Morning has broken. The 12 troops remaining receive a rather loud and leathernecked awakening in the form of a drill sargeant (or someone paid to pretend to be one, more likely) barking at them to get their makeupless, slovenly posteriors down the steps and onto the grounds for a morning of P.T.
That's physical training
, but I'm sure you already knew that.
Nicole's predictably late. Never bet on Tequila Cake being early for any kind of morning workout that doesn't involve exercising her arms with a few 1-pint weights.
DO YOU WANT THIS ROSE OR NOT, barks the Starving Actor Pretending To Be A Drill Sargeant. DO YOU, DO YOU PUNK?! He leads the troops in a military cadence, at which I was hoping with the hope of a simple fool that one of the lovely ladies would have the wit (read: balls) to start a chorus of "I don't know what I've been told! Alaskan pussy is mighty cold", or some line alluding to Full Metal Jacket.
While Shut-Up Kate has the mouth to spout obscenity on national TV, she probably lacks the wit to make references to any piece of cinema not starring Matthew McConaghauey or Hillary Duff. Plus, given that Bachelorette Application Questionnaire question #121 reads: "Have You Ever Watched Any Movie By Stanley Kubrick" (and that all respondees checking the "yes" box will have their applications immediately tossed in the shredder), I wasn't expecting miracles.
Starving Actor Pretending To Be Drill Sargeant huffs at Bevin: WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?
Bevin replies, in character, TO GET A ROSE, SIR! Damn, she's taking this a bit too far, high-stepping higher than everyone else.
WHY DO YOU FEEL LIKE YOU SHOULD GET A ROSE?
BECAUSE I'M THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE, SIR.
Oh, noesers. Do any of you remember that astronaut who donned a pair of Depends
and drove cross country to confront her caddish boyfriend's lover? This is who Bevin reminds me of here. Take note that 3 seconds later, she's on the ground, emitting a banshee-like howl. Ambulance has been called, and Our Resident Psycho has beasted herself so hard on the obstacle course that she has done something nondescriptly painful to her ankle.
NOTE TO BEVIN. This is not the Olympics. This is not war. This is not even real boot camp. You're not competing for Squad Leader here. You're competing for a solitary goddamn rose, and there are 8 more where that one came from.
Secretly I hope that she did it for the painkillers.
Moments later, Dr. McBlandy arrives on the scene, and predictably mentions for the 193420895th time that He Is A Doctor (to the ambulance personnel, no less). Somehow I get the impression that he can repeat those four words over and over again and Bevin will still be enraptured by the sound of them.Bachelor Drinking Game Rule #1: Every time Andy mentions his status as a doctor, take a drink, preferably out of one of those test-tube types of things sold at bars with sticky floors, strobe lights, Def Leppard on the jukebox, and a lax carding policy.
Fast-forward to the first group date. It's at a spa, predictably enough, and the girls are happy as pigs in shit because they get to roll around in a vat of shit (OK, mud) with a half-naked robot doctor.
Non-Slutty Stephanie gets the coveted one-on-one time. Slutty Stephanie rolls her eyes. Non-Slutty Stephanie starts administering a massage to Dr. McBlandy. The Bachelor Intern edits the happy ending to suit ABC's family-friendly tastes.Bachelor Drinking Game Rule #2. Every time Slutty Stephanie mentions how *she* should get the one-on-one time over some other girl, take a drink. Make sure it's one with a suggestively sounding name, like Red-Headed Slut, Blow Job, or (even better) Pussy Juice.
Fast forward to the next group date, at a racetrack, involving (duh) driving fast cars. The producers instructed Andy to conjure his inner Lt. Pete Mitchell (if you need to ask who that is, kill self; thank you in advance), so he arrives wearing his Ray-Bans and bomber jacket. Basically, all you need to know is that Playmate Erin coos to Andy about her "love of driving", and then casually mentions, once they get in the car, that she can't drive a stick.
What did you expect, go-karts?
Danielle then gives Andy a lesson on her Favorite Topic In The Whole World, which is her dead boyfriend. She conveniently forgets to mention that she keeps his putrid corpse in a rocking chair in her attic (that's a Psycho
reference, for the cinematically challenged).
Here's a thought. Maybe the producers are giving you the Dead Boyfriend card, like they gave Sadie the Virgin Card last time 'round the merry-go-round. Methinks you'll make the Final 2 and lose.Bachelor Drinking Game Rule #3: Every time Danielle mentions her Dead Boyfriend, take a SHOT.
Then, comes the Moment We Have All Been Waiting For. The dreaded group date. It's Tessa versus Peyton. The half-Asian social worker from San Francisco versus the blonde sorority recruiter (people have that job out of college?!) from somewhere nondescript in the South. At this part, I get bored and make myself dinner.
Andy picks Tessa, but we get the feeling that he was sad to let Peyton go so early on in the competition. He paws at her like a fraternity pledge while they're being helicoptered off into the starlight, while she timidly and unsuccessfully attempts to stave off his advances, a la
France in, well, pretty much every war they ever fought.
It's Rose Ceremony time! Slutty Stephanie is wearing - get this - a polka-dotted dress and PEARLS. Dressing like an astronaut's wife will not
make people think that you've rode a little less pole than you actually have, so this stunt doesn't fool.
Andy and Amanda make some meager small-talk. Amanda gushes as to how she has "lots of stories" to tell about her life, yet all that emanates from her flapping maw is white noise. If I close my eyes, she sounds like Elle Woods, except without the whole "smart" bit. Too bad. She was half Thai and arguably the prettiest one there. I was pulling for her.
Rose time. I forget who actually got
one, but the girls sent packin' (other than Peyton) are Erin and Amanda. Shut-up Kate actually gets one, to the surprise of most everyone.Question For The Audience:
Let's see if we can get some audience participation on this one. There's all this chatter about how there should be a bachelor of color, but what about other "minorities"? What about a British bachelor, set in London? Now that Wills, the future heir to Hair Club For Men, has chucked 25-going-on-40 Kate Middleton, that's a nice thought. It can only be outdone by The Jewish Bachelor, set in none other than New York. Imagine a herd of Long Island JAPs (or, more comedically, Staten Island JAPs) fighting and hissing and cawing over some poor mensch
. D&G earrings will be used as weaponry, and everyone will be afraid to swim in the ocean.
So, Audience, if we could have any flavor of Bachelor for the next installment, what should it be?