Five minutes, I said. I’ll just watch for five minutes.
What’s the harm? The Bachelorette ended and I was missing Chris Harrison. I was curious, I admit. I never watched this show. FIVE MINUTES, I said.
Look, I never promised you quality television recaps, but even I may have sunk to the lowest of the stinkiest, most manuer-ish of compost piles. Last night I fell victim to some fabulous ABC PR person’s wily ways and watched maybe the dumbest, grossest, saddest show on all of television. And yes, I mean that in the most flattering way.
Ladies and Gentlemen, may I please direct your DVRs to this piece of broadcasting gold:
That’s right. The Bachelor goes to paradise and there ain’t enough Airbus A380’s in the world to store the baggage these romanic rejects are packing.
First, a small digression. WTF is up with single parents who gush over their small children and tout how being a parent is the most important thing they’ve ever done, blah blah blah only to ditch their little obligations for months at a time to be some soulless producer’s bonus-generating puppet. We’ve got two single parents on BiP, friends. And mind you this is both of their second times at the shitshow. (Shitshow = not-so-subtle foreshadowing, btw.) Is flaunting your cameltoe and posturing with a belligerent, steroid-dropping, raw potato eating, angry gorilla man really your best parenting game? I mean, I will run, RUN, to Target anytime Bart says “I got this” but I’m usually back in a couple of hours. Or at least that same day. And Single Mom Amanda has a daughter who is only two. TWO! And Mommy’s been on reality TV looking for love TWICE in her lifetime! COME ON. Ever hear of Tinder?
Also, Single Mom Amanda clearly shares a wardrobe with her four year-old. Put on some damn pants and cover those ass cheeks, MOM.
But I digress. Sort of. Actually not really because ass cheeks and steroids is kind of the lifeline of this show. In a nutshell, you take fifteen Bachelor/Bachelorette cast-offs, throw them into some resort on a tropical beach, supply them with an always open open bar (and adorable bartender who sees the exchange of more contanimated bodily fluids than the lab technican at a college campus health center) and you promise them a second chance at finding love.
Here’s the dumb-ass fame whores you’ll meet:
Amanda– Aforementioned single mom who still has her baby voice and love of levitating, shoulder less blouses.
Evan– Aforementioned single dad, erectile dysfunction specialist, wimpy-wimpy-whiner-pants who is still bitching about the red t-shirt that gorilla man Chad tore in a fit of steroid-induced rage.
Chad– Aforementioned gorilla man, roid-rager, and clearly THE STAR OF THE WHOLE DAMN FRANCHISE!
Lace– The Female Chad minus the roids. Crazy like a fox. A drunk fox. A constantly drunk fox.
Nick– Two-time runner up on previous Bachelorette seasons. Did you read that correctly? TWO TIME RUNNER UP. Give it up, man! GIVE IT UP!
The Twins: Bumpy and Bimminy? Itsy and Bitsy? Twin 1 and Twin 2? Whatevs. They’re back and possibly even dumber than before.
Grant: Guy who says he feels bad for anyone who gets stuck with the crazy girl and immediately starts flirting with the crazy girl.
Jubilee: War vet who realized she had a bad case of Resting Bitch Face after watching herself on The Bachelor. Tries hard to smile now, which may the most positive outcome this show has ever had.
Jared: Guy all the girls seem to like. I don’t get it. Not at all. What is with the forward-combed hairstyle? What is he hiding in the temple region of his forehead? Am I only one who sees this uncanny resemblance?
Daniel: Possibly more offensive than Chad and the worst Canadian import since Carly Rae Jepsen. Compares himself to herpes and refers to women as “sweet fruit.”
Carly: Not Carly the bad Canadian mentioned above. Weird layers in her hair. Reeks of instability. Probably fun to drink with.
Vinnie: Bland and unattractive on The Bachelorette and, well, points for consistency, I guess.
Sarah: Most normal cast mate and I really wish she would just go home.
Izzy: Might have been seen locking lips with Bland Vinnie. I don’t know. I don’t care.
I’m still not actually sure how this show works, but no matter. I’m not watching it because for the sportsmanship. I’m watching it for this:
That’s gorilla man Chad getting all Lindsay Lohan-y in the sand. And that’s a crab by his head that crawled out of his pants and is trying to get as far from paradise as possible. There are a lot of crabs in paradise as Chad pointed out upon exiting (Oh. Did I spoil something?) before telling them all to “F*ck off.” They’re crabs, Chad. And the producers brought them here as a giant metaphor for this whole entire season.
So I guess there is supposed to be some kind of format to this show. People go on dates. They get jealous. They fight. They give out roses. They think they’re falling in love. Dates appear to involve a shit ton of party supplies and horrific, mood-killing clowns who mimic sexual intercourse with gyrating hips and a well-placed horn.
Jubilee got the magical date card and asked Heckle to join her at a tiny bistro table and pretend to eat a meal surrounded by drippy, glittery, low-hung pinatas. Because why? Because nothing says, “Let’s romance” like a roomful of paper mache chili peppers filled with Sweet Tarts and Frooties.
Shit was just weird. Let’s talk about Chad.
So, all the ladies were encouraged by producers to pontificate about the “real Chad” and make wild hypotheses like, “I bet we will like him” and “But he’s really hot. How bad can he be?” There is no way anyone with enough brain matter to find their way out of an airport would find anything about this guy attractive. Unless of course you’re Lace whom as we already know from MOTHER ROSE BEST was seventy-three shades of crazy. Oh wait! She’s not crazy anymore according to Dr. Lace. After seeing herself on The Bachelor she realized she had some issues:
- Drinks too much
- Jealous as f*ck
- Mean girl
- Delusional
- Angry drunk
- Sloppy drunk
- Emotional drunk
- Secure as an ice cube facade twelve inches from the equator
She claimed to have worked out all the crazy which was evident by the at-home footage of her cradling a stemless wine glass and professing her love for its contents. Also agreeing to be on this show really points to totally lucid, sane, upstanding citizen.
Naturally Chad and Lace were drawn to each other like a dying geranium to a beam of sunlight. Within seconds these two idiots were making out in the hot tub, which lead to lots of splashing, more drinking, and slurred profanities as each one tried to drown the other and eat their head. Eventually Chad was gross enough even for Lace who declared him to be the reincarnation of the “Old Lace.” (Thirty minutes prior she called him “a king” and wanted to treat him as such so what does she know?)
Chad no likey rejection.
Frustrated, he stomped away, ate thirty-five pounds of deli meat, and eventually passed out in the crab infested sand and proceeded to shit himself.
A minute for that to sink in.
What’s that? You didn’t read that right?
I said, PROCEEDED TO SHIT HIMSELF.
SHIT HIMSELF!
A grown up!
My toddler doesn’t even do that anymore!
The next morning host, Chris Harrison called out the litany of bad things Chad did in his schammered state like:
- Called Lace a bitch and threatened to leave her duct-tied under a bus
- Threatened to kill all of the castmates and their families
- Made fun of Sarah who was born with half of an arm missing
- Tried to throw a few punches at his former buddy, Daniel
- Told the resort workers to “suck a dick”
- Shit himself
SHIT HIMSELF!
Chad denied it all and couldn’t understand why everyone was so upset? Chris Harrison can tolerate–even encourage– a lot of crap, but not when it’s spilling out of the pockets of your cargo shorts. Chad was asked to pack his knives and go. (Wait. Wrong show but it actually works here. Sorry, Padma.)
Naturally this enraged Chad because WTF does Chris Harrison know. He didn’t know what went down the previous night because he was too busy hanging out in his hotel robe drinking mimosas. Chris was all like, “Ew, Chad! No one drinks mimosas at night! Now get the f*ck off my island!”
But this is reality television, my friends, and producers do not let this kind of gold go easily. Yes, no one truly in their right mind is going to look for love on a reality show, but people like Chad come around as often as Comet Hale-Bopp (and incites as much insanity.) Like his exit on The Bachelorette, this is going to be long, drawn out, creepy, dramatic, and prone to evil whistling. You have to tune in next week to see what happens. You have to. Don’t make me do this alone.
Pack your bags, anti-itching cream, penicillin, and Chad-Away spray because we’re going in. Paradise, here I come.
