Bachelorette Kaitlyn Episode 8: I-Rish I Didn't Sleep with Nick

Hello, Readers. Some Guy has no time for nonsense today—well, other than my own nonsense—so let’s just jump right in, shall we?

Oh boy.  This season is going downhill faster than an artificially loaded soapbox derby car, isn’t it?  Has anyone other than the sound guy responsible for Kaitlyn’s lapel mic had any fun this season? Apparently, our “low maintenance” bachelorette requires more maintenance than Caitlyn Jenner’s bikini line. 

The “not again” looks pasted all over the guys’ faces when Katilyn walked into the cocktail party to announce (yet another) “rough week” were priceless.  I couldn’t tell if the guys were upset because “the most fun Bachelorette ever” is a complete buzz kill or because all of their suits appeared to have been washed in very hot water.  When did suits that don’t fit become a thing?  Fake Gosling’s getup was more snug than the chocolate river pipe around Augustus Gloop in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. 

Fake Gosling takes the cupcake (see what I did there?) for the most neurotic contestant in recent history.  We have to assume we’re not getting the full story about Kaitlyn’s mysterious “off camera” visit during Peter Brady’s marathon shower wherein Kaitlyn, like some kind of slutty, less wise version of Morpheus, apparently told Fake Gosling that he was The One. 

. . . well not really. . .

Kaitlyn:  What if I told you that you are The One?

Fake Gosling:  What about the poontanging you did with Nick?

Kaitlyn:  There is no poon.

Fake Gosling:  Are you in love with me?

Kaitlyn:  Sigh . . . . I’m falling in love with you.

SGIA:  So that’s a no. 

Kaitlyn:  What happened that made you feel so insecure? 

SGIA:  Oh, I don’t know, you slept with a guy that you invited to the show after 4 weeks of knowing Fake Gosling the day after you told him that he was The One and then lied to everyone about it.  He can sense it. 

Fake Gosling:  I don’t know if I can do this. 

Kaitlyn:  You mean pull off that small suit?  You’re sweating like a fat kid in the park. 

Fake Gosling:  Is it because I look more like Alf than I do Real Gosling? 

Kaitlyn:  I’m horny.

By the way, I wish I could take credit for the Alf joke.  I can’t.  A friend flippantly mentioned that in a group email and I ran with it.  Back to our story.    

Katilyn selfishly attempts to shovel the pile of guilt sitting on her shoulders over on to Fake Gosling’s plate, it is abundantly clear that Kaitlyn is not concerned about his feelings.  Rather, she’s worried about getting caught.

“So full of artless jealousy is guilt,

It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.”

― William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Bill Shakespeare knew what he was talking about, didn’t he? 

Kaitlyn drops the first of many priceless euphemisms for the one night stand with Nick by telling us that she’s concerned that Shawn knows she’s been “intimate” with Nick.  

Incidentally, my favorite euphemism for the Nick banging is “off camera time” followed closely by “leveling the playing field.”  We have none other than Our Host Chris Harrison to thank for both of those.  He’s right, by the way.  No one wants intimate, off-camera time on an uneven playing field. 

Level Your Playing Field

“I feel awful,” she whines in her whining spot on her balcony.  She’s been there so often this season she’s probably worn out the masking tape “X” marking its location.    

“She felt just fine to Nick a few hours ago,” I said laughing into my Lone Star.  Even Mrs. SGIA—whose Some Guy humor armor is incredibly thick—found that joke amusing.    

Nick talks to Tanner in his skinny jeans and his hipster boots while simultaneously checking Kayak.com for a cheap flight home after getting what he came for.  Fake Gosling begins a 12-hour brood session on various benches around the property.

He should have dusted her for Nick’s prints before getting all broody and introspective.  Either that or just hit her with a spray or two of Luminol.  Problem solved.    

Kaitlyn's Chest

In case we all forgot (and we all did forget) about last week’s cliffhanger, we’re reminded about the impending 2 on 1 date featuring J.J. and Joe Dirt.  J.J. goes with plaid and Joe Dirt layers it up with a vest and a few shirts before they hit a shipyard and narrowly avoid lockjaw when they jump on a rusty tugboat for a trip around the ocean.  That was a long way from a catamaran in the Caribbean, wasn’t it?   

A la The Highlander, the threesome enjoys a picnic on a barrel on top of an ice cold hill.  J.J. looked clueless and Joe Dirt looked bored and tired.  Has there ever been a more genuine guy on this show than Joe Dirt?  No pretense, no drama, just pure Kentucky Joe.  I was rooting for him to be eliminated.  His Joe-ness is inversely related to J.J.'s rampant uber-douchebaggery. 

Clearly guided by the producers and with nothing better to do on top of a grassy hill overlooking the ocean in Ireland, Joe pretends like he’s falling in love with Kaitlyn.  My guess is that he knows he’s going home eventually and he’s going along for the ride until it ends.

J.J., on the other hand, takes his purple pants and matching loafers on a picnic with Kaitlyn and drops—out of nowhere, mind you—I cheated on my wife three years ago.  Apparently, he’s put that  minor discretion behind him now and he’s ready to make Kaitlyn a stepmom. 

Wow.  Open mouth, insert purple suede loafer.  Subtlety is an art, J.J.  Stupidity is not.  

Kaitlyn feigned shock.  We all know she was more terrified about the prospect of being a step-mom to some dirty-fingered little brat than she was bout marrying J.J. and risking infidelity.  Frankly, I was shocked she didn’t respond, “oh yea?  I’ll see your one affair three years ago and raise you eight at one time one day ago.”  Details.   

Alright, I’ll give him some credit for the honesty.  However, whacking someone in the face with that sort of news is not the way to go, J.J.  Everyone has something he’s not proud of, but dude, ix-nay on the eating-chay right out of the box.  Even a proctologist has the courtesy to engage in a little small talk before the blue glove and KY Jelly come out of the drawer.  He got sent acking-pay.  Joe Dirt had to wait for his Date Rose, however.     

Oh, and by the way.  Where in the hell is the fat guy in the leather hat who helped Roz pack her s*it after she cheated on Jake at his own cocktail party?  Remember when he used to show up, enter the room silently, and remove the bag of the loser?  That was awesome.  Note to Fleiss:  Bring that back.  

Fake Gosling can’t stand it.  He continues to brood in front of the Abbey or whatever that place was.  He’s melting down like a block of Velveeta cheese on Superbowl Sunday.  Dude, if you want a naked female to jump up and down and shake her rear end every time she sees you, get a Labrador.  Otherwise, lighten the hell up. 

Kaitlyn broods on her pre-regret sex/make out/confessional/late night snack eating/interview couch.  The producer tells her that Fake Gosling is on his way up and she waits in dread for his arrival.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —

Only this, and nothing more."   

--Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven.

She paces amongst her filthy room as the guilt builds.  Shawn spills his emotions but fails to mention her greatest fear: the Nick Situation.  You could literally see the relief on her face when she began to realize that he didn’t know about Nick.  Was I the only one frustrated with the 100^th reference to the the “talk off camera” stuff we never heard about?  

Incredibly, once she realizes she has the upper hand she goes with “I’ve been reassuring you and you still are insecure.”  Translation:  Your fault, not mine.  Uncool.  I think we’d all agree.  I believe psychologists refer to that as “Deflection,” which is apparently Kaitlyn’s defense mechanism of choice.   I love the self-defeating behavior cycle.  We’ll see how that turns out for her next week.    

Cocktail Party.

She’s had a tough week.  Boooooo.    

Shawn wears shark skin suit and roller derby socks and continues to brood . . . and sweat . . . and brood . . . and sweat.  I couldn't determine if he was brooding because he was sweating or sweating because he was brooding.    

Kaitlyn gets some one-on-one time with Peter Brady who tells an odd “off camera” story about Fake Gosling, a trip downstairs, and a prolonged shower.  Frankly, I was confused.  He calls her out alleging that he knows that “something’s happened” and she stresses. 

“No doubt I [Kaitlyn] now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet [Peter Brady] heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased.”

–-Edgar Allan Poe, The Tell Tale Heart.

Hearing her own heart beat through her eardrums, Kaitlyn goes directly to the alleged source of her angst:  Nick.  (See “Deflection” above).  She freaks out a bit on Nick.  He’s flabbergasted she can’t keep her mouth shut.  He cries after telling her she’s “worth it” and she buys it.  Nice move.  The entire conversation (predictably) devolves into another pre-bang make out session.  So surface level.  Did anyone miss Ian at this point?  

Harrison shows up in a terrible tie.  Rose Ceremony.

Joe Dirt

Ben H.

Nick

Jared

Chris

Fake Gosling (post heart attack)

Gone.

Ben Z. 

Tanner

J.J.

Ben Z. is upset.  He was blindsided.  He’ll do fine back in San Jose.  Please don’t be the next Bachelor.  Just troll around San Jose with a somber look all over your face.  You’ll be married in no time.    

What. A. Beating. 

Group Date.   

They pack up and head out on a giant bus with leprechauns on the side of it.  That was odd.  They are heading to Kilarney.  But wait.  Kaitlyn pulls up and Jared gets to ride to the Blarney Stone with Kaitlyn.  Boring. 

Kaitlyn drops, “Nothing can go wrong.”  Boom.  That phrase is like the Bat Signal for Harrison.  He bounces up the stairs with a smile on his face and a twist up his sleeve. 

Kaitlyn speaks vaguely about a “mistake.”  “What’s your mistake?” he asks.  Harrison pretends like he doesn’t have any idea she’s slept with Nick even though we all know he’s seen the raw footage. “Off Camera Time,” is introduced as a euphemism for the gratuitous fornication she engaged in with Nick. 

Harrison:  Here’s what we’re going to do.  You’re clearly not capable of either keeping your legs together or of telling the truth about it.  In light of that we’re going to drop the dead weight, narrow it to 3 dudes, let you “even the playing field” in the Fantasy Suites with some "off camera time" with each dude, and after you decide who is horrible in bed, you’ll narrow it to 2 and THEN we’ll do hometowns.  You’re welcome.  I’ll tell the guys.  You stay here and finish your Kegels.  Out.   

Chris gets the “here boy, we’re going to the vet for a ‘check up’” first date.  The only difference between him and an aging pet is that he had no idea he was ABOOT to be put down.     

Helicopter date.  He feels lucky to get the date.  I’m sure Fredo felt lucky to get on the rowboat in the Godfather II. 

Cliffs of Moher.  That was pretty.  In fact, I am at a loss as to why Kaitlyn did not refer to it as the “perfect place to dump someone.”  Fair is fair, right?  Presumably, if there is a perfect place to fall in love, there is a perfect place to dump someone.  Again, guilt-ridden, Kaitlyn breaks down a bit before dropping the hammer without the courtesy of any Novocain.  She gets on “her” helicopter and Chris cries like a little girl on the side of that lonely cliff.  Well, it was lonely until a producer stepped in to ensure he wasn’t going to throw himself off of it.    

And then the episode threw itself off the cliff.  This episode truly was a cliff hanger.  Next week, we’ll see Kaitlyn exhibit some forced “honesty” and then we'll revel in the fallout.  I pray that at least one of the remaining bozos has the stones to go home on his own. 

Have a wonderful week.  In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be pacing in my royal blue, ill-fitting suit.  DP

   

Kaitlyn Episode 7: My Irish Thighs are Smiling

Hello, Readers.  Wow.  We have a lot to discuss, don’t we?  In many ways I’m thrilled that I did not have time to write until well after the Kaitlyn’s “I Refuse to Be Slut Shamed” media tour that was in full effect on Tuesday morning.

Dear Kaitlyn,

Rule 1 in the “How Not to Be Slut Shamed Treatise” is likely “Don’t sleep with someone on a prime time national television show while 8 other guys that you’re dating are simultaneously crying into their beers about their feelings for you.” 

Rule 2?  “Leave your hot mic on the coffee table before dragging  Nick and your whiskey-clouded judgment into the bedroom. 

Rule 3?  “Keep your legs crossed long enough for the camera crew and the fat guy with the boom mic to exit your private hotel suite.”

Rule 4?  “Don’t drink whiskey while you’re in heat.”

You’re welcome.  Love, Some Guy in Austin

Double standard or not, I think we’d all agree that she’s getting a bit of well-deserved criticism.  Imagine how much fun I would have had if she’d worn the white jeans on that date. 

Back to San Antonio. 

Man, I can’t stand this cliff hanger thing.  It’s such a non-sequitur from the softly lit lead-in with sweeping views of the mansion and Harrison’s “Tonight . . . on The Bachelorette” that allows us to settle in to our favorite spot on the couch in order to watch the carnage.  

It’s like waking up drunk in a strange place with last night’s clothes stuck to your body and trying to piece the previous evening’s events together while simultaneously praying your keys are still in your pocket.  

My birds left my elbows.  

At least they have the courtesy to rehash the essential details for us.  “Oh yea.  Ian was getting ready to put her and her bathroom sense of humor in their place,” I said aloud. 

Incidentally, remind me to tell y’all the story when the off season rolls around about me scaling down the side of a three-story building hungover and in last night’s clothes in order to escape a guy twice my size when I was in college.     

Nick and his pretentious bowtie are “concerned” that Ian is going to be mean to Kaitlyn. 

Nick-tionary:  con·cerned (pronounced “kənˈsərnd”) Hopeful that whatever Ian says leaves her vulnerable enough for me to swoop in and get in her Canadian pants.  See also, opportunist, manipulator, and slimebag.  

Alright.  The Ian thing. 

I think we all had mixed feelings when watching this guy go off on Kaitlyn and her artificially tumescent and permanently puckered lips.  I won’t rehash the litany of things that Ian believed made Kaitlyn a peasant beneath his royal feet.  Let me go on the record as saying that I personally don’t give a sh*t about any Ivy League school or any learning institution with the word “academy” in it.  Ian demonstrated why. 

The arrogance, elitism, and, frankly, delusion dripping from his rapidly receding hairline were nauseating to hear.  Well, they would have been had I not been giggling like Kaitlyn after hearing a fart joke when he was itemizing his list of complaints about 6 inches from her flabbergasted face.  If you listened closely enough, it was in alphabetical order. 

My lip implants are totally deep.

Ian punctuates the entire thing by calling her a “surface level” person. In hindsight, that was pretty accurate.  After all, in a matter of hours she’d be level on the surface of her mattress with Nick on top of her. 

Most people are too polite to be honest.  Ian, on the other hand, was too honest to be polite.  The only thing deep about him at that moment was the pile of sh*t he'd gotten himself into with Kaitlyn.  He’s done.    

Fake Gosling worries a little but unfortunately not enough to beat Nick to the lobby couch with his metaphorical dustpan and broom in hand to sweep up the shards of emotional glass around Kaitlyn’s delicate psyche thereby laying (no pun intended) the groundwork for sweeping away her delicate unmentionables after priming the pump with some fermented rye later in the week.   I’ll give the guy credit.  He was efficient and focused.  Say what you want about the goal, he knew what he was doing.   

By the way, as further evidence that neither Princeton nor Deerfield Academy made a bit of difference beyond giving Ian a falsely inflated view of himself in comparison to the rest of the serfs on the estate let’s explore how Ian plans to enlighten us all. 

He’s “so deep” and “so intellectual” that his biggest desire is . . .

a.  to use his innumerable gifts to travel to the U.N. and speak about the horrors of inequality;

b.  to open a rehab facility in his home town in order to intellectually and physically rehabilitate victims of horrific accidents like the one he suffered;

c.  to become a monk like the Dali Lama in order to enlighten us all with the wisdom espoused by Princeton professors that would otherwise be unavailable to the proletariat population; or

d.  sign up for the exact same position he just obliterated Kaitlyn for choosing.

If you answered “d”, you’re not surprised.  What an idiot. He wants to be The Bachelor? Apparently, they don’t read Goethe or Marlowe in his fancy schools.  Fleiss would make a perfect Mephistopheles, tempting Ian to forgo his divine knowledge in exchange for poontanging around the mansion with 25 nubile,  semi-inebriateed, attention-hungry, surface-level hotties who can't recognize deep intellect vying for his attention.

Frankly, that sounds more fun than reading Goethe and it certainly sounds like more fun than going to Princeton.  Good luck securing that gig, Ian.  And good luck with your intellectual super powers.  You’ll marry a woman as humorless and conceited as yourself.  

Oh, and if you’re so averse to fart and poop jokes, please steer clear of William Shakespeare, Geoffrey Chaucer, James Joyce, W. H. Auden, Jon Kennedy Toole, and Phillip Roth.  I realize that list is woefully incomplete.  I went to the surface level University of Texas and not Princeton. 

     

Nick, Ben H., and Fake Gosling have roses.  Fake Gosling finally gets the courage to go talk to Kaitlyn but is repelled when he walks in on a Nick make out session.  That sucks.  Literally.  

Kaitlyn broods in the upper lounge as the ABC Editing Team begins to set up the impending bang.  “Intimacy” is an important part of a relationship she tells us.  Presumably, by “relationship” she meant “first date.”  

Kaitlyn shows up in the lobby to discuss the Ian Incident with the rest of the dudes.  Gasp!  He was honest with you?  That son of a . . . !

  

Harrison shows up on cue in purple and pink with champagne flute and butter knife in hand.  It’s elimination time.     

With the understanding that the vast majority of my readership is not from Texas I will limit my comments on the wisdom of having a rose ceremony on the front steps of The Alamo. 

First, it was not “Texas’ Last Stand.” Open a book.  Second, The Alamo is actually a tomb.  The bones of several of the fighters who died there are literally buried in the floor of the building with a plaque marking the actual spot where they were discovered.   Pick any memorial and ask yourself if a reality show rose ceremony would be appropriate in front of it.  Lastly, I was glad to hear Harrison at least acknowledge that it’s an important place for those of us from Texas.  For the record, the shot looked great.   

Rose Ceremony. 

Kaitlyn tries to sound deep and intellectual.  She doesn’t. 

Nick

Ben H.

Fake Gosling

Jared

Chris the Dentist

J.J. (how is this guy still around)

Joe Dirt (still my favorite)

Ben Z. (he’s petered out over the last 2 episodes)

Tanner (too normal for her)

Gone

Ian (he took a surface level flight home)

Justin

Joshua (Still Nick obsessed and he should have fixed his haircut)

We’re headed to Dublin, Ireland.  Shhh, don’t tell Joshua.  He’s crying in Alamo Plaza.  Fix your hair, dude.     

Kaitlyn arrives in Ireland and wanders around in her infinity scarf while her predictable voice over christens Ireland as yet another “perfect place to fall in love.” She uses the term “Bucket List,” twice.  Sigh, so surface level.  She’s searching for the luck of the Irish . . . or  more likely something that rhymes with “luck.”     

Joe Dirt takes a break from the fleece zip-up hoodie party the guys are having to tell us that there are a couple guys Kaitlyn is ready to “go a lot further with.” Again, props to the guy in the editing booth who put that little gem together.    

Kaitlyn shows up and in front of the 8 remaining dudes announces that she’s going on a one-on-one date with Nick.  So much for “caring about everyone’s feelings.”  Fake Gosling begins to crack like the Liberty Bell and Tanner starts to accept the unfortunate fact that he’s boring. 

In the meantime, Nick puts on the tightest green pants he can find and compliments them with a Member’s Only leather jacket.  He announces, “it looks like I just got lucky in Dublin.”  Well, not yet, Nick.  Patience is a virtue.   It’s also a good name for a stripper, but that’s neither here nor there. 

She and Nick walk together in the park and Kaitlyn again makes us wonder why she has birds tattooed on her arms when she’s apparently terrified of them.  Well, she’s terrified of pigeons anyway.  We’d later learn that she was perfectly fine with cocks. 

Allow me to Cock-a-doodle-Do You

In this season’s version of the mocking the local culture date, Nick and Kaitlyn fake Riverdance in the park before going trinket shopping and reliving Arie’s famous sucking face in a urine-soaked alley move.  It was at this point it became abundantly clear to us all that the Kaitlyn pump had been primed.  It was-in a word-ON.    

And what better place to have dinner for two people well on their way to violating every rule in Genesis through Revelations than an ornate Catholic Church?  Now I know why they didn’t use the Alamo for the Rose Ceremony:  that wouldn’t have been disrespectful enough.    

To be fair, Nick was respectful enough to wear his Elks Lodge plaid jacket and had the courtesy to leave his antler hat outside.  Kaitlyn dressed for easy access and an anticipated leg wrap/hug and kiss move.  Jillian used to do that too.   Must be a Canadian thing.

This is a Canadian Mating Signal

After continuously fondling one another for the better part of the evening Kaitlyn lets Nick know he’s going to get the Date Rose . . . for starters.  

Good Lord.  The way his hands were moving he might was well have been juggling.  Ignoring the fact that there is no Forego the Foreplay card tucked into an envelope with the Get Out of Judgment Free Card signed by Chris Harrison, Kaitlyn invites Nick back to her room.  I believe they call that behavior “Flagging” or “Presenting” in the animal kingdom.  Nick predictably agrees.   

The remaining dudes sit around, oblivious to Nick’s cherry picking, and do some math in the living room.  Knock knock.

Group Date Card a/k/a The Sloppy Seconds Date

Tanner, Ben Z., Fake Gosling, Jared, Ben H., and Chris.   

J.J. and Joe Dirt get 2 on 1 date. 

Again, brilliant editing of Jared and Fake Gosling’s emotion-filled chat over their concerns about Kaitlyn’s well-being while Nick simultaneously closed the deal.   How do you think that little vignette is going to play on the Men Tell All?    

Nick and Kaitlyn retire to the bedroom after starting their engines on the couch.  In the absence of anything to film, the camera crew resorts to capturing various phallic symbols around the property as the sound guy giggles his headphones off.  From the sound of things, it was apparent that Nick got a good look at Kaitlyn’s surface level.   

In case I haven’t already, let me be clear.  If Kaitlyn wants to get hammered like used sheet metal in a junkyard by a guy she barely knows—or any other guy for that matter—that’s her 29-year old prerogative.  My problem is not with the flippant coitus.  

The bigger issue is her glaring lack of consideration for the feelings of the other guys kicking it stoically around the suite matched only by her even more glaring lack of consideration for her own self-respect.  

Turning the little black button on the battery pack attached to the microphone in her underwear to the “off” position before tossing it on the floor and respectfully asking the camera crew to leave the room before throwing her hoo ha at Nick at light speed would have at least provided her deniability. 

Had she done either of those things what happened with Nick would have been impossible to prove—which leads me to my next point.

Let’s not give her too much credit for being “honest” about The Big Bang.

Speaking of Stoic men, Marcus Aurelius wrote, “of each particular thing ask: what is it in itself?  What is its nature?”  Put another way, it’s not being “honest” if you have no way of lying about it, Kaitlyn.    

Marcus Aurelius also wrote, “we all love ourselves more than other people, but care more about their opinion than our own.”  Apparently, that’s not always true.  I’ll give her credit for owning the behavior. 

Still without anything to film, the crew creatively captures the birds and bees bustling around the freshly hatched morning of regret.  Through a fog of post-whiskey over indulgence, Kaitlyn fakes like she regrets anything but her hangover on her balcony.  She thinks a lot about Nick (or something that rhymes with Nick).    

Nick walks in the garden in last night’s clothes amongst the neatly trimmed bushes while undoubtedly thinking about one other neatly trimmed bush he’d recently seen. 

Nick recounts the rated G version of his date to Joe Dirt (I like him) letting him know they stayed up really late and “talked” and Joe responds,  “the same thing happened to Shawn.”  Well, not really the SAME thing, but still. 

Nick-tionary:  talk (pronounced “tôk”) To get lucky in Ireland.  See also bang, pork, and do.  

Group Date.  Enough false regret over the intentionally planned sex encounter with Nick.  After all, Kaitlyn has a date to get ready for.  She washes the Nick off of her.

Harrison—not one to pass on a kickass free trip-shows up and lets the dudes know they are there for a traditional Irish wake.  “What are they burying, her dignity?” I asked between Lone Star sips.  

Kaitlyn takes her place lying down in a coffin so the guys can bid her farewell.  That was the second time in less than 12 hours that she spent a date lying on her back.  For her sake I hope it wasn’t also the second time in less than 12 hours that someone thought she was acting like a corpse.    

I’ll spare all of us a second look at the spontaneous toasts.  That date was really mean to Ben Z. who held it together nicely in spite of the fact that his mother recently passed away.   

Guinness Brewery for the big cocktail party. 

Little disclosed fact:  Some Guy likes Guinness more than he likes Lone Star.  You read that correctly.  It’s like drinking a Snickers bar.   

Mount St. Shawn starts to swell, well on its way to a full blown eruption.  Was is just me or did any of you also get the feeling that he either knew something that wasn’t disclosed or that the footage was taken out of chronological order?  If I’m wrong on both guesses, that volcano is going to make Mount St. Helens look like a pimple when he finds out that Nick has already taken a trip down into the San Andreas Fault. 

Wow.  Necrophilia jokes and geologically based sexual innuendos inside of 5 paragraphs.  Sometimes I amaze myself.   

SGIA Dictionary:  Innuendo (pronounced “in-you-end-oh”) An Italian suppository. 

Date Rose.  Jared gets the Date Rose in spite of Fake Gosling’s crying and Ben Z.’s heartfelt toast.    

Not satisfied with thumbing her nose at the Alamo and the Catholic Church in one episode, Kaitlyn takes Jared to see The Cranberries perform in another church.  The Cranberries?  I guess Jeffrey Osborn didn’t want to make the trip.     

And again, like a Cormac McCarthy novel, the episode ends with more questions than were answered.  We’ll have to wait and see if J.J. can outwit Joe Dirt on the two-on-one date next week.  Frankly, whoever gets sent home is the winner if you ask me. 

Brady and Britt update.  She loves the duplicity implied by wearing a wool hat with a sundress and Brady is still wearing his black Bieber jeans when he meets mom.  They may be made for each other. 

Well, there it is.  Stay tuned next week as the fallout of the Big Bang continues to unfold.  Enjoy the rest of your week.  In the meantime, if you need me I’ll be shopping for some tight green khakis and some whiskey.  DP