Hello, Readers. Welcome back to this week’s installment of the Big Recap. As usual, I’ve been traveling for work this week and I can’t say that my first thought upon being jarred awake by the touch down of jet wheels on an Austin runway was rushing home to watch Desiree Poontang around a Peninsula in search of a temporary, fake fiancé. However, for your sake, I swallowed my pride (and a few Lone Stars) when I got home. Let’s get to it.
Good Lord. There hasn’t been so much conflict on the Iberian Peninsula since the Second Punic Wars. I’m actually proud of myself for remembering that there was more than one Punic war even though I can’t remember what “punic” means. I’m also grateful that I was able to use an obscure second century B.C. reference that has heretofore sat dormant in my brain since my freshman World History course in college. Thanks, Professor Crow.
I have to preface this post by saying that this recap is going to be more commentary than recap simply because (like many of you, I suppose) I had a visceral reaction to the whining and bitching going on that prevented me from not hitting the Fast Forward button on my DVR.
Is this the status of all twenty-something ‘men’ these days? If so, I feel really sorry for the twenty-something women in search of a protector, nurturer, and provider. As traditional as that might sound, let’s face it; women deserve better than this. I haven’t seen a bigger bunch of feminized, petty, pastel wearing, eyebrow-plucking, pomade-using, Axe Body Spray worshiping, chest-shaving, fake tanning, malcontents since I accidentally flipped to the final episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race last summer.
We all know from the ole getgo that James, the THIRD resident A-hole behind Ben and whatever-that-guy-with-the-former-Playboy-playmate-who-still-thought-she-was-his-girlfriend-and-is-at-a-loss-to-explain-his-lack-of-respect-for-her-tiny-son (notwithstanding the emotional scars the kid will endure at her live TV performance and nude photo shoot) because-he-went-on-the-Bachelorette-two-days-after-banging-her-out-of-wedlock’s-name is, melts down and drops the F word more times than Michael can whine into the camera during his solo shots.
Before all of the drama can commence, however, we have to add Barcelona to the ever-growing list of “perfect places to fall in love.” Personally, I’d put it right behind Tahiti, Bali, and the Riverside Hooters here in Austin, but what the hell do I know? With the ink drying on the list, Des wanders, broods in seasonally and geographically appropriate attire, and Harrison appears and drops a few Spanish words he learned from the Castilian call girls ABC had waiting in his suite upon arrival along with the “use your time wisely” speech. He drops the Date Card and heads back to commiserate with the aforementioned call girls.
“Drew (Pavelka), Let’s build a foundation for love. Desiree.” Puh-leez. If Drew were anymore uptight you could stick a lump of coal up his rectum and end up with a diamond for Neil Lane to mount up in a pre-selected setting. After we see Des wandering in the ubiquitous 30-foot scarf we learn that we’re headed for yet another “go exploring” date. They head to the Bubo Bar (my money says Harrison was at a Boob-O Bar the night before) and Drew drops “my dad is a booze hound” story smack dab in the front of the deli line while Des chokes down a glass of red wine and feigns interest. She might as well have had “What. A. Beating.” written across her forehead. Hell, I almost pushed Pause and wrote it across my own forehead.
They wander the alley ways and enter a “secret” door before Drew “steals her away” for a Jack the Ripper-esque make out session in a dark alley. Was it me or was that just about the creepiest thing that we’ve seen in quite a while on this show? There’s nothing like a spontaneous back alley date rape to get the seed of romance out of its husk and poking through the soil. Odd. Very odd.
|Excuse me, Des. Can I steal you away for a moment?|
They loiter in the alley some more before Drew earns a Please Don’t Murder and Eviscerate Me Rose. He immediately kills the fake enthusiasm by ratting out James for being a Mikey T. Wes Hayden said it best: “There’s nothing I hate more than a tattle tale.”
Drew = Jake.
Incidentally, the best part about that entire (mind numbing) tattle session was Des chewing through her cheeks like a rat through a below-deck cargo net before dropping “what a f*cking a*shole” to the camera. Boy, you have to love a real lady, don’t you?
Des = Eliza Doolittle.
Hoodies, boat shoes, and v-necks abound as the Group Date card arrives. I’d like it noted that Juan Pablo is the only one of the group sans hoodie, boat shoes, or a v-neck. The guy is Money. I’ll go out on a limb and say that’s he’s easily the coolest guy who has ever competed on this show. Brooks, Chris, Kasey, Michael, James, Juan Pablo draw the date and Zak W. is left to liberally apply self-tanner while simultaneously performing Kegels in order to kill time before his one-on-one date.
The guys play soccer against a bunch of women “in comfortable shoes” and lose because James sucks at sports. Des flits around in chartreuse as Michael and Kasey begin to plot against James. Like two cardiac cells in one Petri dish, Michael and Kasey begin to whine in unison.
Dinner. Kasey basically turns into Michael with better hair. Des flatters Chris and inexplicably takes him to some out of the way bedroom complete with mosquito netting and a cameraman. She tells him (rather suggestively) that she “could give him any activity and he’d be good at it.” Chris is apparently too dense to take that as an invite. We call those “buying signals” where I’m from, Chris. Ring up the purchase. Instead, he asks her if she wrote him something.
Dude, when you’re lying in bed and an attractive woman drops “I’ll bet I could give you any activity and you’d be good at it” you don’t ask “did you write me something.” She happily reads her horrible, predictable, cliché-filled stanzas. She invents some incredibly creative rhyming couplets such as “bliss” and “kiss” and “date” and “late” and “fate” followed by “unknown,” “shown,” and “home.” She's no Emily . . . Dickinson, that is.
Ode to Desiree's Poetry
by Some Guy in Austin
Forced to listen to rhymes so simple
I scratched my dimple
and pulled my ear
while chugging my beer
even though it was clear
that the end was not near.
I filled the room with a dozen curses
as Des kept reading her senseless verses
and I prayed for silence
as I was driven toward violence.
Man, was I glad when that scene was over. I immediately went to my room to capture my emotions on my sketch pad.
After yet another reset of the sketchily documented, allegedly overheard bus ride home conversation between James and the conveniently not there to defend himself Mikey T., Kasey, Michael, and Chris confront a highly agitated and even more defensive James who responds like a huge macho a*shole.
Michael and his mysterious thumb injury bears the brunt of James’ nonsense-filled rant as the entire show melts down into an episode of Real Housewives minus the plastic lips and “charity” event where the argument is usually held.
Allow me to interject my serious two cents here:
Anger is our primary protective emotion. It’s easy, shocking, and immediate. In guys like James it’s basically the first option just shy of the blatant manipulative behavior that we saw (and Des bought…twice) when he knew he couldn’t berate everyone into seeing things his way. Anger like that stems from perceived vulnerability and his perception of the magnitude of the threat in front of him. In short, he lost it because he knew he was about to be sent packing after being caught in a lie. Self-doubt and insecurity crept to the front of his Neanderthal brain. I’d be willing to bet that any one of this idiot’s exes has seen that scenario play itself out dozens of times before.
I’m no psychologist (or psychiatrist) but when any person allows anger to act against his long-term best interest in the name of saving face and avoiding a problem he’s obviously created then the issue likely needs to be addressed. Self-preservation is an instinct in all of us; however, taking it as far as James did indicates the guy has a real issue with anger. Next Bachelor, my ass.
Kasey invents the hyphenated word “counter-accusate” and bridges the gap between being like Tattletale Drew and Whining Michael by again ratting James out to Des. Good Lord. No wonder she’s not interested.
Des clears the room in the name of clearing house. “Good for her,” I thought. It would be abundantly clear that I thought too soon, however. James cries, manipulates, and eventually Des gives in. She’s no Emily . . . Maynard, that is. “Get the f*ck out.” Remember that gem?
They “I can’t guarantee” each other along with some other meaningless placating remarks. James cries at the possibility of being forced to return the key to his free hotel suite and the clothes to the ABC Wardrobe Department before having the fat guy that helped Roz pack her shit walk him and his bags out so he can hop a flight and return to his mediocre, angry life. He wins. She loses. She’s a gullible idiot. No wonder she hasn’t had any luck with men. Although I will say that it would be interesting to see him meet Des’ brother.
Zak borrows a shirt from Drew that was clearly washed repeatedly in hot water. I believe it was an Extra-Medium. He meets Des on a 45 degree angle in her orange leather and seasonally appropriate jacket. The only thing more orange than her coat was Zak’s spray tan. He looked like an Oompa Loompa or The Heat Miser (thanks commenters for catching the mistake) from that Rudolph holiday special for crying out loud.
I’ll spare you the rest of the banality. They sketch a nude hermaphrodite and suck face in a tunnel. Zak’s rallied since his idiot display on night one. As sure as the sunset is orange, I still say he’s going top 3, easy.
A point of order before we continue:
Can we PLEASE retire that annoying, overused phrase “with that said”? I’ll be the first to recognize that the phrase has both a meaning and a value in the English language. HOWEVER, it has become a standard lead-in for every putz on this show trying to sound intelligent or well-spoken. It’s like “at the end of the day” or “I mean that. I really do.” We have Womack to thank for that, I suppose, just like we have Mesnick to thank for “amazing.” With that said, that pisses me off. I mean that. I really do.
James and Drew have a mano-a-mano chat again resetting the entire alleged bus ride faux pas wherein James crossed the (GASP!) “Next Bachelor” line. I’ll give Drew credit for being frank with the guy and holding his ground. Granted, he had a camera and a film crew to back him up, but James’ anger issues were bubbling all over the place and it would have been just as easy for Drew to let the fat guy in the leather hat who helped Roz pack her sh*t do the dirty work.
James gets defensive and tries to strong arm him and then readily admits he is, in fact, the jerkoff that everyone thinks he is.
Drew Pavelka 1
Des is worse than Ashley in the insecurity category. Hell, Des doesn’t have Emily to worry about and she’s still as malleable as Play-Doh. There are few qualities less attractive to a man than rampant insecurity and indecisiveness. Des displayed both in spades. “Drop the hammer, Des,” I screamed at the TV. Frankly, if I was one of the remaining guys and I saw James walk back into the room for a second time I would have gone down and removed myself from the show.
Des retires to the Spanish Lair of Seclusion. Harrison shows up in his Transporter outfit in lieu of a Cocktail Party (things are way too serious for that). He displays his gift for overstatement by characterizing Spain as the “most emotional, dramatic, volatile week so far.” I suppose that’s not that big of an overstatement, in hindsight. However, I wish he would have added “petty, frustrating, and incurably boring” to the list.
Upset, Des gives us a peek behind the curtain saying “I’ve always loved the wrong people.” Cue the Esteban Guitar and bring on the roses.
1. James (lesson in textbook denial and projection)
2. Kasey (should have been Michael but that will happen next week)
3. Juan Pablo (Noooooooo! Las chicas se quieren. He’ll find a step mom)
Well, there it is. With the Amazing Count at an incredible 95 and the Journey Count at a respectable 26 we approach Episode 7. The top five are headed somewhere else next week and, based on the previews, there is a lot of crying between now and the big finale. Have a great week. Follow me on Twitter or comment below with your thoughts. In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be angrily sketching naked hermaphrodites and trying to think of a word to rhyme with hermaphrodite. DP