Hello, Readers. You’re in luck. Due to some recent events in Some Guy’s life, I happen to be especially edgy today. While that’s unfortunate for me, it invariably translates into a decent post since I tend to project my frustrations onto the screen. Let’s not waste another moment. I could be happy any second.
First, the comment of the week goes to Anna. She weighed in on this blog season’s most controversial theory ever: The White Jeans Theory :
“In California, everyone in 4H and FFA wears white jeans to show in the fairs. It is the rules . . . I never knew (about the Theory) and had to have my husband explain it to me. So now I was wearing white jeans . . . and telling everyone that that wasn't the only thing I was ok with. . . Thanks for tainting all my childhood memories. . .”
I hate to kick a woman while she’s down so I’ll stay away from the word “Taint”. Look, don’t shoot the messenger. I didn’t invent it. I just reported (outed?) it. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I ruined white jeans for everyone around such a seasonally appropriate time. I didn't mean to sneak up on you from behind.
Second of all, Kaitlyn sucks. Look, she was all cute and quirky and pierced and tattooed and wrongfully dumped on Chris’ season and she entered this season as the foil to Britt’s vapid personality and chameleon-like persona. She was like Obama getting elected with the House and the Senate in his favor and a country looking for an answer to its problems. In short, she had the ball on the half-yard line. She fumbled.
Is there anyone of us who is going to feel sorry for her when after literally lying to everyone’s face she goes and bangs a dude who “spontaneously” strolled in to her Group Date in a Mr. Rogers cardigan sweater and some Bob Cousey basketball shoes? I won’t even mention the mustard-colored skinny jeans. She’s awful. Between her and Bieber, I’m beginning to think Canada hates us. I suppose Gosling and fake-Gosling offset that a tad, but still.
|Bathing suit season is quickly approaching. You're welcome.|
We cut in to this week’s show at the exact same place we annoyingly left off last week. Clint does his best Brian Bozworth impression as he and J.J.’s fake homoerotic relationship begins to melt down.
Kaitlyn almost falls for Clint’s manipulative B.S. but the Producers prevent that from happening. She walks him into to the bewildered—and over it—group of remaining guys so he can say goodbye to J.J.
|I'm a manipulative idiot.|
She’s an idiot and she’s clearly as easy as basic addition. She's like an on ramp. It’s no wonder she’s going to get slammed like a screen door on the Mess Hall at chow time in a week or two. Based on what we’ve seen to date, I am confident that she would have fallen for Clint’s act had the cameras not been rolling. He’s gone because the show was sick of him and not the other way around.
J.J.’s reaction to Clint’s macho exit was both laughable and pathetic. He was like some modern day Basil Hallward pining over his picture of Dorian Gray. So much for his alpha-male routine.
He’s the type of guy that refers to his sports car as a pus*y wagon; not because he pulls a ton of tail in it but because that’s where he goes to cry. He actually pulled a Pavelka on the balcony and sobbed like a sixteen year old girl when Clint broke up with him. Meh . . . maybe they can work it out over Facetime when things cool down.
Spinning from all of the “unexpected” drama, Kaitlyn stares, paralyzed, into her chardonnay. Oh, the humanity. Kaitlyn does what any girl as confused as she would do: she calls for Harrison.
Kaitlyn: Can I talk to you for a minute? I can’t make up my mind.
OHCH: WTF? You called me away from Bunko for this? It’s round six and there’s like five grand on the table. I’m eating Neil Lane’s lunch. Fleiss is into me for three large and the strippers are getting impatient. Can’t this wait?
Kaitlyn: I don’t want a rose ceremony. I’m not sure of the rules here. I’m also not sure about what happens if, say, a past contestant were to magically and unexpectedly show up at a group rap contest date featuring Doug E. Fresh in mustard skinny jeans with a Mary Poppins umbrella and vow to defile me midseason. I’m so confused.
OHCH: Poof. No rose ceremony. You’re welcome. I’m out.
In a foreboding moment fit for a Shakespearean tragedy (or comedy perhaps), Ian tells us that Kaitlyn should be on the lookout for "snakes in the grass." In retrospect, perhaps he should have told Kaitlyn to be on the lookout for Nick’s Trouser Snake.
Guess what? We’re headed to New York.
Date Card: Fake Gosling, Jonathan, Ben Z., Corey, Ryan, Tanner, J.J., Let’s keep our love Fresh.”
Kaitlyn takes a boat ride into the harbor. “This season is about to hit an iceberg,” I thought.
Kaitlyn meets the dudes at some theater after giving us a (poor) lesson in New York hip-hop history. She lets the obviously terrified group know that they’re about to engage in an 8-Mile style rap battle. And to assist them in preparing their fiendishly clever rhyming insults? Doug E. Fresh!
. . . crickets . . .
You know, Doug E. Fresh, hip-hop icon and the biggest hip-hop artist of . . . 1981, about 7-10 years before all of you white guys (that includes you, Jonathan) were born? Doug. E. Fresh?
Ohhhhh, THAT Doug E. Fresh. Of course, he’s a legend.
Doug E. Fresh? Granted Tupac wasn’t available but they couldn’t get someone a tad more current? What about Pitbull? That guy is in everything. He's got his own cologne for God's sake. There’s the added bonus that he needs no introduction because he tells me who he is, where he’s from, and about six of his nicknames in English and in Spanish before he performs . . . before every song.
Hell, I’m pretty sure Pitbull wrote the prologue for Harrison’s book, The Perfect Letter. Can you imagine?
(INSERT ANNOYING CUBAN MUSIC WITH DANCE BEAT INTRO WITH ALL OF THOSE TRUMPETS IN IT AND SH*T--16 MEASURES)
Mr. 305, Mr. Worlwide, Perfect Letter! La Carta Perfecta!
Pitbull--here for the Prologue!
Tick to the tock, on my way to the top,
Pit got it locked, Perfect Letter, O’CH, won’t stop,
Hemmingway he's not, but damn he's hot,
Rose Ceremonies, Hosting gigs, Harrison deserves props,
The driveway is dry and the mansion is dark
But watch him write a book like Nicholas Sparks
(INSERT SPANISH GIBBERISH AND A BUNCH OF STUFF ABOUT MIAMI AND LAS CHICAS BONITAS IN BIKINIS ON THE BEACH)
Yes, folks. It really IS that simple. Sigh . . .
After the stupid rap date, Kaitlyn asks permission to go say hello to Ashley I., the resident pain in the ass and want-to-be Princess Party invitee from last season. Apparently, there are rules.
But wait, when she gets there Nick (GASP), the guy who banged Andi like a screen door on the Mess Hall at chow time and then told America about it, took time off work, flew in from Chicago, ascertained the exact time and location of a closed television shoot in New York City, and coincidentally happened to register at the same hotel, is there to meet her. You know, since they “exchanged a couple of texts” in the past.
A couple of texts? Right. A picture of his junk and a picture of her baby maker. Did anyone believe that she just met him based on the fact that she was giggling like a snowboarder after 2 pot brownies? Her ovaries were firing like British cannons in the Baltimore Harbor during the War of 1812. Barely knew him, my ass.
This is where she lost me.
Not only does she immediately preoccupy herself with the thought of a pair of mustard jeans and a cardigan thrown sloppily across her hotel room floor, she does it at the expense of ALL of the other guys. She tells us that she feels nauseous when the guys show up on the boat. Nauseous? I began to wonder if Nick hadn’t already impregnated her. Sure, she’d have 9 months to finish the season, but with the Canadian exchange rate, that kid would pop out in 6.
Ahh, there’s nothing quite like a good deflated currency exchange joke to keep the ball rolling, eh?
I won’t belabor the point. It’s entirely unnecessary. The quote of the night came when Kaitlyn showed up hemming and hawing about some “unexpected” drama. "Every week there's something,” one of the men keenly opined. Something indeed.
Kaitlyn skirts her emotional investment leaving the guys with “Something came up.” Something came up, alright: Nick’s phallus. She further adds insult to injury with—and I’m paraphrasing here---“oh and by the way, he's showing up.” Fake-Gosling is not happy.
She tells the group that she doesn’t know what she’s going to do with Nick. “I'm going to sleep on him...I mean IT. I'm going to sleep on IT.” Fake-Gosling doesn't buy it. Ali never would have cheated on Noah in The Noteboo . . . oh, wait.
As if that weren’t enough, she drops, “I think I’ll just meet you guys at the date,” before heading directly across the street from the hotel and making out with Nick. What a shameless strumpet.
Oblivious to all of the poontanging around Kaitlyn is doing, an excited Jared gets date card. “It’s probably in Nick’s handwriting,” I thought.
She talks to Nick on the cell phone and sets a surreptitious “appointment” because talking about hooking up at the hotel is WAY too important to discuss in their separate rooms in the same hotel on the phone.
She works in her hair appointment so that the crazy chick from last season can make an appearance. And by the way, when the crazy chick from last season makes a lot of sense, it’s time to reevaluate your plan, Kaitlyn. Asking that girl for dating advice is like asking a hurricane for construction tips.
Fake-Gosling still isn’t happy about Nick as the guys bro it out in the man-suite and discuss their options. Jared sharpens his jaw and gets ready for his Princess Date. Take that, Ashley I.
Tux date at the Met with Jared. She didn't look good. He did. She wasted the entire date thinking about stupid Nick. Look, we’ve all been there with that person we dated that got in our head. That still doesn’t make it any fairer to Jared or the other dudes, especially because she’s intentionally and unapologetically doing it. To her credit, Jared did manage to wrestle her attention away from Nick’s pheromones for a helicopter ride around NYC.
Incidentally, I give Nick’s pheromones the benefit of the doubt. There’s always the possibility that she’s attracted to the moth balls that prevented that sweater from certain destruction.
Group Date 2: Ian, Chris , Joe, Joshua, and Ben H., “Let's play.”
If there’s one thing I don’t get it’s Broadway musicals. I’ve been to several. Cats, Miss Saigon, Phantom of the Opera, and Grease. They all suck. I just don’t get it. Regardless, a lot of people do. Enough, apparently, that Kaitlyn wants to take the dudes to perform a song from Aladdin. Frankly, I’d rather sumo wrestle in front of a crowd of strangers.
As Nick wanders around NYC in various skinny jeans and sweaters dragging his luggage, the guys all take a shot at impressing the 5’2” Mexican guy who plays Aladdin and the woman who plays Ariel the Mermaid in the play or whatever. I’m not sure who played the singing lobster or that clownfish looking to find his way home. Details.
What I am sure of is that Chris the Dentist is going to be the next Caitlyn Jenner. That guy enjoyed the costume and the entire experience a little too much. He did earn the rose, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the Bachelorette in a few years. Maybe Nick will show up and sleep with him.
Nick wanders some more. Moses wandered less than this guy, for crying out loud. The streets of Manhattan are sequentially numbered and the named streets are alphabetically arranged. There's really no reason to wander save a fortuitous escape from the local mental hospital.
|I say to you, which way is the Knickerbocker Hotel?|
Chris and Kaitlyn take detour to see the legendary New Year’s Eve ball and Chris refers to it as “the center of the entire universe.” Apparently, they didn’t go over Copernicus or Galileo in dental school.
Again, we end the big show without any rose ceremony. Rather, Nick finally finds his compass and, ergo, his hotel. We’ll see how chilly his reception is when he enters the Guy Suite next week.
Well, there it is. With the wheels coming off the train we head into week 5. My guess is that they’ll set Nick up as the villain for a couple of weeks before the Big Bang happens. By the way, if she does, in fact, sleep with Nick and admit it to everyone, my prediction is that she gets reverse Womacked at the end of the season. Nick will say “no” because he’s an opportunistic putz who got what he wanted and whoever else is left standing at the final Rose Ceremony (if we make it that far) would be a palpable idiot if he proposed. We shall see, shan’t we?
Have a great week. In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be wandering around Austin in my cardigan sweater with my luggage in tow. DP