Bachelorette Recap Episode 9: Banger Isn't a City in Maine

Hello, Readers. Welcome back to this week’s installment of our least favorite, favorite show. Of course, in spite of the abhorrent bore that this season has become, we have reason to be excited this week. After all, it’s Fantasy Suite week and this is the episode that gives rampant promiscuity a bad name. We all know to expect more banging than an accidentally lit bag of fireworks and I, for one, couldn’t wait to see who won the worst in bed contest and got sent home this week.

Before we get down to brass tacks, I wanted to send this week’s shout out to my friends Adam and Gretchen in Sausalito, California. You see, Some Guy went off the grid for 4 days last week and they were gracious enough to open their beach house and their home despite the hoards of fans following my every move. Security was tight and, like Ames, I had to sneak in the back door, but I managed.

No phone, no email, and wonderful company for 4 glorious days. It was very liberating. Despite the beauty of Marin County and the incredible views in Napa and Sonoma, I always find joy in being back in Austin, Texas. You’ll all be happy to know that I plan to incorporate my new found wine knowledge into this week’s entry.

Finally, I wanted to address a person named “Jel” who commented on one of my earlier posts that he/she “has a strong intuition that I’m gay.” Thanks for commenting, Jel, but you need to have your strong intuition examined. The reason this blog works is precisely because I’m not gay. However, if I were gay, I’d be good at it. I’m just sayin’. With that out of the way, let’s get to it.

Again, I want to reiterate that this is my favorite show of the season and, despite Mr. Obama’s poorly timed speech, I actually enjoyed every minute of it. We began, as we always do, with sweeping shots of this week’s exotic location, Savusavu, Fiji. The root “savu” is, of course, from an ancient Fijian dialect meaning “to indiscriminately fornicate with a man one hardly knows.” We would soon find out why it’s repeated twice in the name.

After arriving to Fiji in “her” sea plane Ashley takes solace in the remaining days before her possible potential contingent engagement . . . maybe. She “educates” us concerning Fiji’s island status before wandering aimlessly amongst the flora and fauna in her Minnie Mouse outfit preparing herself to be thrice deflowered like a South Asian rice patty during the Vietnam War.

She primps, reflects, and “soooo impour-ants” every aspect of her “relationships” with the remaining men as we are treated to various versions of her smoky eyes and spray tans throughout the season. Ashley is so boring, I found myself falling asleep halfway through her name. I almost resorted to splashing the remaining ounces of Lone Star in my bottle onto my face; however, I managed to remain focused.

As she’s recording her “per-facts” and “impour-ants” in her fake diary—perhaps she was just coloring—a knock at the door brings a big, cheesy surprise. After slowly walking like Frankenstein across the grounds of the resort due to the fact that he was mired in heavy denial, Ryan, of all people, knocks on the Tatadra Suite where Ashley has resorted to Kegels in preparation for her big dates. “Tatadra” apparently means “Dream House,” which, of course, is a loose translation from Fijian to English. In Spanish, for instance, it means “Fun Hole.” Annnyyyhooo . . . .

In an espousal of revisionist history not seen since Oliver Stone’s JFK, Ryan pretends that he and Ashley have unresolved love issues in addition to pretending that his end game doesn’t entail an invitation from ABC to be the next Bachelor. Ashley “mmmm, mmmm’s” him to death while chewing on her face before Ryan drops, “so I called Chris” in order to come back to Fiji.

Hell yes, Harrison can make that happen. He was probably glad to step outside of whatever after party he left to take that call at 4 a.m. while Ryan was sitting atop his windmill in Southern California crying like a p*ssy about getting kicked to the curb. These people need Dr. Jamie. Then again, psychology is the art of attempting to correct your faults by discussing your parents’ shortcomings. Some people have psychiatrists. I have Austin, Texas and a mountain bike. Perhaps Ryan can find the clarity he needs while taking a water-heaterless shower back in San Diego.

After putting on her thinkin’ real hard face, Ashley attempts to get her mind around the fact that she’s now going to have to bang four guys in three days assuming Harrison and that fat guy in the black hat who helped Roz pack her s*it after she got booted out of the mansion don’t want a courtesy shot at her. She dismisses Ryan with a promise to “think about it” and immediately calls the Concierge to double the amount of cranberry juice in her minibar. (Yes, I just wrote that.)

BEN’S BIG DATE

As Ashley walks along the dock in her red bikini top and her white wrap around, Ben arrives in his orange shirt and top siders ready to commence the Fantasy Date. Getting the first of the Fantasy Dates is tantamount to having the lowest number at a lunch hour deli: Everyone behind you is envious and you’re certain to get the freshest meat.

They board a giant boat for their “water date” and talk frankly and romantically on the bow of the Belemare which, of course, means “beautiful rash” in Fijian, as Ashley laments the loss of the flower in her hair almost as much as she’ll lament the loss of her cherry when the rum and sun exhaustion wear off after the big night. You know what they say, Ashley. Que Sarong Sarong. I wouldn’t call her easy, but the truth is that this broad has been in more hotel rooms on this show than Gideon’s Bible.

I love that joke. Back to the date.

Ashley busts Ben’s balls a bit before suggestively rubbing oil all over him and using “flirtatiousness” when she means “flirtation.” Ben performs a cursory breast exam on Ashley before returning the oil rubbing favors. After all, one can never be too safe and based upon Ashley’s less-than-ample bosom, it was a short examination.

Lump free, they snorkel, share their feelings, and admire Ben’s Tetris video game themed bathing suit. Did anyone else notice that the usual 12 string Spanish guitar music that plays subtly in the background on these dates was replaced this week by the Victory at Sea soundtrack? Odd. Perhaps Esteban was double booked.

The couple wash up and dress up before arriving at the Namale Resort. You know what they say. Here today, gone Namale. Ashley arrives in her yellow and blue tie dye full length casual cotton dress thing and, in a remarkable twist, sports no eye shadow to match. Ben arrives looking like a gay version of Robinson Crusoe in a silky, see through, v-neck sweater clearly left behind by Ames when he left the mansion last week. To top it all off, he actually tucked it in to his khaki pants. Did he leave his balls in the Far East? Good Lord.

Ben asks Ashley if he can push her chair in; which I found ironic, because if things continued to progress he’d probably be asking her if he could push her stool in later in the evening. (Pause. Re-read. Put yourself in my head. Now, get the joke). Oblivious, Ashley stuffs her face and as the Fivehead makes a rare appearance, they discuss “the whole I love you thing” before Ashley anxiously and unapologetically tears open the Fantasy Suite Card and leaves her fork spinning in mid-air like freaking Daffy Duck running from Elmer Fudd and exits the screen on her way to the Fantasy Suite with Ben.

In honor of Ben’s chosen profession and my trip to Napa and Sonoma last week, I’d like to describe the goings on in the Fantasy Suite in terms of a fine wine tasting. Here goes:

Ben and Ashley’s relationship has produced a particularly complex and complete expression of delusional love. Combining bright, lifted red fruit elements with darker, more extracted layers, their depth was on display in the aromatics, where notes of Asian spice and Fijian promiscuity were supported by a subtle streak of earthiness. The lovemaking was both velvety and balanced, with lush flavors of voluptuous cherries, black currants, and Ben’s fine, toasty oak.

On the palate, Ashley was supple and compelling, yet dainty and medium-bodied with velvety, well-integrated bowed legs that supported a long finish. The evening was both sumptuous and sophisticated, offering a robust, powerful structure with a rich entry that segued to a long, lingering finish.

Ahh, the Fantasy Suite. The best things in life are free, aren’t they? It’s been said that there’s nothing better than going to bed with a glass of warm milk and a good book. However, for Ashley, a cold bottle of wine and the closest available male will do. I think we all know what the “F” in “Ben F.” stands for now. Nice work, Ben. Congrats on getting that done. I hope it was “per-fact.”

CONSTANTINE’S BIG EXIT

Sporting inexplicably tiny black shorts and a Tanya Roberts circa 1985 midriff shirt, Ashley ignores the soreness in her legs and awaits Constantine for a big run and hug in a field. She’s so skinny that if she walked unaccompanied into a pool hall she’d likely have her head chalked. She’s always looking for a meaningful one night stand and Constantine doesn’t disappoint as he arrives looking Greek and horny.

They “special moment” each other and she pretends she never took a helicopter ride with Brad before boning him in a South African cabana last season and it became abundantly clear to me that Constantine was less into her than he was in the previous weeks.

As a forlorn (and cheesy) Ryan mopes amongst the seaweed on the beach lamenting the presence of the hot water heater in his free suite, Constantine enjoys piggy backing Ashley under the Bouma Falls of Taveuni Island as she makes poor attempts to rationalize Constantine’s “slow progress” in their “relationship.”

Progress? Calling that progress is like saying that it’s progress if a cannibal uses a knife and fork. “He doesn’t like you!” I yelled at my screen after sipping Lone Star number whatever and hitting the pause button in search of a full beer. What a dunce.

Ignorant of the fact that coconut is a natural laxative, Ashley stuffs a bunch of it in her face as she questions Constantine about looking at 108 houses before deciding on which one to buy. “Houses are not like women,” he responds, clearly annoyed and ready to get the hell out of Fiji.

“Houses are not like women?” Oh, I don’t know about that, Constantine. Let’s see. They cost a lot, look better with new coat of paint every 10 years, the maintenance is all your problem, and if you don’t take care of it you’re likely to come home and find the pool boy in it. I’d say there are a lot of similarities.

Regardless, Constantine and Ashley head to Iwannalottapoontang Island for dinner and as she brings up her one night stand with his doppelganger, Constantine tells her in no uncertain terms that she’s a pain in his ass.

Wallowing deeper in denial than Ryan in seaweed, Ashley asks, “so where does this leave us,” before stuffing some fruit in her face. Constantine drops the “I respect you too much to bang you even though I deserve it for putting up with you for two months” speech and is eventually forced to abruptly end the date, and alas, their “relationship.” He even invoked the specter of her absent, alcoholic father; however, that memory is tucked away tighter than a transvestite’s junk in Ashley’s memory bank and it didn’t bring a reaction. Unfazed, Ashley continued to stuff her face as the reality that she’d been dumped slowly seeped behind her curtain of bangs and into the dense skull behind the Fivehead.

Free at last, Constantine bounds from the table like Errol Flynn on the deck of a pirate ship leaving the ABC cameraman and his fixed tripod to fend for himself and quickly packs his bags in search of the nearest sea plane. Ashley broods table side and finishes stuffing her face before heading back to the suite to decide if she’s going to bang Ryan and J.P. or just J.P. No wonder she’s bowlegged.

Props to Constantine, by the way. The guy was consistently honest and articulate all season. That “I respect you too much to sleep with you when I don’t love you” speech will give him all kinds of street cred back in Cumming, Georgia and that’s exactly what he’ll be doing a lot of when he runs through the female wait staff at Giorgio’s as soon as he gets home.

I’ll give the guy credit. Considering the fact that the only place most men want depth in a woman is in her cleavage, Constantine showed rare restraint. Granted, he wasn’t attracted to her, but he had a sure thing and turned it down. After all, sex without love is an empty experience. Then again, it’s pretty good as far as empty experiences go. At the end of the day, Constantine realized that Ashley is not the type of woman who should be carelessly tossed aside. Rather, she should be thrown forcefully. Solid work, Constantine.

RYAN’S SECOND DUMP

Realizing she’s the first Bachelorette to literally be dumped mid-Fantasy Date, Ashley bow leggeds over to Ryan’s suite because she now has “soooo much clarity.” Ignoring the fact that she’s literally called J.P., Constantine, Ben, and Ames “per-fact guys” who have “exactly what she’s looking for” in a man, she says the exact same sh*t about Ryan before addressing their “pre-mah-ta-yoooor” goodbye, dumping him all over again, and making him cry like the pansy that he is. Thanks for coming out, Douchebag. We’ll see you on the next Bachelor (let’s hope not) and if that doesn’t work out, we’ll see you on Bachelor Pad 3. Go get some flying lessons and a cargo pilot’s license.

J.P.’S MAGICAL EVENING

Ben Franklin once observed that glass, china, and reputation are things that are easily cracked and are never well mended. I suppose Ashley forgot her copy of the Ben Franklin Reader’s Digest Edition on the sea plane or perhaps she spilled cranberry juice on it. Then again reputation is nothing more than what a person hasn’t been caught doing yet. In short, if you’re going to sleep around, national television is probably not the best place to do it.

Regardless, Ashley dons her jean shorts and her Pocahontas (or is it “Poke-a-hon-tis”) shirt as she and her midriff await J.P. in anticipation of a sea plane ride to Naiwannanailya Island. Ashley reflects back upon her time with J.P. and recalls that he’s “been her rock” all season. Well, I suppose she meant with the exception of when Ben was “her rock” on his spontaneous overnight visit and also 48 hours before her date with J.P., but perhaps I’m splitting hairs.

They travel “alone” to a “secluded” island and frolic in the sea while fawning all over each other. He’s clearly in love with Ashley in a way that the others—not even Ben—are in love. It probably doesn’t hurt that the last time J.P. was inside a woman, he was visiting the Statute of Liberty, but it is exactly what it is.

They frolic some more and he carefully guards his worries about her poontanging around the island with his buddies before she tells him she didn’t close the deal with Constantine or Ryan.

Somewhat relieved by that revelation but still picturing Ben’s bold, rich entry segueing into a long, lingering finish, J.P. assures Ashley that he’s not trying to win “like guys trying to beat each other.” Of course, Ames was the only one trying to beat all of the guys, but that’s neither here nor there.

With that out of the way, they take Harrison up on his written invitation to the Fantasy Suite and we’re happy to learn that the housekeeping staff had the presence of mind to put on new sheets and throw pillows after Ben’s long, lingering finish 48 hours earlier. J.P. waits anxiously as Ashley retires to lose her tiny black cocktail number and don her Jacqueline Bisset in The Deep shirt made famous on this show by Jillian Harris. The cameras pan out and J.P. undoubtedly panned in for a hot plate of sloppy seconds as Ben slept comfortably and quietly in his suite.

HARRISON ARRIVES

Looking refreshed and tanned in his pale lavender shirt and dark suit, Harrison resets the last two hours and nods knowingly as Ashley pretends that Constantine left because they were moving too slow instead of the fact that she’s a marginally attractive, high maintenance, insecure pain in the ass without a clue what she wants in life. Details.

Ashley broods in her pearl sparkled short dress in the Lair of Seclusion and eventually awards J.P. and Ben their roses and they chose to accept them. I’m guessing we missed the “how was it?” awkward conversation they had while waiting for Ashley to quit talking to Harrison.

Well, there it is. With the Journey count making an astounding recovery at 27 and the Amazing count at a respectable, albeit annoying, 85 we head to some other Fijian island where we’ll undoubtedly see the sister vs. judgey sister showdown next week before Ashley makes her big choice. Keep in mind that the Reunion Show is on this Sunday. I’ll probably keep my normal Tuesday posting schedule, but will update Facebook and the blog site if I get the time to write on Sunday. As always, thanks for hanging in there this season. Until next time, if you need me I’ll be searching for a see through sweater to tuck into my khaki pants.  Oh, and I thought this b*tch was a dentist.   DP