Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Off Season Post 29: 'Twas Ten Days Before Bachelor

Hello, Readers. Welcome back to the final off season post before the start of our favorite show. Granted, there will be a lot going on for all of us over the next ten days, but the January 2nd launch looms largely in the back of our collective minds. Relaxing and vacationing this time of year always turns out to be hard work, doesn’t it?

I’d like to thank all of you for sticking with me for another year. I cannot express how much joy (and that is the right word) I get knowing that you all log on from some place far away from my keyboard and read what I have to write. Knowing I’ve brightened a day or put a smile on a face is a great feeling. Even the negative comments resonate with me.  To Alice in Tulsa and Some Girls who believe I'm a misogynist, believe it or not, I'm glad you took the time to check me out.  I appreciate you all and I’m lucky you take the time to read this.

I’d like to wish all of you a happy, healthy, and fun holiday season. I hope the jockeying for position at the mall, rushing to get last minute gifts, paper cuts, and egg nog hangovers are all worth it. Me? I plan to eat, exercise a little in order to assuage the guilt of my overindulgence, kill a few Lone Stars, watch some football, and generally enjoy myself. My Christmas shopping will take place on December 23rd between noon and 2 p.m. After that, I plan to relax.

Now, let’s get to it.

'Twas Ten Days Before Bachelor
An adaptation by Some Guy in Austin

'Twas ten days before Bachelor, when all through the Pad
ABC interns were stirring, cleaning up after Brad;
The T-backs were hung by the hot tub with care,
In hopes that Ben Flajnik soon would be there;

This season’s bimbos were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of cocktail parties danced in their heads;
Some Guy in his Snuggie, had just popped the cap,
Off a frosty cold Lone Star, post off-season nap,

When out near the mansion there arose such a clatter,
Harrison sprang from his suite to see what was the matter.
He paid his sleeping escort then he flew like a flash,
Pulled on a black suit and threw an intern his hash.

The moon on the breasts of the girls on the show
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the wet driveway below,
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a stretch Hummer limo, filled with desperation and beer,

And there stood Ben Flajnik and his bad haircut it seems,
As Some Guy sat and wondered what Ben’s last name means.
With tons of eye make up and fake tans, they came,
Chris Harrison whistled and called them by name;

"Now, ANNA! now, AMBER! now, KACIE and JACLYN!
To the blue neon lit mansion! Evening gown and all!
Now dash away! Drink away! Get drunk ‘til you fall!"

Like Axe Body Spray they linger. They laugh, and they lie,
When they meet the next Bachelor, they give a bat to the eye,
So up to the house-top the bimbos they flew,
With livers full of booze, and Chris Harrison too.

And then, in a twinkling, across the living room floor
The prancing and pawing was too much to ignore
As I puked in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the grand entrance came Ben with a bound.

He was dressed in grey Levis (remember those?), and a queer yellow sweater,
Some Guy wondered and wondered why Ben couldn’t dress better;
A bundle of roses he had flung on his back,
A big giant d-bag, like his predecessor, Wo-mack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
He looked for a virgin, alas, not a cherry!
He had not a six pack nor muscles and knew it
He’d gained no street cred by banging Love Hewitt (allegedly);

The First Impression Rose he held tightly in his teeth,
As the strong stench of jealousy hung around like a wreath;
Girls soon will be sent--- crying in the limo alone
Think Fantasy Suite, Ben. Send the bitchy ones home

His looks were just average, although dressed in some finery
And I laughed when I saw him, his trump card his winery;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Is all it would take to get these contestants in bed;

Ben spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And cut all the loose ends who then called him a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Harrison grabbed his blow and left with some Ho, Ho, Ho’s;

He sprang to his suite and gave the women a whistle,
And away they all flew toward Ben’s awaiting love missile.
But I heard Harrison exclaim, when he drove out of sight,

Well, there it is. My final post of 2011. Thank you all again. Enjoy your holidays. In the meantime, if you need me I’ll be ironing my grey Levis. Ho, Ho, Ho. DP

Friday, December 9, 2011


Hello, Readers and welcome to an extremely late post. Between trials, my berfday, and my other obligations, it’s been tough to get the time to write. In the spirit of the unbelievably aggressive ad campaign launched last week by our friends at ABC heralding the January 2nd start of the Bachelor starring the wimpiest bachelor since . . . well, ever, I’ve taken the liberty of breaking down the female suitors after reviewing their profiles and head shots on the ABC website. Before I begin, I must share with you the real reason why I didn’t post this until today.

Picture Some Guy sitting shirtless--which is much easier thanks to a certain other blogger posting that infamous picture of me on her website--at the desk in his bedroom staring blankly at his keyboard in hopes that Inspiration would knock on the door, walk to the ‘fridge, grab a cold Lone Star, and sit down on the edge of the bed in order to share himself with me. Strike that. Let’s picture Inspiration as a hot, olive skinned, brunette in a knee high summer dress and cowboy boots. Much better.

Incidentally, I think “Inspiration” would make a fine stage name for an up-and-coming stripper. I have no intention on trademarking or copyrighting it, so if you’re destined for the pole, feel free to steal my idea. Granted, it’s not a city in Nevada, a spice, a fruit, a palindrome, and it doesn’t end in an “I,” but it’s a valid stripper name nonetheless. You’re welcome. Back to my story.

As I began to type the first paragraph of this post on Wednesday evening, I thought I heard a beeping sound coming from the front of the house. I got up to inspect it and indeed heard a faint beeping sound. When I opened the front door (I live in a condo) I was hit squarely in the face by the piercing scream of the fire alarms running throughout the complex. “Odd,” I thought as I saw my neighbors on the phone with who I assumed was the fire department. “If there’s a fire, they’ll let me know,” I said aloud and closed my door.

I walked back across my living room and noticed what I thought was smoke coming from the closed doors of my laundry room, which is located outside a double sliding glass door on my balcony. “Oh God,” I thought, “my dryer is on fire.” I threw the glass door open, stepped out on the balcony, and put my hand on the closed laundry room door. It was at this point that I noticed I was standing in a pool of water and the “smoke” was actually mist. I opened the door and, like Brooke Shields in The Blue Lagoon, was showered with a waterfall of cold water coming from the sprinkler head above the washing machine. Soaked and sufficiently pissed off, I shut the door and went back inside waiting for the remaining sprinklers scattered throughout the house to begin spraying at any moment.

In anticipation of the soaking all of my belongings would soon take, I retrieved a duffel bag from the closet and began packing a change of clothes, my phone charger, my iPad, and my “Insurance” folder from my file cabinet. Oddly enough, I felt no need to pack anything else. In the middle of packing, I heard the familiar sound of sirens in the distance and knew that help was on the way.

Still unsure if there was a fire and convinced that my sprinklers were on the verge of bursting at any moment, I opened the front door and sat on the couch, soaked from head to toe, drinking a cold Lone Star waiting for the cavalry to arrive. I felt like the band playing on the deck of the Titanic. Granted, I was wet, shirtless, and I wasn’t headed for certain death in the icy waters of the North Atlantic, but you get the picture: there was nothing I could do.

Mere minutes later, I heard the clomping of fire boots headed up my stairwell and I arose to greet them. Within moments a herd of yellow fire suits stampeded into my place in search of the danger. Unfortunately, the 12 (yes, 12) firemen who barged into my place elected the 12th guy leader and authorized him to speak with me. They could have saved themselves a lot of trouble—and me the need to steam clean my carpets—if they would have made the first guy the speaker. As they searched my entire place high and low with their axes and oxygen tanks attached, I pointed to the balcony and suggested that Mr. December corral Mr. January through Mr. November in order to fix my sprinkler problem. Here’s where I find the humor.

The entire time I was standing there wet and shirtless with 12 young, muscular, damp, determined fire fighters standing on my balcony only two thoughts kept spinning through my head. The first one was “how many firemen does it take to turn off a water sprinkler?” The second, and most important one for our purposes, was “I can’t wait to tell Lincee ( this story.”

I felt like that helpless lady on the cover of a romance novel being ravaged by a raven headed Indian on the frontier. I half expected to look at my open front door to see the back lit silhouette of Kurt Russell or Fabio running toward me in slow motion before throwing me over his shoulder and whisking me to safety where he would revive me by performing CPR whether I needed it or not. “Dude, Lincee would love this,” I kept thinking as I smiled in relief when the sprinkler was turned off and I realized my home, my belongings, and my person were all in tact.

I offered Mr. January through Mr. December the remaining 11 beers in my 12-pack. After all, one guy had to drive the fire truck. Incidentally, Mr. March appeared to be the most capable of that task—or at least that’s what I told myself. They all laughed and politely declined. I shook their hands as they wished me a Merry Christmas, apologized for the dirty carpet, and accepted my sincere thanks for the work they do. Thanks to the Austin Fire Department. My only regret is that Lincee wasn’t there instead of me. With that out of the way, let’s get to the women.

It’s that time. It’s time for this year’s bachelor, the aforementioned wine making wimp, Ben Flajnik, to comb through a pile of 26 women in search of the person he’ll sort of get to know over the course of five weeks, propose to in the crushing heat of a tropical location after meeting with the ambiguously homosexual Neil Lane, attend countless parties and photo ops with, and eventually announce (regretfully) that after trying super hard it just wasn’t meant to be.

After seeing the previews on ABC’s website (yes, this is the only time of year I actually research before I write), I found myself wondering what in the world the Producers are going to use as first-episode filler in lieu of the 20 minutes of shower and work out scenes we’ve come accustomed to seeing over the past few seasons. Ben is far from a doughy mess, but he doesn’t exactly ring the bell at the top of the rock wall in the hot body or looks category. If I want to see a pu*sy shower, I’ll go to the Men’s Locker Room at my gym on Bring a Guest Day. My guess is that they use the Sonoma Valley grandeur in the absence of Ben’s grandeur. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.

As most of you know, I actually liked Ben last season and I respected him for getting pissed at the five head when she dumped him. He—say it with me—showed some sack. However, it is incumbent upon me to bust his grapes this season. First, let’s concentrate on his 26 options for the maybe soon-to-be possible fiancĂ© and perhaps eventually at some indefinite time in the future Mrs. Flajnik.

Oh, and Ali and Roberto broke up. Shocking. Ali was nice enough to assume we cared and—in an effort to protect the “privacy” she and Roberto need at “this difficult time” she ran straight to the cover of People Magazine in order to tell us what happened. “We both realized we were unhappy more than we were happy," she said. "And we both deserved more." Ok.

Nice job, Ali’s Publicist. Now let’s translate that back to how it was originally communicated to the aforementioned publicist. “Roberto realized that he was unhappy with my incessant nagging and demanding more than he was happy with my incessant nagging and demanding. Roberto deserved more; and frankly, should have no trouble getting it.” Now, let’s get to the women.

“These women will compete for Ben but only one will win his heart,” decries the ABC website. I assume that due to the limited space on the web page, they deleted the full sentence.

For the record, it read, “These women will compete for Ben, unlimited and undeserved publicity, free alcohol, a 28 day trip around the world, a modest per diem, and Ben but only one will win his heart before the constant media pressure reveals all of the slutty secrets she haphazardly buried in a shallow grave before signing ABC’s airtight yet unconscionable release in hopes of becoming famous.”

1. Amber B., 23 --- I know, it’s shocking that there’s more than one “Amber” in the mix, right? Regardless, the Canadian and alphabetical-order-blessed Amber B. tells us that Eat Pray Love is her favorite book. That means she bought the book at the Barnes and Noble for that tiny Canadian dollar amount in the corner above the real price and put it on her coffee table next to her potpourri and on top of her Paula Deen cookbooks after hearing about it on Oprah or from one of her girlfriends at the wine bar who bought the book after hearing about it on Oprah. She probably thinks Julia Roberts wrote it.

That movie is not about soul searching and finding oneself, by the way. It’s about a selfish woman with enough money to take a year off and tramp around the world indulging herself until she’s ready to come home. There’s nothing romantic about it. Amber B. will soon be OOT of the running.

2. Amber T., 28 --- I know, it’s shocking that there’s more than one “Amber” in the mix, right? This one looks like a man. “The best way to a man's heart is through his stomach,” she says in her carefully crafted profile. Utter lack of originality aside, she’s wrong. You’re close, Amber T. The real way to a man’s heart is a little lower than his stomach. I’m certain you’ll figure that out. Provide she’s not “The Crazy One” this season, she’s likely to make the cut. At least she didn’t say “the best way to a man’s heart is through his ribcage with a sharp kitchen knife.”

3. Anna, 25.--- She’s 25, but she’s Canadian. With the exchange rate, she’s actually 14. She also looks like a man. It doesn’t help the case for androgyny when she tells us that she “Loves dressing up.” Let’s hope that the original sentence didn’t end with “as a woman.” If Ben takes her on a beach date, he’s bound to discover the truth.

4. Blakely, 34 --- She’s definitely the hottest head shot picture taker. She’s a VIP Cocktail Waitress with 4 tattoos. You guessed it; she’s my favorite. Her job description screams fancy club or nudie bar. Either way, she probably knows 50 Cent, P. Diddy, and all of the Oakland Raiders.

5. Brittney, 26 --- She’s in medical sales and she’s from Colorado. Notwithstanding the fact that her roots are darker than Blakely’s past, she’s likely got her sh*t together. We’ll see how she does.

6. Casey S., 26 --- Doe-eyed, blond with Shirley Temple curls and the girl next door look. She appears as pure as the driven snow—and about as smart as it too. It’s always the sweet and quiet ones you have to worry about.

7. Courtney, 28 --- My prediction is that provided she had a scintilla of personality and a modicum of class, she’ll make it to the Fantasy Suite. She’s simply too hot not to. Sorry, but that’s the way it works. She’s a model from Arizona. You know who else is a model from Arizona? Brooke Burke. Ahh, Brooke Burke (insert DP dream sequence here). At any rate, Courtney says, “I'm a hopeless romantic.  Love is my religion. I'm in love with love. All I want is to find the right guy & love him forever.” Ampersand aside, that’s a ridiculous answer.

8. Dianna, 30 --- She’s a non-profit director who loves ‘N Sync. That’s hot. She also admires Oprah more than any other person. That’s not so hot. She’ll do well.

9. Elyse, 24 --- Personal Trainer. Another hermaphrodite. What in the hell is going on with the selection committee this year? Granted, a head shot can be misleading, but if you look close enough you can see chin stubble and an Adam’s Apple on this broad. She “loves making people happy.” You know what that means? I have four letters for you. S. L. U. T.

10. Emily, 27. She’s another front runner according to my brilliant picking skills. She’s an Emily from North Carolina—No, not THAT Emily, but an attractive girl regardless. She’s working on her PhD. too, proving that even smart girls can make dumb decisions. You can hear her voice in her profile answers and she appears to have a good sense of humor. I like her. If this trend continues into next season, I’m going to suggest that every pregnant woman who knows she’s having a girl move to North Carolina and name the kid Emily. Your kid is guaranteed to turn out hot.

11. Erika, 23 --- Law student with a lip tattoo. BOOOOORRRRIINNNG.

12. Holly, 34 --- Her age column should read “At least 34.” Look, if you’re going to bleach your hair blond and lie about your age, at least pick an age that works for you. If she’s really 34, she needs to stop tanning and smoking. She’s aging faster than Lindsey Lohan. It’s difficult to tell, but she also appears to have Vienna-ism of the eyes. Oh, and she also looks like a man. What gives?

13. Jaclyn, 27. Poor Jaclyn is blond and unattractive. Her fantasy date is “being whisked away to an undisclosed spot.” Where I’m from they have a word for that. That word is “kidnapping.” Enjoy your free drinks and your tour of the mansion. Make sure you put the free soap in your purse because you won’t be staying overnight.

14. Jamie, 25 – She’s an RN. At first glance she’s cute and perhaps has a naughty side (it’s in the eyes). She looks for “loyal, respectable, funny, approachable, charismatic, honest, hard-working, intelligent, kind, polite” men with great "father" qualities. Hey Ben, run. The career choice is nothing more than the manifestation of her disproportionately overwhelming desire to care and nurture others caused by the neglect of an emotionally unavailable father. She’s looking for everything he wasn’t. Get out while the getting is good.

15. Jenna, 27 --- I like her too. She’s a Blogger which explains why she has such a good profile. She’s witty and attractive. Ben should be aware that everything from how loud he snores to the size of his wiener will be posted online the second she learns it. Provided the size of his wiener is not something he’s ashamed of, this one may work out. She’s also a DP front runner.

16. Jennifer, 28 --- She’s a red headed accountant from Oklahoma (or as we call it in Texas, ‘Mobile-homa’) with a fake smile broader than the Three Gorges Dam in China. She tells us that her favorite book is The Notebook. HOWEVER, “I don't read love stories because they often seem unrealistic - this one though does it for me.”

First of all, nothing Nicolas Sparks writes is realistic. That’s why women love to read it. Second of all, if you don’t read love stories then how did you stumble upon The Notebook? As the only red head, she’ll stand out but she’ll have to do more than wax poetically about Noah Calhoun is she’s going to stick around.

17. Kacie, 24 – Naughty looking administrative assistant. She’ll go far.  These kinds always do, if you know what I mean.

18. Lindzi C., 27 --- I’d like to thank her parents for the glaring spelling error in her name. “Lindzi” with a “Z”? That’s ridiculouz. She tells us that she’s “allergic to sun.” I’m not certain what that means. The irony is that she lives---where else-- in Florida, the Sunshine State. Someone needs to tell her that she’s also on a show where the winner has to move to sunny California. She’s hot in a sort of younger Heidi Klum without the creepy looking husband and 7 kids kind of way. She’ll stick around. She’s a DP front runner.

19. Lindsie J., 29 --- Prognathism (Google it). She lists her occupation as “Internet Entrepreneur.” Much like “VIP Cocktail Waitress,” this job description implies something untoward. I’m certain that all of the members of her bedroom-based chat room are excited to see her with clothes on; however, they’ll have to get used to being unable to type “show me your cooch” into their sticky keyboards while simultaneously watching it happen.

20. Monica, 33 --- She loves lip gloss and San Antonio, Texas. Whatever.

21. Nicki, 26 --- She’s a cute dental hygienist from Hurst, Texas, which is a town just outside of Dallas that people from Dallas refuse to acknowledge as a suburb of Dallas. To be fair, Hurst doesn’t have valet parking and you’re not required to wear a sport coat everywhere you go. That alone disqualifies it as a suburb of Dallas. Nicki has the “ability to make people feel comfortable.” Let’s hope she’s referring to her Fantasy Suite skills. My hope is that my fellow Texan will do well.

22. Rachel, 27 --- She’s the one who looks like Olivia Newton John. That would have worked for me in a big way circa 1978. It’s too bad that I’m over it now. Ben will likely feel the same way.

23. Samantha, 26 -- She has 3 tattoos in “various locations.” First of all, no sh*t? What’s the alternative, “a single location”? Spare us the vague description next time and just say “I have a tattoo near my cooter.”

24. Shawn, 28 --- She has 5 tattoos also in “various locations.” Now we’re talking. Set aside the fact that one of those “locations” is her lower back, and I dig it. Conservative, grape-squishing Ben, on the other hand, will likely draw the line a one tattoo. She looks slutty in her picture too. Oh, and if she’s 28 then I’m 16.

25. Sheryl, “age is just a number”. Why are they wasting my time? She’s at least 60 and I’ll give her an “attractive,” but come on. Unless Ben is an anililagnious weirdo, this is a pathetic stunt that, frankly, will backfire. If I was the Bachelor, I’d call her bluff and get her to the Fantasy Suite, but I doubt Ben has the balls to do that. Who knows, he might learn a thing or two---or sixty.

Enjoy you’re 15 minutes, your soda water at the cocktail party, and the hug you get from Ben on your way out the door. I’m certain the women at the bingo hall will love hearing the story.

26. Shira, she responded “??” to the age question. That answer screams body-morphic and aging issues. Ben would do well to run away from her and her trick mirror.

Well, there it is, a rundown of this season’s upcoming Parade of Poon based solely on their head shots and profiles. I can’t wait to figure out who’s going to go crazy first. Enjoy your weekend and look forward to next week’s post. I plan to continue my “Night Before Christmas” tradition of bastardizing a perfectly good Christmas story into a bachelor parody. If you’re interested in seeing last year’s click on the December 2010 drop down and read my “’Twas a Week Before the Bachelor” post from last year. In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be sharpening my pencil. DP

Wednesday, December 7, 2011


Hello All.  I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving and a couple weeks after Thanksgiving as well.  I'm back from my pseudo exile and ready to post again.  I plan to get a brand spanking new post up here no later than tomorrow morning.  Thanks for the emails and messages.  As always, thanks for hanging in there.  You'll hear from me soon!