More to Love Should Be Called More to Cry About

The Fatchelor is back at it. This is a tough one for me to blog about. I was fully prepared to unleash a barrage of insults at all of the women for going on this show. “They signed up for it,” I thought. “What do they expect?” However, I am a man of conscience. I just can’t bring myself to pile on these women (wow, that was Freudian). I actually feel sorry for most of them. I found myself wondering who was taking care of all of their cats while they are away from home. I hope their cats are safe.

Last night’s episode of More to Love bolstered my belief that these women have nothing to gain but a few more pounds by being on this show. All of the even remotely stable women have been eliminated; leaving the crazies to rise to the top like curd on the top of three week old milk. Unfortunately for me, Luke kicked off the 37 year old “Cabaret Entertainer” (read “Stripper”); apparently because he was told by the bitchiest fat girl in the house that she did not want to have kids. She was my favorite fatty and now she’s gone. Frankly, she looked relieved to be going back to whatever double reinforced pole she came from. I actually liked her. Oh well.

Let’s discuss The Fatchelor. The guy is a manipulative bag of cheese. His compliments are stale and insincere and he has as much charisma as a scrotum on a cold day. It is clear that he knows he’s fishing with dynamite and he’s using it to his advantage. Just because he is a big fat guy doesn’t mean he’s more capable of relating to these hefty honeys than anyone else. He apparently was a college athlete and seems to have a great deal of self-confidence, unlike any of the women he’s courting. Frankly, he pisses me off. I’d rather watch a Lifetime movie starring Kiptyn and Reid from the Bachelorette (and, of course, Meredith Baxter Birney) than watch this slob woo the plus sized pants off these women. Nonetheless, there I was, glued to my TV.

Last night began with two group dates. When he arrived at the mansion, he didn’t look hungry for love, he just looked hungry. The women were eating and chatting and sitting around the house. And when they sit around the house, I mean they sit AROUND the house. The room had more chins than a Chinese phone book. The furniture was grimacing. Even their shadows had stretch marks. Alright, I couldn’t resist. After more talk about never being on a date, several of the women tearfully recounted sad stories of infidelity from their youth. Is it common knowledge that fat girls get cheated on more than skinny girls? I had no idea. We then learn that the first group of girls gets to go on a fantasy yacht date and the second group (GASP!) has to go to a pool party. Holy shit. A pool party. Predictably, the notice of both dates brought more crying and carrying on from the women. Hell, I even cried when I found out. A pool party? Really?

The big highlight of the yacht date came when one of the women decided to lean over the side of the dock prior to the boat leaving and puke into the water while everyone listened to her puke into the water. Of course, Luke was very sweet and understanding. He dumped her on the couch in the main cabin, covered her up, and went back upstairs to be charming again. After all was said and done, she rallied and even got a kiss from Luke. Dude.

Now, on to the pool party. The women couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable. They might as well have been naked for God’s sake. After some really unflattering camera shots of rotund thighs (thanks, Fox) and some more crying and carrying on, Luke decided to “make sure the girls were comfortable” because he was sympathetic to their swimsuit-a-phobia. Did he comfort them? Did he make a speech about inner beauty? Nope. He went straight to the booze. After a few pops of wine and some shots (nothing like giving a depressed, insecure fat person in a swimsuit a depressant), Luke decided to get the party moving by ripping off his shirt and doing a cannonball into the pool. Nothing says gentleman quite like a cannonball. Luckily, he didn’t land on anyone. I'll spare everyone my Sea World jokes.

After more crying and carrying on, we got a glimpse of what the future of this show holds. The women were surprisingly catty and mean to one another. It was sort of like Flavor of Love but without the weaves and purple fingernails. At least I have something to look forward to next week. In the end, Luke eliminated three women. They were all forgettable and, sadly, so was the show. At the end of the day I was left with the realization that being fat does not make a person unlovable . . . crying over everything and being desperate does. Oh Jillian, Jillian, where are you?