; spontaneous is now defined as: skanky, strung out, crazy, and desperate. How things change. Anyway, Melissa moves away and enjoins the mannish, body-waxing Manripper, Raichel in a game called: "You're a psycho--No, you're a psycho!" They'll play this charming pastime the rest of the episode. Since the after party sports a rose to hand out, Brad wanders around looking for a deserving recipient. He finds a thoroughly bombed Money Shot to award the producer drama rose to. Michelle waves it around like a magic wand and is shown jamming it between her teeth in a private interview like...well, like a whore.

Cinderella's Fashion Nightmare

Amidst the name calling at the after party, a date card arrives at the mansion for the remaining women. I'm surprised to hear the name of Jackie Gordon, a girl I've seen as an afterthought to this juncture, being read aloud to join Brad on this season's Cinderella Date. Jackie has come across as normal, sane, and classy to this point and she doesn't disappoint either. Brad arrives in plaid, picks Jackie up and whisks her away. They head off to a spa where they change into robes and Brad leads into a room loaded with Prince's Castle Ballroom clothes. Jackie attacks the clothes and gets her make-up and hair done while Brad goes to dress. Unfortunately, she emerges having picked the ugliest dress in the entire room--it looked like an ill-fitting, gray shower curtain, and appeared to have had her hair styled by Pee Wee Herman. Jackie, sweet though she appears to be, has no semblance of an upper lip and a sharp, hawk-like nose. The hair and dress do nothing but accentuate her faults. Regardless, Brad tosses her into a Jaguar limo and they're of to the Hollywood Bowl for dinner. Dining onstage, Brad moves in deeper quick, asking her about her dating experiences. Jackie tells him she has only had 2 boyfriends her entire life and deliberately did not date through all 4 years of college. Brad splutters in disbelief, deeply concerned that she hasn't jumped into the sack with enough men. "But...but this show is about throwing caution to the wind!" (Spoken like a man with no experience.) Jackie confirms she is cautious and appears way too sensible to be on this show. Regardless of his obvious concerns that she is a fellow commitment-phobe like he used to be, Brad goes on to offer her the most hesitant rose we've seen in a while. She accepts with all class when suddenly the stage revolves and out comes Train--a group I've heard a million times, but never seen--and now I wish I hadn't. Train's lead singer looks old enough, grungy enough, and strung out enough to be Meth Head Melissa's next boyfriend. They lip-synch a few songs while Brad dances Jackie around (badly) and gives her a few sweet, tentative kisses that have friend vibe written all over them.

Here for the Right Reasons Contest

This week's Cocktail Party has scarcely begun when the Money Shot moves in for the steal. I'm being literal here. Brad hadn't even lowered his glass from the opening toast when she waylaid him. The other girls all gnash their choppers and rag her for theft whilst in possession of a rose. Michelle, it turns out, has some damned important questions for Brad:

"What king of coffee do you prefer?"

"What's always in your fridge?"

Brad stares a moment and says, "Uh, eggs and water."

She nods like Nostradamus has foreseen their love match because she has those things too. (He should have answered truthfully about what any bachelor has in his fridge instead of lying to spare the comparisons: "Uhh, an empty pizza box, mold, several things I can't identify, and two twelve-packs." But alas, the moment is lost.)

Money Shot informs Nascar Emily what she asked him and Emily wrinkles up her nose. "Michelle is ridiculous! I don't care what coffee he drinks."(I see she's trying to win a pirate-fan to go along with her legion of women-supporters as well.)

Brad swoops down on her and Emily, sweet as sugar, confirms she is "Private. I'm just grateful you're the Bachelor." (You can practically sense Brad's tent pole hardening.)

Despite all the abounding wood forming, the relentless drumbeat from the after party goes on as Manripper Raichel and Meth Head Melissa tear into each other again with more 'psycho' accusations and orders to 'walk away! just walk away!' being exchanged. Last week's First Impression Rose winner, Ashley Sweetums, strangely absent all episode tried to step in to get Meth Head to knock it off before Brad has to get involved. Fat chance. Brad, looking as cold as a fish and pissed off that his drama-free Cocktail Party is being ruined sits down with Meth Head and listens to her whine and bitch. Looking bored to death, he then wanders away and finds the Manripper, who is also bawling and drunk. He gives her a few hugs, mumbles about hating to see women cry and prepares to dump both their dramatic asses.

Suddenly, in walks Harrison tinging his glass much too early. He announces that there will be a Cocktail Party Rose and back to help Brad are least season's happy couple, Ali and Roberto. Ali comes into the mansion wearing a dress just short enough to almost cover her bubble-shaped ass on the arm of the Funny One himself, notorious latin hottie, Groucho Roberto. Brad takes them aside and pathetically begs for their help dealing with his psycho herd. They head out at once to begin their inquisition to find out who is here 'for the right reasons'. We get a spattering of several girls before Meth Head Melissa comes out and melts down everywhere. We hear nothing of what Ali and Roberto report back to Brad. Odd. Maybe a lot of the women tried to attack Roberto and beg him to dump Ali and replace Brad as the Bachelor? Evidently, they joined the rest of the known universe and loved on Nascar Emily cause Brad grabs the rose and heads straight for her. Brad corners her, and gives up the rose quickly. This time, the wingman, exhausting himself to the max, enters again tinging and this time he means bidness.

Dump 'Em, Danno!

Already safe: Ashley Sherbert, The Money Shot, Jackie Gordon (back in a normal dress and hairdo and looking lovely), and Nascar Emily.

Roses:

1) Chantal O.-lost her Slaphappy moniker here on the Blast cause I'm sick of hearing about it. She was everywhere in the P.I.'s, but barely seen near Brad.

2) Sarah P. Who?

3) Alli Booty--also in the background this week, but her cans and ass are not forgotten

4) Kimberly--ditto

5) Shawntel Munster--P.I appearances, but that is all...Dark Horse? We shall see.

6) Saucy Stacy--yum.

7) Ashley Sweetums--visibly relieved. Previews show a comeback next week.

8) Madison the famewhore vampire--previews hint at darkness.

9) Lisa from Oz--"Gustavo's" babymaker scores one. What would Toto say?

10) Marissa--feeling like this one is just a placeholder.

11) Megan--bordering on invisible.

12) Lindsay--ditto

The wingman, teetering with exhaustion, manages to wander back into the room one more time and announce that only a sole flower of the sweetest scent doth remain.

13) Bony Britt--mouth assault pays dividends.

Dumped:

• Keltie, the crazy Rockette--hammers herself as the "worst dater ever" and bawls. Yes, if I sucked at dating, I'd certainly want it showcased on national TV.
• Meth Head Melissa--adios. Maybe someone gave her the number of that Train singer?
• Raichel, the manripper--leaves drunk and wearing a dress so small I still can't figure out how they got her into it. 3 for 3 on the tears.

Say what you will, but Mr. Womack whacked 2 of his 3 biggest drama queens. Have no fear, more will step forward. Previews next week show (or sound) like the Vampire famewhore wants to go home. Her agent must have called with a better offer. And Brad and Sweetums show themselves to be cruel, animal haters by butchering a Seal.

See ya then.

1/3--Allow Brad Womack to Tell You Just How Much He Sucks

Only the Penitent Man Shall Pass

Did you enjoy that? You should have. Think that was for the girls? For DeAnna or Jenni? Nope. That, Dear Viewer was all for YOU. So I hope you enjoyed it. ABC just spent an entire hour of a two hour show having the show's Star plant a big wet one right on your ass. You're welcome. How tiresome that became is hard to put into words. Slaves rowing away in the belly of Roman Galleys kissed less ass than Brad Womack did tonight. Hell, people have been elected President of the United States by kissing less. I looked up "obsequious" in the dictionary last night and sure enough, there was Brad's picture. Let's hope they are about done with that bit. The Bachelor catch phrase "amazing" has been replaced with "broken man" and "therapy". Not much of an improvement if you ask me. It got so bad that even Brad confessed that the women started nagging him to "quit apologizing." Let's hope he listens. Now, I wasn't expecting him to march into the mansion and yell, "Listen; any of you bitches who don't like the fact I'm the Bachelor can just hit the bricks!" but I've always been led to understand that women prefer a man with confidence. C'mon, Brad; these women aren't going to throw away an all expenses paid, alcohol-fueled vacation just because you're the Bachelor. You still got the shadowy-face and the rock-hard abs and a million bucks; play it a little, sailor.

The Wingman Creeps In

Things get off to their usual start with Chris "Wingman" Harrison toeing the company line so hard that you'd think he was trying to teach Brad how to kiss ass. The winger assures us that despite being a former douche bag, Brad has changed his ways and after the beating he got last time, he will propose to Manuel, the mansion's gardener, if necessary. This is all slyly covered up in "Oprah-language"; in other words, Brad has had intense therapy to deal with his abandonment and trust issues and is ready to settle down. Amen. Brad's mom and brothers are also trundled out to let us know what a "changed man" Brad is. The brothers are even nice enough to donate a couple of their kids for Brad to play with so he can prove what a warm human being he's developed into over the last three years. You sick of this yet? I damn sure was. On to the women!

But first....

Sorry, but there are two women from three years ago who are still so bitter about Brad's refusal to date them that they've gone and gotten engaged/married to other guys...but we still need to have them back so they can act all skeptical that Brad is truly a changed man. This was ridiculous, even for this show. First of all, Brad's as dumb as a bag of hammers if he didn't see this one coming. He tries to act surprised anyway as Harrison brings the two women out to confront him. Jenni Croft and DeAnna Pappas, both looking ridiculously smokin' hot, come out and start whining, tossing guilt trips, and acting so disappointed in Brad it looked like they were both auditioning to become Jewish mothers. Brad squirmed while they laid it on thick, helped along by the sadistic Harrison who was acting so chirpy I expected him to hand the gals a sack of rocks and tell them to stone Brad to death. So much for any confidence he arrived with. Reluctantly the girls finally agree that even though he committed a cardinal sin and didn't fall in love with either of them, he should be allowed to go on with his life. Thank you. Can we see some babes now?

The Limos

Here they come; 30 women who had no idea Brad was the Bachelor. Except for one. You know the one I'm talking about. The one you've seen in a promo they've been running for a month who gets out first, walks up to Brad and slugs him. You don't honestly think this gal saw Brad and took it on her own to go commit Battery on him, do you? The promo footage filmed, the next 29 who came out the car all pretty much started with this preamble: "I saw your season and..." Brad shrinks incrementally. By the time the last one heads inside the mansion, Brad is so emasculated he's less than three feet tall and his beard is falling out. He finally wanders inside and offers that any woman who wants to leave, can just head out. All 30 women--that is every-last-one-of-them, lift their glasses of booze and smirk at him--"Are you serious?" This vacation is just starting.

The women we need to watch:

1) Chantal O'Brien--Slaphappy Chantal--followed producer-orders and slapped Brad's face. She was some kind of used car salesman who works for her daddy or something. Also divorced. But lucky for her, also smokin' hot as hell! We'll see.

2) Kimberly Coon--Highly-plasticized former NFL cheerleader. One in every Bachelor harem.

3) Alli--Alli Booty. Shy, demure gal who rams her ass into his face. A rose? You are kidding.

4) Ashley Spivey--Sweetums--shy little country nanny who lives in New York City. Ignored Brad's woman-dumping past and assured him that she doesn't care if he raped the neighbors cat; it's all ok with her. Got the First Impression Rose for being one of a very few who didn't bust his ball with a hammer.

5) Ashley Hebert--Sherbert--Pennsylvania dentist with a lovely French-sounding name that I have trouble pronouncing, so I Americanized it. Seemed really cool but previews hint she's a major drama queen. We'll see.

6) Madison Garton--Scariest vampire since Count Chocula. Cameron Diaz look-a-like who obviously hungers for more acting opportunities. Wore vampire fangs and played mystery games with Brad. If you ever wondered if men really are walking hormones, here's your proof: she got a rose. Brad told her her fangs were "hot!" somebody call that therapist back.

7) Jackie Gordon--Made him pinkie-swear he wouldn't give her VD or something.

8) Shawntel Newton--Ms. Munster--the merry mortician. Breathlessly led us on a tour of her Chico, California mausoleum and made it plain she can't wait to bury Brad there.

9) Raichel Goodyear--Manripper--slightly plump gal who describes herself as a "manscaper". Waxed Brad's wrist, which was pretty tame since she was shown ripping great swaths of hair off men's backs, asses, and ballsacks. Lovely.

10) Stacy Quierpel--bartender who's greatest assets were her fake cans and the fact she didn't have a clue who Brad was.

11) Lisa Morrisey--Lisa from Oz--Played her Kansas trump card by coming out of the limo in Judy Garland's old shoes.

12) Emily Maynard--NASCAR Emily--somebody call Ricky Bobby--his next smokin' hot trophy-wife is ready for him. A mix of Pamela Anderson, Jessica Simpson and a Coal Miner's Daughter. West Virginia event planner with a tale of woe and widowhood at 19. Say hello to this season's fan favorite. The message boards promise that if Brad picks anyone else, he's a moron and the girl is trash.

13) Britt Billmaier--Kept nearly invisible. Hmmm.

14) Keltie--The Crazy Rockette--high strung dancer. Ok.

15) Michelle Money--$Cha-Ching! Model/actress/hairdresser. Beautiful ball of future drama and winner of the DeAnna Pappas look-a-like Award. Worth every cent they're paying her.

It took about an hour of nervous apology and continuous hand wringing before the women got liquored up enough to start acting like Brad was the last man of earth. So much for all the worry wart bit, Brad. Shortly after their third or fourth round, the Bachelor-stealing commences. Since we had Brad's self-flagellation routine to focus on, there wasn't even much women drama. They spent so long showing Brad beat the stuffing out of himself, the First Impressions Rose was actually the Last Impression Rose. Brad had no sooner given it to sweetums and here came the wingman tinging his first glass of the season.

At the Rose Ceremony, Brad kept all 15 I just wrote about (and a few more) since, unlike this show, I don't focus on chicks who mean absolutely nothing for the rest of the season. Several cut gals wandered out at dawn and one even bawled her head off. Not over Brad or anything though. It was hard to understand what she was saying with all the crying, but I think it broke down roughly to "I'm bawling because I can hear the approaching wings of spinsterhood!" Well, previews make it look like we're going to see some great locations this season. Let's just hope producer/cockroach, Mike Fleiss thinks we've all seen Brad bow and scrape enough, and we can get on with some dating.

Bachelor 15 Begins Monday, January 3rd

Smooth Marketing Decision ABC

Let The Panzers Roll!

It looks like his 1st date will be the invasion of Poland. Special Idiot Award goes to the marketing director that released this picture.

They Should Let Me Write The Press Release

30 Eager Women Happily Meet Chris Lamb...er, Brad Womack! It's the Texas Tool--Take Two!

ABC Television--and a collection of dirtbags they're in bed with--present The Bachelor, premiering January 3rd on ABC. This season, The Bachelor re-introduces Texas bar owner, self-made gazillionaire, and self-admitted commitment-phobe, Brad Womack, as the guy every woman wants...as long as they're under the impression he's someone named Chris Lambton. This season, Brad's out to prove that he isn't really a soulless robot devoid of human emotion, and at age 38, he's had enough of picking up floozies from his bars and is ready to settle down and help some gal achieve mediocre fame by dating him for a while. (Besides, his moms starting to wonder about him.)

This season's amazing journey will span the globe, from the same old Malibu mansion you see every season, to scenic Costa Rica where the Chamber of Commerce is picking up the tab, to exotic South Africa so you can check out some black people, cause there damn sure aren't any on this show. In between, Brad will do the same old crap you see every season: helicopter dates, race car dates, amusement park dates, and at least one zipline/bungee jump/or rappelling down a building date, all while dumping at least 29 of the 30 women who signed up for this alcohol-fueled vacation. Along the way, he'll be serenaded by supergroup Train (because you haven't heard enough of these guys) and by music superstar Seal (who's apparently hit rock bottom). In between, the women will entertain you by acting like Brad is the last man left on earth. And they will cry. Cry. Cry. Bitch. Cry. Fight. Cry.

It will all culminate when he culls the herd far enough to be left with four lucky women who will impose on their families and drag them into this mess, by having Brad over for dinner. After a few hours together, Brad will get the eldest male in each girl's orbit to give him permission to marry their daughters...or not.

The final three women, who have captured Brad's heart (or some other organ), head to South Africa so host Chris Harrison can write some dirty-verse cards and urge them to have sex with the Bachelor. Once Brad tries them all out in the rack, he then dumps the one who displeases His Mightiness the most and decides which of the two remaining women will adorn the covers of numerous supermarket tabloids for dating him, and which will become the next Bachelorette.

The Bachelor is hosted by insane clown pimp, weakest of wingmen, and Fleiss' personal lamprey, Chris Harrison, who'd sell his own mother for one more rating point; and produced by uber-sleazebucket, Mike Fleiss, who'd shoot his mother for half a point. It all starts January 3rd.

Do they need to hire me or what?

Reality Steve's Trying to Throw Me Under the Bus...Again

Ah, what's a simple snarker supposed to do? Brad Womack hasn't even managed to wash the scent of 15 or 20 women off him and spoiler-ho, Reality Steve, has already gone and spoiled the entire upcoming season of the Bachelor. Seems Steve and Bachelor producer/walking snotrag, Mike Fleiss, have decided to engage in the world's most public titty-twister contest, and do everything they can to ruin one another. So what's a simple snark blogger--who doesn't deal in spoilers--supposed to do? Sharpen his cutlass of course. And since I'm all out of Bachelor targets at the moment, I think I'll take a few slashes at Reality Steve for trying to ruin my weekly blog.

Lessons from Reality Steve--Master of Fame and Bachelor/ette Blogging

1) Sound pompous. Go ahead. You've got every right, since we all know having a successful blog about Reality TV shows is akin to curing cancer. And be sure to obliquely brag about all the money you're making in the process. People love that, trust me.

2) Be Long-Winded. Come on, you've got important shit to talk about. True, true, the U.S. Constitution is only about three pages long...but that's just boring government stuff, not important info like what DeAnna Pappas eats for breakfast. Besides, if you try and bring it in under 5 pages, you'll have to cut all those cute updates about your dog--or your non-existent love life. Ignore the haters.

3) Be Delusional. Con yourself that people give a shit about you or what you think. Sure, you could man up and acknowledge that people hold their noses and skim past your ego jaunts and skeezy personality to get to the spoilers you offer, but why? What's the use? It's better to go on thinking people value your worthless opinion. To quote you: "You're welcome."

4) Insult Your Readers. Let them know that you think people who are really into the Bachelor (Like them) are morons. Then spend months: researching, investigating, Tweeting about, and writing about a show you think anyone who is into is a yard ape. Don't worry, you don't sound nuts.

5) Don't be Afraid to be a Hypocrite. Slam the supermarket tabloids as sleazy instruments of evil. Then give them an interview and have them write you a check. And when they fail to give you credit for the information, slam them again.

6) Admit You Want to Have Mike Fleiss's Baby. Frankly, if Mike Fleiss wasn't about as welcome in my house as cancer cells, I'd insist he get a restraining order. Your obsession with him makes you ferret out the spoilers, but is it healthy? When you acknowledge that your actions do nothing but help the ratings of this show, and then say in the next breath that this is all just to get even with Mike Fleiss...well, have you had your meds lately? Is this trying to kill someone with love or suffocate him with money? Go pet your dog and stay away from the computer.

Ahhhhh, I feel better already. And Brad Womack, I'll see you in January.

10/3--Commitment-Phobe as Bachelor? Sure, Why Not? No Dumber Than a Pilot Afraid of Heights

Recycled Cheese

Brad in a Can!

Some Hollywood wise-ass once wrote, "There is no such thing as bad publicity." and considering Kim Kardashian, Snooki, and Paris Hilton are all still rich and Lindsay Lohan still has people willing to pay her gobs of money to make movies, he must have been right. It's obviously a philosophy shared by Bachelor Executive-Producer/ villainous rat-bastard, Mike Fleiss as well. Fleiss pulled a P.T. Barnum moment out of his hat this past week when he announced that former Bachelor--dump artist supreme, Brad Womack would be recycled as the the next Bachelor this coming season. Fans ground down their molars gnashing their teeth that last season's runner-up, Normal Guy Chris Lambton, had escaped their trembling clutches and instead of playing it safe with another milquetoast dweeb like Jake Pavelka, Fleiss decided to swing for the publicity fences and reappoint Womack as his next Love God. Fleiss ignored the fact that most of Bachelor-America still seethe at the very thought of Womack since he is the only Bachelor in the show's history to dump both of his final 2 and walk away alone. You don't really think Fleiss cares what you think, do you? Thinking is not what he wants from you. He wants only one thing from you, Dear Bachelor Addict, and he's got it: your attention.

Fleiss' own lamprey, Chris "Wingman" Harrison, was refreshingly honest about the pick in a recent interview with TV Guide (at least part of the time anyway). "If we'd gone with a real estate agent from New Mexico, would anyone have cared?" Indeed. No, we wouldn't have. Which is why the hated-Womack is the Bachelor again. My own feelings on Womack have been mixed since his season ended. During the season, he was my favorite Bachelor--a guy with no Hollywood in him; a regular Texas dude; self-made millionaire, etc. But when he grabbed his throat, hyper-ventilated, and dumped both DeAnna Pappas and Jenni Croft at the finale, I ripped the guy to pieces. That was dumb of me. Sure, Womack is a commitment-phobe. Anyone who watched his season finale could see that, but he was also honest about his feelings for the women and the more we have learned about the Fleissmonster and his criminal gang, the more we can now understand the enormous pressure Womack must have resisted to stick to his guns. Looking back and using the clarity hindsight affords, Womack doesn't look so bad now. Think of having to endure a return engagement with Stink-Eye Pavelka and whatever cheap stunt he would pull to stay famous for another thirty seconds if the thought of Womack gets you too down. Fleiss certainly threw Womack into the cauldron right away and the media opened fire like it was a shooting gallery. I think we can rest easy on one point though: there is no way in the universe Womack won't pick someone--anyone--this time. After last time, he swears he's gone into therapy and actually hid from the world for a year or two, feeling like a loser. If he has to propose to the limo driver this time, he will.

So, its with some trepidation and a little morbid curiosity that I await the return of the man I dubbed, The Texas Tool. Your pirate will be there when comes back...