Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Dudes Are Just Bitches In Uglier Outfits...



I know.

I'm sorry.

I didn't write last week.

But I have an excuse. Or a collection of excuses, as it were.

What happened was, I started vomiting all over myself at the sight of Ashley donning yet another mid-riff bearing tee in the "Last Week on The Bachelorette" segment. As you can imagine, clean up was a bitch. When I finally collected myself and settled in for the remainder of the personal hell that I call "This Season on The Bachelorette", I was immediately forced to stab my own eyes out with a dull writing utensil thanks to Ames basically just mocking himself in hot pink shorts and boxing gloves, attempting to fight like a man... Translation: getting the shit and the dignity simultaneously beat out of him.


Blind and soiled I persevered, remaining conscious just long enough to count the 17... that's right SEVENTEEN times Ash-Munch dropped the name "Bentley" THREE WEEKS AFTER HE LEFT HER ASS IN THE MOST HUMILIATING DISPLAY OF HE'S-JUST-NOT-THAT-INTO-YOU TO GRACE THE SMALL SCREEN IN HISTORY, and to vaguely make out William's threats of suicide upon not receiving his red petaled due on the Two-Guys-One-Rose-One-Stays-One-Goes fiasco.



So, as you can see, my reasons hold water. I can not be blamed.

Luckily, this week's episode was riveting... on opposite day...

I think there was a dragon boat race. I'm still unsure of the prize. I vaguely recall JP and Ashley demonstrating the first glimmer of chemistry this season has seen, on their one-on-one. I feel like maybe a Texan ate dinner on a boat in a harbor with a girl, it may or may not have been Ashley, I was concerned with my split-ends at the time.



The promised return of everyone's favorite Human Manifestation of Penis Envy, Bentley, was the juiciest five minutes this episode saw. And let me tell ya, I was lucky to stay awake for the entirety of it.

As you may have guessed, or witnessed, or assumed, or don't give a flying fuck about, (might I suggest the latter) Bentley flew to Hong Kong, not for Ashley but, that's right, for the free trip to Hong Kong. Mouths agape at this shocking revelation, America watched as his patented "dot, dot, dot" morphed into a "period". A menstrual period, as it were, because this prick deserves to experience that miserable punishment every month for the remainder of his existence.



Ash-tard, of course, was slow to realize his true intentions. But eventually (once he spelled it out for her) she grasped reality and feigned the independent and self-confident persona that only a woman scorned can dig out from the depths of her bitter soul. She may have even told him to fuck off, which causes me to (begrudgingly) think slightly more of her... I said SLIGHTLY.

Alas, in true Ashley form, she effed it all up again.

Flash forward to a Hong Kong-ian cocktail party, a mousey bitch's guilty conscience, and eight douche mongers shot up full o' Taiwanese testosterone injections. Ash, speaking on behalf of her absent common sense, thought that the news of Bentley's return would fill her second-rate's to the brim with candy corn and rainbows.

Backfire.

Turns out, just cuz they sissy 'nuff to go on a dating reality show, don't mean they ain't afraid to cut a bitch.

Icky Mickey's ass just up and left, never to return.


Blake (Who?!?!... Exactly.) the "dentist" threw a helluva frat boy temper tantrum. Some dude from Texas spouted off some stern words about the situation with... the rest of the guys... having apparently left his balls in his other purse.

In the end, Ashley wrapped it all up with a pretty little bow by pulling out the ol' trusty waterworks, the roses, and the failure to demonstrate good decision making skills.

And I am once again left with this, playing on a loop, in my head, until next Monday,
"Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far far away from here." ~Jenny, Forrest Gump

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Hasn't Thailand Been Through Enough...



Dear Ashley Hebert,

You're a stupid bitch We need to talk.



Considering we don't know each other all that well at all, I feel it my duty as the one who detests you most in the world an unbiased observer, to let you know what you're doing wrong. The list is long. So buckle up But don't worry, there's really not that much.

Now I bore witness to how well you handled The Roast, so I'm gonna have to ask you to man up here and take this for what it is... a blatant and unabashed character assassination constructive criticism.



I would first like to touch on your shit suck questionable taste in suitors. There are a few I'd like to hump I can let slide. I can grasp the appeal of JP, despite the jealous little bitch tantrum he threw on Monday his insecurities.

I sort of understand the "Bryman College Drop-Out to Bryman College Drop-Out" "Dentist to Dentist" draw of Blake. There may be a heterosexual redeeming quality in Mickey, though I have yet to see it. But that's it, you dumb hooker Ash. That's really all we're working with here.

I mean, have you even looked at what is surrounding you on these dates?

Flat Face  Stingray  Ben C.




Marshall from ALIAS  Raging homosexual craving the love and support needed to come out to his friends and family  James without the "J" 




This guy... 

 
...who I actually think might also be...


...this guy... (in the biggest hoax pulled on the American public since The Parent Trap)



Byron from The Bachelor Season 6  Kato Kaelin  Ummmm... ? ? ?



And there are others so void of anything remarkable that I have nary a wise ass thing to say that I won't go in to.

And then to send West home?!?!?! He was so lucky to escape the talons of your inadequacies cute. I just want to kick you square in the teeth for eliminating the only man worth tuning in for don't understand.



Furthermore, we need to reevaluate what an insufferable whore bag you are who you are as a person. Are you aware that you are currently representing a Reality TV franchise that has been the most important thing in my life a small part of my Monday nights for over 20 seasons? You are forcing me to seriously consider throwing you in front of a moving train There are things you could work on.

For starters,

  • Your voice. Perhaps, instead, shut the fuck up try listening. 

  • Your understandable raging insecurities and constant need for reassurance. Why not try jumping off a cliff affirmations and confidence?
  • Your pathetic and nauseating obsession trouble getting over the dickiest dick that ever dicked Bentley. Might I suggest, dignity?

  • Your plethora of half shirts. Just because you have a nice stomach, does not mean you are required to trounce around like a 2-bit 80's crack whore show it.


In conclusion, I really do hope that this letter can help inspire you to eat shit become all the wonderful things I doubt know you can be. You are truly a thorn in my ass unique individual. I wonder weekly how I will be able to stomach another 120 minutes of you wait until Monday to see what happens.



Disappear Take Care,

The One Who's Existence You Are The Bane Of  Jill

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Dot, dot, dot, is better than, like, just a period...


First, I would like to formally apologize on behalf of Best Buy for the late arrival of this post. The distinguished members of the elite, and aptly titled, Geek Squad made the uneducated and ill-advised decision to monkey my shit up... which is to say, they held my computer hostage for 2 1/2 weeks, erased all of my information, and then returned it to me with a diagnosis of "Ummm, we couldn't find anything wrong with it". So fuck you very much Best Buy, and a pox on the wild pack of geeks that forced me to spend most of my weekend trying to remember what programs I used to have access to.


Now on to the show...

As far as doozies go, 'twas a doozie...

It began innocently enough. Ashley chose Flat Face for the first one-on-one. Which really just solidifies her impeccable overall taste. I mean, this guy... Not only is he a direct descendent of the order Myliobatiformes, or stingrays, as they are more commonly known, but he is also one of those super awesome dudes who lacks formal training in the art of Shutting The Hell Up For One GD Second So The Bitch Can Squeeze A Word In. That's my favorite! 


And to answer my own quandary from last week, The Bachelorette fo' shiz has a hand in planning the dates. And I know this with absolute certainty based solely on what transpired in the first 15 minutes of last week's episode.

I have two words for you...

ASHLEY'S DUMB ASS CHOREOGRAPHED A SURPRISE FLASH MOB AND DUPED HER WILDLY AWKWARD AND SPACIALLY UNAWARE DATE INTO STAGING A PUBLIC AND NATIONALLY TELEVISED DANCE PERFORMANCE!


Okay, that was more than two words... But simply writing "Flash Mob" could not begin to demonstrate the absurd and altogether mortifying spectacle that was forced down my throat (that's what she said). And don't you fret, she gave him the rose, igniting false hope in every Johnny-Virgin-Band-Major in America.

The group date was a work of undeniable genius. I must credit the masterminds behind this enterprise, as I'm sure Ashley herself could NEVER come up with ANYTHING as entertaining as "The Roast".


That's right, folks. In an apparent fit of mental, emotional, and social ineptitude, Ashley Hebert, who was ripped from the arms of Brad Womack by her own pathetic insecurities, agreed to let a pack of what could only be described as former Delta Sigma Phi pledge masters with a barbaric need to "prove themselves men", get onstage in front of a packed house and roast her. 

Pure. Comedy. Gold.


But not in the way intended, of course. These asstards wouldn't know funny if it kicked 'em square in the naughty bits. I imagine, whilst listening to each bachelor deliver his cornucopia of bathroom humor, small titty digs, and playground bully chants, my face looked like that of someone who had just watched an entire busload of her family executed individually. It was appalling on all counts.

But Wedding Date William hammered it home with personal insults that cut so deep I actually felt bad for the hooker. She cried. The date was ruined. Blahdy, blahdy, blah... 

**Note to Producer: Please God, do a roast every season. I beg of you.

The final one-on-on was with not altogether revolting, JP. They sat around her temporary squatting grounds in their sweats and drank wine and told each stories. Which is actually kind of an awesome date... if you're on it... with someone you like... as opposed to watching it... happening... to someone you loathe. If the latter should occur, bust out the Saved-By-The-Bell-Jessie-Spano-I'm-So-Excited-No-Doze-Crack-Pills cuz it's gonna be a LONG night. 


But in fairness to Ashley, because I am a fair and non-judgmental gal, she HAD just been at the losing end of a round-house kick to the ovaries courtesy of Bentley. So there's that...

Which is a lovely segue, if I do say so myself, to the crown jewel of this episode...

~The Bentley Files~

I have to say, I wrestled with even writing about this. I know that there are guys out there like Bentley. I've met them. Vertically stunted, small penised, Napoleonic, Cro Magnite assholes that literally get their rocks off dicking women around. I've never understood it. And I hesitate to give this prick any more attention than he's already received. So I will truncate Bentley's long overdue departure into succinct bullet points so as to not encourage any more thought on the matter.

  • Bentley is a flaming piece of shit
  • Bentley tried to play Ashley on national TV to promote his "trampoline fun center" (that is not a joke)
  • Bentley said horrible, assholic, hurtful things about someone he didn't know to gain notoriety (BTW, I recognize the irony. "Hi Kettle? This is Pot. Ummm, you're black")
  • Bentley gave Ashley false hope for the future in the form of "I still want to keep, like, the dot, dot, dot there. Dot, dot, dot, is better than, like, just a period" because he's a pissing coward who can't just tell it like it is
  • Bentley is under the false impression that he matters
  • Bentley exploited his daughter to gain sympathy from Ashley
  • Bentley is a flaming piece of shit
In conclusion, he left the show.

And SPOILER ALERT:: Rumor has it he's coming back this season. One can only hope it's for public castration. 

I'll keep my fingers crossed.

Oh yeah, and that raging super douche took off his mask... My vote is for him to put it back on. And maybe take some time to think through his decisions a little more thoroughly...




Wednesday, June 1, 2011

What Happens In Vegas, Creeps Me The Hell Out...



If you've EVER read this blog, you are privy to the well documented fact that I date some effin' creeps. I was equipped with a malfunctioning creep deflector at birth. Whereas, when faced with a gargantuon creepster, I am filled with butterflies and puffy hearts instead of red flags and warning buzzers. It's a substantial issue. I'm working on it.



And yet, in all my vast creepster experience there are very few things one can do on a date that I find creepier than what we, the loyal viewers of abc's The Bachelorette, were forced to stomach on Monday night...

They include, in no particular order:

  • Hog tieing your date and forcing them into your crawl space
  • Taking your date to a fertility clinic to ensure they are reproductively viable
  • Asking your date to "play dead" during intercourse
  • Removing sections of your dates dermis for use in a "human skin suit" you are constructing

Now, even with the Ph.D. in The Bachelor/Bachelorette Series that I earned 7 seasons ago, I'm still not altogether positive who is at the helm of the date planning. On one hand, it is OBVIOUS that abc is shellin' the duckets for these shananagans, and it's highly probable there is some "gentle nudging" coming from the puppet masters on what would make great TV. But on the other hand, The Bachelors and Bachelorettes must have some say in what they do.



All I'm sayin' is, if I was on the show (which I probably will be) and those bitches told me I was going to be locked in a cage with monkeys and my date and a candlelit meal, I'd kick every one of 'em in the baby maker and run for my GD life. But that is neither here nor there...

The first dates were upon us. This is where the magic happens. This is when the bitches get crazy and the homeboys start peacocking. This is why we tune in.

The initial one-on-one went to William, a Cell Phone Distributor (aka Entry Level Car Toys Sales Associate). We'll call that "Mistake #1". The date takes place in Vegas (Mistake #2). The date consists of the following activites; wedding cake tasting (Mistake #3), wedding ring shopping (Mistake #4), meeting with a minister (Mistake #5), walking down the aisle with boquet (Mistake #s 6 & 7), joining hands at the altar (Mistake #8), RECITING VOWS (Mistake #s 9, 10, 11, 12, & 13), William saying "I DO" (WTF?) Ashley saying "I will someday, but probably not today" (Seriously, WTF? You crazy bitch! This is your FIRST date with this asstard and not only did you force him into a faux wedding rehearsal, but you ditched him at the altar?)



Then it was off to the waters of the Bellagio in a row boat where the holiest of douchedom commenced in the form of a meal atop a plywood platform and dull conversation including, but not limited to, "the saddest story I can think of", and "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Piss.

Next.

The initial group date went to... ummmm... basically everyone else... except that mo in the mask, meh (shoulder shrug) JP, Hey-Face-Raper-Not-So-Fine, and a couple other dudes. And instead of Ashley's lazy ass flying back to LA, she flew them all to Vegas. Because as they say, TRUE LOVE ALWAYS BLOOMS IN VEGAS... or is that Chlamydia? I can never remember.

(Insert- Vh1's America's Best Dance Crew pissing contest dance-off, awkward and painfully obvious ploy to get Ashley's remedial dance skills in front of an audience, and about 17 half shirts- Here)



After the "dance show", it was back to some seedy Vegas digs for the "no-fair-it's-my-turn-to-talk-to-her" grown man bitch fit. Always a fav. Bentley, apparently still under the impression that being a huge cock will give you a huge cock, decided to toy with Ashley's awesome judgement and manipulate the rose out of her. All in all, Vegas Fail Part Deux.



Back at the ranch, Mickey 9-1-1 was forced to flip a coin with Meh (shoulder shrug) to determine the final one-on-one date pairing. Mickey won. Ashley lost.

Surprise, surprise, to Vegas he went to engage in THE MOST BORING DATE I'VE EVER BEEN ON AND I WASN'T EVEN THERE. So boring in fact, that I don't remember shit about it. I think there was a meal. I'm almost positive I gagged once or twice. Colbie Calliat may have shown up to perform the trademark Bachelorette concert-for-two that makes everyone involved wildly uncomfortable. The rest is but a blur of monotony.



What I do know is this...

  • Ashley is the human incantation of nails on a chalkboard
  • Mickey and his giant loafer selection bore me to suicide

  • William wants to be a stand up comedian, which wouldn't even be possible if Steve Carrell possessed his body ala Patrick Swayze in Ghost
  • Bentley is under the misguided impression that there is ANYONE ON THE PLANET who gives a piss about him and his deplorable attempts at womanizing for fame
  • Jeff, the masked mo, jabbers nonsensically (Ex: "I'm taking the stealth approach and I feel like everybody else is just riding around in cabs"... ? ? ? ummmm ? ? ? what ? ? ?)

  • There are too many schmoes with greasy, chin length mops to keep track of
and
  • Everyone else is so completely unremarkable that I don't even remember enough to make fun of

So pull your shit together, Chris Harrison. You are the fearless and noble captain of this vessel upon which I ride, and I will not allow you to just pull the covers over your head and go down with the ship. Capiche?