2/7--Down And Out In Costa Rica

Before I get going this week, a quick 'thank you' to all who have commented on the blog. The feedback helps immensely knowing that some people are enjoying reading. A special shout out to the folks over at Joker's Updates, who have been very nice in their comments, as well as the usual gang at Misfits, who have been supportive of the Blast for several years now. If you want to leave a comment, just click on the link at the bottom. It only takes a minute and the support is really appreciated. Oh, and before we take off to hot, sweaty, rainy Costa Rica, I have to let you know that those irritating text messages will not stop. I even changed my ISP to a mi-fi hotspot and still they come crashing through the blog. I appreciate your patience, but we are just gonna' have to deal with it. Ok, onto last night.

*Beep! No worries this week, hon. This was one of our magical ones! And thank you for the flowers! Ur so sweet!!!!!

Let's Sweat Until Our Too Tight Clothing Sticks To Our Bods

Brad starts us off with a lengthy soliloquy about how much bigger a douche ba...I mean just how much better a man he is, as he wanders around some product placement lodge gimme in balmy Costa Rica. Seriously though, I like the guy; can't help it. But boy was he one down and out dude last night. He's stuck in a tropical paradise with 8 hot babes--ok, make that 6--but anyway, hot women and an all expenses paid opportunity to whore around and the guy acted like he needed a Prozac patch last night. True, until he rids himself (and us) of the high maintenance maggot, Michelle Money, he's got it coming to him. Unfortunately, that means coming at us. But the good news is that the producer's have decided to bring her forward to show Brad some of the double-barreled 'bitch' we have be seeing in every private interview with her all along. True, she's a paid actress hamming it up for the producer-slime, but I'm ready for them to give her her check and let her be on her way.

A lightning quick intro and we see Brad standing around in a too tight polo shirt trying not to sweat in the 110% humidity. Fat chance. The women's plane lands and we see Ashley Sherbert predict she is willing to get down and dirty with Brad in the jungle. Really? Don't you need five minutes alone with him for that? She vanished this episode as all the attention danced about between ZipperRipper Chantal and the ever dramatic Money Shot. The women pull up to the resort in a jeep and...they let Michelle drive? Whose malfunction was responsible for that choice? I'd be terrified to let her near the wheel of anything. Anyway, they do a quick commercial for The Springs Resort & Spa and then hustle over to meet Brad. He's standing out back, the beads of perspiration soaking through his shirt, and he gives them the tour. As has been the case this season, it's up to Brad to do the explaining and deliver the first date card because the wingman is down at the Resorts bar and probably already loaded. Nascar Emily, looking like someone finally convinced her to scrape off a few pounds of the make-up she normally wears, snatches up the card and calls out the ZipperRipper for her second one-on-one. This gives Alli Booty a chance to whine that she hasn't had a one-on-one with Brad yet. Don't worry, dear, it's coming...like a thrown spear coming right for the side of your head, it's coming.

I'm Screwin' in the Rain! Just Screwin' in the Raaaaiin!!

Michelle heard Chantal's name called and hustles off for her first bitch-moment of the night: "I don't know why Chantal's name was on the date card." Uhhhh, cause he likes her? More than you. "I hope she gets attacked by monkeys. Or apes." Ok, enough with this chick. I'm skipping her P.I.'s for the rest of the night. See you at the waterfall, you slag. Anyway, Brad takes Chantal to a helicopter and flies her into the middle of the jungle for some zip-lining. Way to change it up Fleiss. And it rains. Which is always seems to do when these two are together. They zipline all over the jungle and Brad tells us how happy he is. But the good part comes later, when we see this season's fortitude challenge acted out again; namely, can Brad get within five feet of this babe without his zipper exploding? As night falls, they sit down on the river's edge to enjoy a luau-style dinner. They haven't even opened the wine when the rain starts to fall again. Running through the rain they head to Brad's pad to dry off. Brad, being a gentleman, insists Chantal go and put on a white, button-down Van Heusen so he (and we) can all ogle her. She doesn't get three steps out of the bathroom before the director is alerting the seamstress to get ready. "Oh man, I'm in trouble here," Brad moans as she bops over to him smiling. Brad sits down gripping the arms of the chair and clearly fighting for control, as she stands in front of him. Swallowing hard, he stares at her, his mouth agape and she slithers down next to him, coiling her arm inside his. He stares, his eyes as round as saucers, and drool puddles in his lap. "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii," She breathes at him in a throaty voice. Brad's eyes go catatonic, a noiseless explosion goes off in the center of his skull, and his brains run out his ears like yesterday's oatmeal. Pow!! Sorry, seamstress lady, looks like your work is never done this season. Date, and Brad: Done.

*Beep! He-heh-hehehe-he! Double LOL

While Brad has been getting more of his wardrobe destroyed, a date card arrives back at the Resort telling Alli Booty that the other 1-on-1 date is all hers. This leaves the mute, doe-eyed, Bony Britt to stare ahead in a calorically-deficient mope as she realizes she is the only woman remaining without a 1-on-1.

Rappelling or Repelling?

It's time for some group-date hell. Maybe this is why Brad was such a Debbie Downer all night. We've gotten to the point in the season where even the audience is sick of watching the deadwood, I can't even imagine what it must be like for Brad. He hauls a whole stack of it--less Nascar Emily and producer's drama-dream, the Money Shot--to a scenic waterfall so they can all have another terror-inspired moment of togetherness. He walks them out on the platform and Jackie Gordon promptly drops a brick in her climbing shorts. Yet another woman terrified of heights being required to "confront her fears." Shame she's gonna' have to do it alone. The ever athletic, Shawntel Munster, traipses past her and bounces down the rappelling line like Spiderman. As she bounces down the waterfall, and Jackie sweats a bucket of white-hot terror, Brad shows some sense by keeping his eyes out behind him. The Money Shot is angrily glaring at the assemblage with her Manson Lights on high beam. "I'm pissed! Brad promised he would never rappel with anyone else--we made a pact!" Brad finally convinces Jackie to head over the top while keeping one out behind him to make sure Michelle hasn't got a butcher knife stashed in her climbing suit, and can't manage both tasks at once. A nervous eye cast to his six, he practically shoves Jackie over the edge, "Hurry up, you pussy before I get shanked between the shoulder blades here!" Jackie makes it down safely to join the other women at the bottom. Brad turns back to Michelle and she pummels him with punches. "We had a pact!" Brad backpedals like crazy. "I was saving you for last!" he reels back trying to hold her off him. "I thought we could go down together?" She smiles like a ferocious feline and purrs at him. They go over the edge together as the women watch them descend the waterfall. If Jackie had been allowed a cell phone, she could have called her mother to have her pick her up at the airport.

The climbing torture over, Brad takes the women to Hot Springs for some seriously depressing whining. Jackie decides she might as well get this over with, and moves out with Brad first. He's there to check on her after practically tossing her over the waterfall. "I'm ok. It would have been good if we could have done it together?" Brad grimaces like she just punched him in the balls. "Uh...maybe one day." Jackie, it was nice knowing you. Congratulations; you get to escape this show with some lovely diamond earrings, many miles travelled, and your dignity and reputation in tact. Next up, a thoroughly hammered Michelle tries to corral him and give him a bunch of shit about Chantal. Speaking of our fair ZipperRipper, she's back at the Resort room down the way hanging out with the next day's victim, Alli Booty. Both gals look to have a snoot full of wine and the producers have thoughtfully stashed a beetle in the room and told Chantal to terrorize Alli with it. Chantal picks the bug up with a magazine and chases her with it. Alli completely freaks out, screams, and throw a glass of booze at Chantal, screaming so loud in the process, she interrupts Brad getting his balls busted off by Michelle. They return to their talk and Michelle bitches him out for liking Chantal. Brad is clearly pissed, so he switches to ever-sweet, Nascar Emily. Emily sits with him on the edge of the springs and basically tells him she knows how to sabotage a relationship like an expert. Brad's face falls. Having seen enough, Brad gathers the women and tells them that there will be no rose tonight. He wanders off in a pout.

*Beep! If Only I'd Been There To Comfort You Sweetie!

Dumped at the Altar

Alli Booty, whose date card had read, "Meet me at the altar," sits around being nervous and fielding questions from the other gals. Chantal is gleefully pressing her about the date when Brad comes riding up outside on a horse. Strangely, he has a tiny little horse in tow, and two baby-horses? Is this a circus act? Why the little horse? He's taking the largest woman left on a pint-sized ride? Alli grins anyway and struggles aboard the poor animal. Talk about weird-looking. Alli gnashes her enormous choppers and straightens her man-shoulders as she climbs aboard her sagging mount. The horse looked like it wanted to bolt. The sadistic producers must have fallen out of the control truck laughing at this visual. Alli's not a bad-looking woman, but she is somewhat oversized in her features and nowhere near in the same league as most of the remaining women. Brad leads her deep into the jungle as the two little baby horses tag along for some reason I can't divine. They stop near some cave and Brad gets her off the tiny horse before it's back gets broken and slams a crash helmet onto Alli's head. "We're going into this forty million year-old cave." Her fear of bugs clearly established by the planted beetle, Alli scowls fearfully into the dank cave and Brad has to pull her inside. She cringes and follows him around fearfully as the camera pans onto every bug and spider they can find. Alli screams and vows to "throw up" as she notices bats hanging from the cave's ceiling. "Oh my god! They won't come after us, will they?" "They have no interest in us," he assures her. "How do you know?" Brad turns and stares at her and I was hoping he was gonna' blurt, "Cause I'm Batman!" but he doesn't. He just vows to protect her from the nasty old bats and leads her up a cave stream to the 'altar'. The altar, it turns out, are some stone steps carved into the cave floor by a running spring. Alli slips and slides as Brad pulls out a one inch thick scarf and lays it down in the running water for her to sit on. And I thought the producers were laughing about the horse. Alli grimaces and sits on the razor-thin cloth that's covering slimy, moss-covered rocks as water splashes up her shorts. I could almost hear Harrison laughing. The whole thing was as romantic as lounging around a sewer. Gross. The scene switches and they've managed to somehow get both of them onto a floating table-island for dinner. Predictably, Brad hears gurgling while Alli is speaking and asks, "Are we sinking?" Thanks for the metaphor. She tries to talk and he finally puts her out of her misery with a dumpjob.

Now For Your Completely Unplanned, Totally Spontaneous Stalker Moment

Brad, looking shot, wanders back into his room to sniff the lingering odor of Chantal's perfume and feel better. He tells the strategically placed camera that he is as burned out as Charlie Sheen and needs time to collect himself.

Director: "Cue door knock!"

Unsurprisingly, the producer's have sent their favorite echo chamber, the Money Shot into his room to pester him. Brad looked like he wanted to slam the door in her face, but some arm twisting must have ensued and he invites her in. Michelle finally puts on her double-barreled bitch act in front of him. He lays there like bag of meal while she tries to molest him. Realizing he'd rather be kissing a fire hydrant in a dog kennel, she sits up and systematically announces which girls he will cut and in what order. Brad looks at her like he found her steaming and stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Finally getting the cue from the director she can leave, Michelle slithers out the door before Brad grabs a bottle of hemlock and drinks it.

Cocktail Time and Your Weekly Nascar Reminder

The party starts off with Brad having a sit down with Nascar Emily to get some clarification on her saboteur comments at the Springs. Brad sizes her up: "I'm scared of you." Nascar unfolds her angel wings and clarifies, "I pull away...but, I really care about you a lot!" The thought planted in your head not to forget this one, Brad moves off in search of fresh prey. Unfortunately, the prey finds him. The Money Shot corrals him and he all but tells her she is a total skeeze. "I feel like we've taken ten steps backward!" Finally called on her awful acting performance, Michelle turns on the waterworks. Hey, it works for everyone else. Brad manages his escape while ZipperRipper Chantal, dressed like a roman empress in a leopard print toga, holds court with Shawntel Munster, and the two babes decide based on Brad's comments that someone has been giving him a load of hell. Eyes immediately swing toward the Money Shot and after much lying and rigamarole, she finally confesses to being a stalker.

*Beep! I got the restraining order just in case! Stop hiding under your bed and call me back! I'm not mad. C'mon or you'll miss out on our big moment!

Chantal steps forward to sooth her wounded beast and rips all restraint off, "I'm, I'm in love with you! I wanted to tell since I have a rose and you know I have no ulterior motive." BUZZ! Whoa, clear violation of show etiquette. There are to be no pronouncements of love by any contestant until the Last Chance Dates... except the bat-shit crazy ones. Chantal has introduced an new element to this season. Which means she is the winner or just sealed her doom at the podium of humiliation and a spot as the next Bachelorette. Brad, me boy, I could be a selfish prick here and pray you dump her so I can ogle her for 11 weeks this summer, but I'll let you have her if you want her. Just the kinda guy I am. Anyway, Brad stares at her and then says like a robot, "Thank you." You romantic devil.

Somebody must have sent a St. Bernard into the local watering hole, because the wingman makes a shocking appearance tinging his champagne glass with his cheese knife calling a tedious week over.

Dump Em Danno!

Already safe, The Zipper Ripper.

Roses:

1) Ashley Sherbert--no more H. required. Our lone Ashley broke her vow to get down and dirty with Brad unless you can do it in a passed note.

2) Nascar Emily--still very much in the running, but this pot needs to start boiling and soon.

3) Bony Britt--the last dress filler

4) Shawntel Munster--really like this girl. Hey Fleiss, she'd make a good Bachelorette. Can't you just imagine your creeped-out Nancy Boys? Fine television, I tell ya.

The wingman comes in and notices through his bloodshot orbs that there is only one rose left,then steps into the shadows like John Wilkes Booth and loudly cocks the hammer back on a pistol and points it at Brad--just in case he's feeling rebellious.

5) The Money Shot. Yeah, he wanted to do that. (rolls eyes)

Cut: Jackie Gordon to go along with the already dismissed Alli Booty. Jackie cries but not too much and departs with her dignity intact. Good for you, Jackie. You were horribly miscast.

Next week: My take on all the Scandals (yawn) and Brad hauls the gals to some tropical locale so several can remove their bikini tops and make me a happy pirate. See ya then.

1/31--The NASCAR Emily Show

The "Money Shot" resorts to extreme measures for a rose.

Michelle Money performs the old "Tokyo chokehold" on a rival.

Bradley Picklesimer Womack is a man of courage. Or incredible stupidity, depending on your point of view. After being honest enough in interviews to admit that he fell hard and fast for his final girl--as early as their 1st date--the Pickle seems determined to immolate himself and make the remainder of his life a living hell. Somebody besides his cliche-spouting therapist needs to remind this guy that he plans on living out his life with one of these women...not 8 of them. Look dumbass, if you know which one you're gonna' hook up with when this is over, how about laying off the throttle a little bit. He's knockin' 'em down like nine pins out there. One kiss after another, one intimate moment after another; continued utterances of "she could be my wife." on each and every date. Mathematically speaking, Brad is spending only an eighth of his time with future Mrs., and 7/8ths of his time with women he knows he's not gonna' be shacking up with...all while mumbling sweet nothings within virtual earshot of a woman he has confessed in interviews is having real jealousy issues. "Every Monday...well, it's a long day...calls in the middle of the night...texts coming at all hours...at times she won't answer the phone until she calms down." Brilliant, dummy. And you already know who she is!! Dumbass. Are you telling me you didn't know she was jealous and possessive when you were informing every women in your harem how special they were to you? Did you forget there were cameras there? She has a TV, doesn't she? Nevermind. But speaking of his final gal, I'm afraid my intrepid investigations have led me dangerously close to the heart of the matter. You see, every Monday and Tuesday I write this, I'm getting a steady stream of texts blazing through my Blogger account. They are uni-directional, not a full conversation, and every time I try to erase them, the formatting on my blog goes nuts. They're going to be a distraction, but we're just gonna' have to live with them, so bear with me. Ok, here we go:

*Beep! Hey Baby! Almost time out here! I'm so excited to see us! I feel soooo much better than last week! Kiss!

Like I said, ignore those. Here we go.

Viva Las Wingman

Chris Harrison gets the ball rolling by storming the Cathouse and rousting the hangover crew at what appears a mighty early hour...say 10 or 11 AM by the looks of it. Harrison, looking like he's the son of a bitch on vacation not the women, comes wandering into the living room looking like he's ready for a round of golf and informs the gals that this week there will be one 1-on-1 date, one group date, and one of the dreaded 2-on-1-somebody-can-hit-the-bricks-date. But before the pressure cooker amps up, the women need to get their lovely rear ends in gear, cause it's time to hit the road. First stop, Las Vegas. Half of his work for the week done, Harrison grabs the wife and kids and heads for the strip. Lucky Asshole.

Meet Brad's Embalmer

The women arrive on the strip at the Aria hotel, which is obviously desperate for business in these tough times. They get a "sky suite" that looks like it costs around 5 grand a night and Brad leads them inside and tells them they are all in for a treat, they all get a date with His Wonderfulness this week. The Aria, or some other bunch of gullible dweebs got shafted this week. By far the best hotel digs I've ever seen on this show and the shopping spree that comes later looked to have some merchants crying a river. Anyway, Brad drops the date card and slips away as Michelle $Cha-Ching$ grinds her molars at having to read any other name besides her own on the date card. The one-on-one goes to the Merry Mortician, Shawtel Munster. She comes downstairs in some short shorts that show off some delicious gams. Turns out, the Pickle is going to take her on an unlimited shopping spree at some fancy pants mall. I doubt this trip was quite as 'unlimited' as Brad was told to make it sound, but it did look expensive anyway.

*Beep! Oh, yeah, that sure was fun. Sitting there on my ass watching her swing all that swag around. It's ok. I'm not mad.I know the producers pick these dates. But think of how few things you'd have to buy me when I move out there if I had a Bally's handbag. By the way, how are the malls in Austin? No prob. I'll check them out and let you know. Do they have a Bally's?

Shawntel returns to the room and parades her bags of pelf in front of the other girls, who all look like they want to snatch them out of her hands and toss them out the window. The Money Shot examines the supposedly $5,000 handbag and drools on it before giving Shawntel a look that says, "be careful what you drink bitch!" Shawntel heads upstairs with a beautiful dress she bought, and I must say I was really looking forward to seeing her reveal. She comes back down the stairs with the gorgeous dress encasing her awesome body, but her beautiful face was framed by a hairstyle that looked like Ruth Buzzy's on Laugh-In. What's the matter, no hairnet? She just needed a mop and bucket to complete the washerwoman look. It was truly awful looking. Regardless, Womack arrives and takes her up onto the roof of the Aria and they have dinner. It gives us a good idea just how little he's spoken with Ms. Munster when we hear he doesn't even know she's a mortician. They sit down to dinner and she drops the bomb. "Huh? What? You're a what?" She explains she is a funeral director by trade. Ever sincere, ever compassionate Picklemonster asks a few leading questions about how the art form is practiced and she fills him in over Chicken Parmesan. Brad fights hard to keep a straight face while she cuts up her chicken and tells him about replacing blood with chemicals. He pushes his plate away and busts up laughing. "Just drain the vein." Ha hahahahah! I'm betting Brad didn't need his vein drained after that. Fireworks erupt from the upper roof of the hotel and once again, she leaps into his arms like on their action movie date and they trade a few lukewarm kisses. The other girls are seen rushing to the suite's windows and watching the pyrotechnics while Brad holds Shawntel aloft.

*Beep! Can I ask something? Just how many times did you 'over the threshold' carry this woman? You know I won't be mad.

Brad and Shawtel kiss with torpid disinterest as the fireworks crackle overhead.

*Beep! Woo Hoo! Hot stuff! LOL. You looked like you were kissing your aunt Edith. Did she smell like formaldehyde? LOL. yeah, that was mean.

Ashley Squared

Just to make things even more confusing than they generally are, the producer's decide to pick the two Ashley's--Sweetums and Sherbert--for the 2-on-1-and-I'll-friggin-see-ya-never-again-date. They also decided it was the best way to introduce the audience to the theme of cruelty for the night too; seems Ashley and Ashley are best friends in the house as well. The second Munster-babe reads the names for the group date, both Ashley's know they've been paired up. One looks upset and the other starts to bawl. (Guess which one got booted?) Just for the helluva it, all the other girls who are going on the group date start crying too. Hey, is trapping women together in a hermetically sealed room the way this show does make them start to cry like when they all cycle their periods together? Or like going to bathroom? How come you gals all piss in tandem anyway? Or is it like when one person yawns everybody starts? I just wondered cause it always seems to happen. Anyway, they all cry...except guess who? Yeah, the Money Shot gets to announce that all the broads surrounding her can hit the bricks. I'd like to see her hit the bricks...from about forty stories up.

Viva Las Gayness

Brad takes the two Ashley's to the Vegas version of Cirque du soleil called "Viva Las Elvis". Boy, talk about combining the very worst of two cultures. Cheesy gymnastic routines performed by homosexual teenagers dressed in gold lame suits--delicious. Anyway, some big shot or another greets them at their gay rehearsal and let's Brad and the gals know that they will be trying out for the show. In a complete ripoff of last season's Lion King lameness, the two Ashley's and Brad try out for the show, bouncing around on wires and doing kiddy-level gymnastics. Sherbert is by far the more comfortable and more athletic of the two and voiceovers all but spell the end of this for us. The slice and dice edit gets going and various scenes of Sweetums are shown where she beats herself up as never being able to find love. By the time they split for dinner, the writing is on the wall like East L.A. graffiti. Neither look interested in the food, and Brad hardly even pauses before he grabs the rose and tells Sweetums: "You're gonna' make a great wife, but not for a Texas stud like me who owns lots of bars. I need a woman who is dramatic and manipulative. Sorry, you're just too sweet." He then hands the crazy Sherbert the rose and walks Sweetums to her limo of doom. The producer's must not have liked the limo footage she gave them because her exit interview looks like they let her take off her make up, put her nightie on, and fall asleep before they woke her up and filmed up so she would look completely dreadful. Or they canned it from three nights previous when she was drunk and having menstrual cramps. Whichever, it's sad nonetheless. Back at the Aria, some dirty-looking roadie comes into the women's suite like a nighttime crackhead looking for an easy score, and snatches Sweetums' bag away. The women all react with various levels of shock, disgust and sadness. While Sweetums rides away we are whisked back to the show where Sherbert, dressed like an airmail letter, and Brad, dressed like the gayest G.I. Joe doll in history, fly around on strings for the crowd.

*Beep! That was so sad. I can't believe you kept that nut and sent that sweetheart home. What does that say about me?

NASCAR Emily's Traumatic Return to Where She Practically Lives

In a show of remarkable producer-cruelty, they stage a date at the Las Vegas Motor speedway so Nascar Emily can suck up all the drama for a week like sinkhole in Savannah. The group harem arrives at the Speedway in limos and as soon as they get out, a Nascar comes toodling up and out pops Brad. He promptly performs a commercial for the Speedway about an upcoming Nascar race, and then informs the babes that they will all be racing cars. The cars actually looked like real racers too, but considering the way the women drove, they may have well just held it at Uncle Waldo's Go-Cart Land. Regardless, the women take turns driving around the track like they were on their way to the grocery. All except ZipperRipper Chantal, who apparently crammed the pedal on the floor and blew around the oval like a dart. "Holy crap!" Brad observed as she tore around the track. What is it with Brad and chicks who drive like hell? Anybody remember DeAnna's fixation with gas-piston engines? Anyway, amidst the fun and exhaust fumes, Dr. Pickleheimer, being the therapy-altered, all-observant and sensitive man he is these days, notices that something is wrong with Nascar Emily. Hark! Are those strains of drama that I hear? He hauls Emily aside for a sit-down on the infield and she tells him that her late fiance was a Nascar driver. Brad looks like he ate something bad for lunch. "I feel like a jerk!" You do? Why? It's not like it was your idea to bring her there pickleboy. The next fifteen minutes the Bachelor gives way to the Nascar Emily Show as she suddenly has the engagement rock on her finger that Ricky gave her and she has to woman up and take a spin about the track. She hops into the car and starts to bawl as half a string orchestra gets going in the background. Brad ducks in her window and tells her she doesn't have to do this. They all can all leave right now if she is uncomfortable. But Nascar bravely goes forward and saunters around the track in 1st gear. The other women, either giving in to their nascent humanity, or being ordered by the creepy producers, all cheer her on as she slowly circles the oval, led by the ZipperRipper. It's damned effective TV. Give these ghoulish assholes some credit; they know their shit. In reality? Ha. Emily, who has worked for the Speedchannel covering Nascar races and is reported to have dated Dale Earnhardt Jr. (a guy damned familiar with losing loved ones in racing), and is still considered a member of one of racing's most powerful family's, is shown to be traumatized by the whole thing and having a "transformative" moment to get on with her life. Great TV, but in truth, it was about as traumatizing as watching Michael Jordan return to a basketball court. But great TV nonetheless.

At the required, bikini-bash that always follows a group date, Brad waits a total of ten seconds before he hauls Emily aside again for some more private time. The women glare daggers. The ZipperRipper tries to defend him: "It's just because he's worried about her. She was crying." This prompts Alli Booty to cut loose with one of the most insensitive and absolutely truthful remarks in this show's history: "So, the person with the worst story gets all the attention!?" Yep, that's about the size of it, Alli. If you'd like some private time with Brad, you'll need to dredge up a dead relative or two. Get with the program, girl. Brad corrals Emily and lays it out for her: "Mly, I really, really like you!" They discuss her date and he then takes her to a lounger by the pool and confesses that he feels like he's battling a ghost for her affections. She whines about how all men shut down when they hear her story. Lisa from Oz gets her first chance to speak in weeks by playing therapist to Emily. Emily relates Brad's reactions and shrugs, "If you take me to a race track, it's gonna' come out." Fair enough. I think most viewers understand that Emily has adjusted to her tragedy and has moved on, but with this coerced date and Soap Opera edit, the causal viewer is under the misconception that Emily hears birds chirping on a May morning and looks out the window and sees burning plane wreckage. Total BS, but great TV. Has she moved on? Hell if I know. The scene shifts and we see that Alli Booty, despite her lack of a dead relative, gave them a soundbite they KNOW they're gonna' use and scores some screen time with Brad. She bawls and whines that she doesn't feel special. Brad asks her not to cry and hugs her like she's a bag of tile grout. I'm rather amazed she's still around. The scene shifts again, and suddenly Brad's alone on the loungers with the Chantal. The ZipperRipper is as bombed as a moonshiner's apprentice, but she struggles and manages to sound sane and sober for at least a moment or two until the veneer slips and out comes the "L" word.. "I defended you to the other girls. You were just helping Emily. It makes me love...no, that's the wrong word...makes me like you all the more." Brad's exhausted, drunken eyebrow pops up. "Back to the love comment? I heard it." She tries to get away from the comment but he presses. Finally she melts altogether and bawls," If you don't feel for me, send me home!" He begs her not to cry and she tries one more rally before she collapses onto his chest bawling. POW! Brad's zipper explodes. But "Mly" gets the rose. Date over.

*Beep! OMG! People will think I'm crazy!

Shrink Time

Now, I don't want you folks thinking I'm one of those lazy bloggers out there. Since we have two Shawntel/Chantal's and they're both pronounced the same way, I thought I'd do some research into the name. Now it's obvious that the "Shawntel" is just a bastardized American version of the original French name, so I went over to an online Frog to English dictionary and did some research. I wasn't surprised by what I found and I'll bet you won't be either. Here's the entry:

Chantal: Pronounced Chann-Taaal; American: Shawn-tel; Texas: SHAN-TELL; translation: She who makes pants vanish.

I think you'll agree her nickname is accurate. Anyway, Brad has seen too much crying caused by all his horndogging this week, so he calls Dr. Manwhore who tells him to tear through these women like toilet tissue. The Dr. finally says something deep before Brad falls asleep on the phone: "You have to let them in to know you. Strength and vulnerability go hand in hand." Decent advice. Now armed with his default mission statement and medical permission to whore around, Brad heads to cocktail hour at the Tearful Bar & Grill.

Cocktail Dominatrix

Back at the Aria, Chantal is sounding weepy again, so Marissa the Mannequin is allowed to speak so we'll remember who she is when she's booted and to wind Chantal up a little more. "...he just sent the person he gave the first impression rose to home; so if you think you're something special, you're crazy!" Drama scene set, Brad comes waltzing in looking like he'd wished he'd worn that Nascar crash helmet. "Uh, lot of emotion this week about how you're all feeling. I'm here to find my wife, and my shrink says that's healthy, so I'm going to screw as many of you as I can, so tough!" The ZipperRipper moves in first and gets him before the Money Shot can kidnap him and here we go. "I saw a side of Chantal on that group date that I'd never thought I'd see in a million years. Emotional is one thing, but dramatic is something else." He then utters the second most famous version of a redneck's last words: "I don't need drama in my life."

*Beep! I beg your pardon! Drama Queen?

They have a talk and she starts out calm and mature-looking. This terrifies Brad: "I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, all the girls felt like that date was sitting around watching you and Emily." Brad backpedals like a clown on a unicycle: "Let me explain that. Anytime I see a woman cry, I'm going to stop and comfort her. It wasn't about forming a special connection or anything--I swear!" But then he shrugs at her when she assures him they are in a good place and warns her to "...stop giving me so much crap." That is followed by a smartassed look I've never seen from him before that I can't read--a half-grimace, screw you! look. Beats me. She, however, has the prescription for what ails him. She drops the mature woman bit, giggles and grins like a little girl, and lays her head on his chest like a teenager. POW! Alli Booty is up next and he gives her a little cake or something and has the script boy tell him what Alli was wearing night one so he can make a lame comparison to the little cake. Ok. Marissa the Mannequin gets to speak again and hands Brad a pile of notes since she can't pester him with text messages. She then talks about how she has put herself out there. Kiss of death. He tries to speak with the anorexic Bony Britt but can't utter three words before the producer's cram Michelle's nasty mug back into our faces to remind us about what a bitch she is. Brad hauls her away next and she goes all $1,000 a night Dominatrix on him. She seals him in a room, sits on his lap and forbids him to speak. She then orders him around, mimes slapping his face, and finally smooches him before demanding that they go send some girls home now. "You can speak next time." Brad is either nauseous, terrified, or has a world-class boner...or all three. The wingman comes in, his golf shoes clicking on the tile floor and a spare tee tucked in behind his ear, and tings his glass calling the party over.

*Beep! OMG! That's just gross! Do I need to buy a bullwhip?! Gross! Gross! Gross! Ur such a pig! Don't even try calling me!

Dump 'Em Danno!

Already safe: Nascar Emily, Ashley Sherbert, Shawntel Munster

The wingman runs some interference before Brad comes in.

Roses:

1) The Money Shot--I guess it was all 3...or at least the last one.

2) Alli Booty--crying and mean comments pay off.

3) Bony Britt--totally silent this week. Please go get something to eat!

4) Jackie Gordon--the new invisible woman.

The wingman reenters clicking on the tile and looks at the camera: "Allow me to recap dramatically: There is but a sole flower remaining. The contestants are: Marissa the Mannequin, whom you've heard speak a grand total of 4 times in one month; Lisa from Oz--go ahead and tell me one thing about her besides from the fact that she owns a pair or ruby-red slippers. Go ahead, I dare you! And the narrator for most of this season and the reason our seamstress is spending six hours every week repairing Brad's pants, ZipperRipper Chantal." (Turns to Brad) "When you're ready..." and departs with the golf glove bouncing from his rear pocket.

Brad pauses dramatically.

5) ZipperDestroyer Chantal

She accepts the rose with a "I'd be glad to. You're killing me." (Translation: I'll kill YOU later for this.)

Lisa and Marissa, both aware they're about to miss out on more world travel, start crying and depart. Both bawl like all hell. Lisa says more than we've heard from her all season.

Next week: Costa Rica! See ya then!

1/24--Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Your Services Will Not Be Required.

I guess it's a good thing that I have no idea what travels through the diseased mind of Mike Fleiss. It's probably good for my sanity and my moral compass, but what the Creature and his sleazebucket brigade are up to this season, I have no idea. I've watched a fair few incarnations of this slop and I have never seen anything like it. We will undoubtedly have many of the staples of a Bachelor season left in front of us, but what we won't have is any mystery about who the final 2 are. But Captain, you don't do spoilers? Who the hell needs spoilers? After the last two weeks, Stevie Wonder could tell you who the final 2 are. And there can't be any women left in that house, save the reserved optimist Bony Britt, the kick-ass package known as Shawtel Munster, and the drunken mess known as Ashley Sherbert, who could be unaware that they're still around merely to get drunk, cry, and fill a dress. This is certainly a new editing strategy for the producers of this show. I think it's referred to as "Show Everything!" If they were going to do that, Brad should have passed out bus tickets last night instead of roses, about 9 of them. I sure don't think the audience would have minded. Do any of you really want to see Alli Booty whine or mope about anything? I sure as hell don't. And the Money Shot? The only thing I was interested in seeing her do was fall off the side of the building she and Brad were rappelling down. But since ABC contracted for 11 episodes, 11 episodes it will be.

The Black Eyed Pissant

The theme music hasn't even died away and the Michelle Money's high maintenance mug pops up on my TV screen whining and mugging that she has a black eye. She maintains that it's origins are a mystery. The previews tried to insinuate that ZipperRipper Chantal had slipped into her room and sucker punched her while she slept. Michelle tries to blame it on "...stress. I must have beaten myself up." I guess she thought that sounded more dignified than the truth: "I was so blacked-out drunk last night I slammed my face onto the steering wheel of the porcelain bus I was driving." The vision of the Money Shot, curled up around a toilet, vomiting so violently she chucks up her toenail polish, is the most charming image of her I can conjure. Yeah, I know. She's a two bit actress mugging and hamming it up for the camera crews. Sorry; she sucks. (Fliess, get this bimbo off my TV.) After she finishes leering into the camera like a Soap Opera vixen, the wingman finally comes wandering in dressed like Mr. Rogers to get things started. There will be two 1-on-1 dates, and one group date--a rose up for grabs on all of them. He drops the card and departs. Lindsay the Dress Filler reads it aloud and she tells the ZipperRipper to get ready.

Water Phobia

Brad comes wandering into his Cathouse and leads Chantal outside where a helicopter comes in and picks them up. They fly off the California coast and land on Catalina Island. Chantal cringes as Brad leads her down onto the pier and out onto a boat for a deep sea diving adventure. Chantal insinuates as loudly as she can that she has a water phobia. Been rifling the psychological test results again, have we, Fleiss? By my count, that makes every date this season that focuses on the girl having a fear of phobia of what they're about to be made to do. Chantal has a fear of water, later the Money Shot will have a fear of heights; Ashley Sweetums had a fear of singing in front of ten million people. I assume Jackie Gordon has a fear of Train, and Ashley Sherbert is terrified of dark drives down pitch black country roads with men she doesn't know. Dumb chick. Anyway, Brad gets her popped into a space helmet get up and they head down into some murky water. Once there, she relaxes and enjoys herself. She gushes about being Mrs. Womack. They get out and laze around on a futon on the beach by a couple of harem tents and talk. Or should I say gush like two loons. They laugh, talk, and act incredibly playful with each other and as rain starts to fall, Brad gives up the flower. They then make out with such intensity I'm certain Brad's zipper was about to explode. They pile into the harem tent and its inferred that they stay the night on the beach.

And Now Your Moment of Filler

Well I won't need any fiber in my diet this week after this date. Brad, sans Nascar Emily, who's busy being pestered by the Money Shot back at the mansion, takes his remaining non-entities to a radio talk show and he finally earned his degree in psychobabble. The women pile into a stretch hummer, fix some screwdrivers, and meet Brad at Dr. Drew's Loveline radio show. Saucy Stacy admits she used to get hammered and cheat on her boyfriend in college. The women ask Brad a bunch of questions and he gives canned answers. He wants to be "me." This is only a set up so Bony Britt can move up into one of the B spots and Ashley Sherbert can make a drunken fool of herself. Brad takes them to "his" pad and they get bombed out of their gourds. Encouraged to open up by Dr. Loveline, the women all go nuts stealing Brad from each other. Saucy Stacy moves in for the first steal and Ashley Sherbert gets absolutely shitfaced and makes a whining, sloppy mess of herself. Did she go swimming in that hot tub? I've never seen a woman get her hair soaked in a hot tub on this show before. She looked like a bang-less, drowned rat. Meghan Nobody, remaining steadfastly sober, and Alli Booty, commiserate after being the victims of Bachelor theft and pretty much decide they're toast. Bony Britt gets to speak a few lines and she and Brad stage some boring kissing while they wait for the producers to get Sherbert moving. She crashes in and is so drunk she hammers away at Brad for being a manwhore. "But it's fun," he insists. "Yeah, for you!" she counters. Well, you wanted honesty buster. Hehehe. Brad makes it seem like he plans to give her the date rose as reassurance, but she makes one more drunken warble and it's obvious he's pissed. To punish her, he takes Britt aside and gives her the rose instead.

Puke Inducing Date

Back at the mansion, the date card for the last 1-on-1 arrives and much to the chagrin of the viewing audience, it goes to the Money Shot. ZipperRipper Chantal, who somehow got back from her overnight with Brad and we're never shown when or how, immediately starts picking on her because the producer's didn't include the word "love" in the invitation card. It's funny despite the face that the Mish-HELL is clearly playing along for a laugh. The date? You really want me to recap it? Ok, but very briefly. They grab another helicopter, land on a building roof, and Brad takes her rappelling down the building where an accident occurs and the Money Shot plunges forty stories to her death. Hey, I can dream. Recap over.

Top Psychiatrists Agree: Bachelor's Should be Manwhores

The wingman, exhausted from doing nothing, takes another week off and sends in the psychobabblist to see Brad again instead of getting his lazy ass into gear and doing his job. The shrink is happy to "validate" Brad like he's a parking ticket, by telling him to hump every damn woman in sight. "How can you open up and fully explore if you don't play tonsil hockey with all of them?" Bully. Fully engorged after his run-in with the ZipperRipper, Brad and his manly essence are ready for the cocktail party.

The ZipperRipper's Mini-Melt and a Reminder that Nascar Emily is Still Very Much on This Show

Brad gets things rolling by having to lead the cheers twice to try and get the nonentities to sound excited to be there. He tells us he needs to take the girls who didn't get dates aside to "reassure them." Considering the fact that he's going to dump three of them after passing out some reassurance, I think that's Womack-code for "I want to drool on Emily." He hauls Shawntel Munster aside first and they recreate the firemen carry he performed on her at their action movie date. Hmm. He make like her enough to actually call her for a second date in real life. Meghan Nobody actually gets a moment on camera with Brad so we'll remember her when he dumps her. Enough of that. Brad snatches Nascar Emily aside and takes her outside with some producer-stash picnic basket filled with booze. Spirits plummet. Shawntel sarcastically asks if they should just go and get married now, and Meghan Nobody says "13 girls should all go home. He only needs one rose." ZipperRipper Chantal, who goes into mini-meltdown. After their wonderful Catalina date, she drops into a hole of despair. Brad takes Emily out onto the flagstone driveway, spreads a paper thin cloth, and two people dressed in a suit and gorgeous dress have a seat on the rock hard driveway. We are quickly reminded about what a wonderful mother Emily is. Despite Chantal's meltdown, the conversation seems polite and reverential, nothing more. That doesn't stop Jackie Gordon and Shawtel Munster from pinning Chantal between them and go on and on about the connection Emily and Brad share: "He doesn't have that with anyone else! "It's their connection... maybe their love?" The ZipperRipper springs a leak. "I feel so stupid! None of it was special!" She goes to the bathroom, but the producer-fiends edit it to make it look like she barged straight out onto the patio and stole him from Sherbert. She charms him and they make out. She then gets up and leaves with no prompting. The wingman finally bestirs himself and comes in tinging his glass.

Dump 'Em Danno!

Already safe: The Money Shot, Bony Britt, and ZipperRipper Chantal

Roses:

1) Ashley Sweetums--This one is just hanging out

2) Alli Booty--Filling in the numbers

3) Nascar Emily--yeah, ya think?

4) Shawntel Munster--Thinks he's planning to marry Emily, but why bother turning down the rose? Where's the vampire chick when we need her?

5) Lisa from Oz--hey, its the chick with the Dorothy shoes. She's still here?

6) Jackie Gordon--You're still here too?

7) Marissa--So you're Marissa. Oh, I thought you were a mannequin they hired to wear a dress.

8) Ashley Sherbert--continues the punishment by calling her last. She didn't look particularly overjoyed to get the rose anyway.

The Bus Tickets

1) Meghan Nobody--runs from the mansion and is wearing such towering high heels she looked like a prison escapee on stilts. Keeps it sane in the exit interview though. No tears and could clearly see there was nothing between them.

2) Saucy Stacy: Admitted she cheated. Brad described it as "honesty", then he honestly dumped her ass for it. She didn't look even remotely upset. No tears.

3) Lindsay the Dress Filler: gave up a teaching job to come and be anonymous. She does cry...about her dad? Brad, they love ya guy!

Next Week: That chick I keep hearing is named Marissa gets a free trip to Las Vegas and didn't even have to say a word. Sweet! Also, Nascar Emily moves back front and center and....cries and talks abut her dead fiance a little more. She seems sweet. Is there any more to know about her???? Love to see it, Fleiss.

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.