For those who are not caught up on this season of The Bachelor, here is a quick recap of the current season:
Alright, good, now we’re all caught up on the worst season of The Bachelor ever made, which is no small achievement. This is the same show that cast Chris Soules, a man dumb as a mailbox, but at least a mailbox can hold a conversation. It also starred Jojo, and as they say: what’s the difference between Jojo and a picture of Jojo? That wasn’t a joke, that was a legitimate question that has yet to be answered. And yet, this season, starring America’s least favorite great-aunt Nick Viall, has been the absolute worst season of television ever created.
This week’s episode, much like last week’s, was only one hour long. Why, you might ask? Because Nick Viall is like radiation, and tests have shown that extended exposure will actually kill you. For that reason, the poor producers who are locked in a room with hours of footage of Nick in short-shorts curling his hair, have cut the show to 1 hour now. America just can’t be exposed to more Nick Viall than that under the Geneva Convention.
The episode picked up with the thrilling plot-line of Yosemite Raven’s quest for tummy fireworks, because orgasms are like toothbrushes – you can’t get them in Hoxie. Nick and Raven had their “Fantasy Suite” date aka their “HEY AMERICA, WE FOOOOOKED” date, and then Raven had a little “I had an orgasm montage” (please refer to the above-listed dumpster fire picture). The producers wanted us to believe that Raven had her first orgasm with Nick Viall in Finland. I’d make a joke about that, but just go ahead and reread that sentence again, and it’s already obviously a joke.
The second date was with Rachel, meaning that Vanessa was stuck with the third fantasy date, otherwise known as the “get to the clinic” date. Rachel, accomplished lawyer and intelligent woman in her 30s, got the chance to be the second person to bang Nick Viall. Having sex with Nick Viall by this point in his life would be like riding a mechanical bull at a Reno strip club, so I was hoping that this would be Rachel’s moment when she finally realizes she’s competing with a talking rooster and a Canadian actress to hook up with a guy who has been unemployed since the Clinton administration.
Alas, Rachel went to the Fantasy Suite just as the final knot in the noose at the Dallas federal courthouse was tied. Before their date, Nick made a joke about how, “I may be white, but I’m a minority.” Nick is a smart man, and he knows that this is a great current political climate to be making race jokes on broadcast television. And then, spitting in the face of her career and degree, Rachel had sex with Nick Viall, and as they always say, once you go white, you immediately go back to black. Usually within the hour.
The third and final fantasy suite date with Nick Viall, a punishment that should be reserved strictly for Guantanamo Bay, belonged to Vanessa. Luckily, Vanessa is an actress, so she could pretend it wasn’t the grossest thing on earth. The date involved them running back and forth between tubs, giving us all a good idea as to why they’re cutting these episodes down to an hour. Cutting together 6 hours of Vanessa and Nick running from hot tub to cold tub to hot tub to cold tub over and over, and then cleaning that editor’s brains off the producer room’s walls, has limited the show time.
Before having sex IN THREE DIFFERENT LANGUAGES, Nick and Vanessa had a conversation about how much they hate each other. To paraphrase: VANESSA: “I really like my family.” NICK:”Oh, I really hate your family.” VANESSA: “You’re very difficult to talk to.” NICK: “If you sleep with me I can turn your 15 minutes of fame into 17 minutes of fame, it’s kinda what I do.” And then they hate banged.
The episode ended with Nick sending Rachel home because having intelligent conversations is for NERDS. Rachel seemed genuinely upset, which is strange because she has been so overqualified since day 1 that I figured she had applied for a job in ABC’s legal department and accidentally been cast. Now we’ll have her for The Bachelorette which I imagine will start with some frail, feminine white guy in a turtleneck stepping out of the limo and polishing his pukka necklace as Rachel drops to her knees, flashbacks of Finland crippling her, as she screams, “GETTTTT OUTTTTTTT.” What I’m saying is that Nick is traumatizingly bad in bed.
Stay tuned for the finale, where Nick will choose between a sentient banjo and a background actor on Degrassi. It’s hard to decide which is a worse fate: being engaged to Nick Viall, or not being engaged to Nick Viall. At this point, Nick is so desperate for an engagement it will be shocking if he doesn’t try to bang Neil Lane. My prediction is that Vanessa wins so that Nick and Vanessa can continue their meteoric climb to D level stardom. Seriously, please, ABC, I just have two humble requests: 1) mercy kill this season and put us all out of this misery; and 2) CHRIS SOULES 2: ARLINGTON BOOGALOO! Make it happen, guys, it’s not like Chris Soules has anything to do between filming McDonald’s commercials.