It is not often that I lie awake at night contemplating life’s unanswerable conundrums; however, when I do, the same consortium of practical and existential questions always make the list. When is Mason Ramsey coming out with new music? do blondes have more fun? and what is love? (baby don’t hurt me) are just some of the queries that consistently swirl around my simple, easily-confused brain. There is one question however that re-emerges and circulates with a certainty usually only ascribed to death and taxes: what in the name of sweet baby Jesus did humanity do to deserve The Bachelor?
Before we get to the episode itself, perhaps the biggest bombshell of the past week in Bachelor world was an Instagram blunder of truly gargantuan proportions. To say that many of The Bachelor cast-members have credibility issues is about as obvious a declaration as saying water is wet or that Justin Bieber is the voice of our generation… Still, come on Madison, you had one goddamn job. I’m not going to castigate her for having a burner account (or ten), we all do, but you won’t ever see my alias @GreatGuyHotPersonality making these kind of rookie login mistakes! Madison Prewett? More like Madison Blewett… Perhaps this is all a long con and Madi is looking for common ground to take a run at Twitter burner account legend Kevin Durant? Maybe her memory isn’t so good, but given his free-agency snub of the Knicks and their Square Garden, my guess would be he’s not all that partial to Madisons! Hey, shoot your shot Madi, just make sure you’re using your “so genuine and real” account when you do it.
Some initial thoughts on the latest round of character development:
Sydney seems like a very sweet girl, however if you follow up your claim that you “left so much to be here” and the things you cite are: “my mom and my family,” come on… I must admit my assessment of her is somewhat skewed by the fact that I would prefer to listen to the Kars 4 Kids theme song for 24 consecutive hours rather than her voice, but hey, a matter of personal preference no doubt. It was interesting to find out during some of my wider reading that Sydney and Hannah B were high school classmates. This doesn’t mean anything in my estimations, although Hannah B was class vice president so probably peaked in high school.
Natasha is a real sass monster. Her brutal honesty from the outset is quite refreshing, but as a man who idolizes Peter and his ability to work the room, she really burst my bubble when Peter was clearly having a moment of reflection about Hannah B. A little more compassion please Natasha…
I was initially a little lukewarm on Tammy, but as the season has developed she has increasingly used her somewhat peripheral position to stir the pot wherever possible and is an early frontrunner for the Sunday-brunch-post-mortem-MVP. Drama is her oxygen and while her pot-stirring and relation-meddling have yet to come to a Shakespearian crescendo, no doubt as the fire burns and the cauldron bubbles the toil and trouble will not be far behind. Keep stirring Tammy, then dish me up a big bowl of witches’ brew.
Peter needs to chill with the fucking gifts… the small red car was kind of cute and whatever, but the family photo at the vow renewal ceremony is just weird. It was inappropriate enough that she was there in the first place, but receiving merchandise from the event adds a whole extra layer of unnecessary and strange complication. This may be a producer-induced gimmick, a natural generous streak or it could be a learned habit after years peddling his hospitality aboard cross-country flights, but whatever the source, Pete, you’re not Derek Jeter so cool it with the post-one-night-stand gift baskets.
Hannah Anne is the gift that keeps on giving. She is young, dynamic, and possesses the unique ability to twist every other girls’ knickers into a hot, complicated mess! This collective Gordian panty knot was tugged even tighter on Monday night with what can only be described as the most audacious heist since Nicholas Cage said, “I’m going to steal the Declaration of Independence.” Just the thought of stealing another woman’s champagne and hijacking her “moment” with a hunky pilot named Peter, contravenes most traditional standards of decency, however the execution was cool, calculated and altogether beyond reproach; an absolute cucking clinic. It was a coup so daring it would have given Danny Ocean a danger boner the likes of which could not be conjured by relatively simple, Julia Roberts-inspired casino capers! I’m still trying to determine exactly what my favorite part of the whole debacle was, but it’s hard to argue against the off-screen champagne pop/accompanying shock and horror on the faces of the expectant girls. The eminently meme-worthy exploding prosecco was another highlight, although my description will not do justice to the hilarity of the still image. The only way Hannah Anne could have heaped additional insult on top of brutal injury is if she had blasted the champagne cork at the unsuspecting Kelsey and then rode off into the sunset, Peter in tow, astride a shimmering unicorn. Oh wait, or win the fashion show. Howdya like that huh Kelsey? Amazing stuff.
Nothing gets the American public going like some good old-fashioned objectification, and once again, the producers did not disappoint in their descent to new depths of debasement. Making the girls perform a runway fashion show for Peter under the guise that they would “be able to show their personalities?” What could possibly be misconstrued with that? It looks like Janice Dickinson may have been indulging in some of the same poppy potion as her namesake Ms. Joplin (R.I.P.), but nothing could take away from the absolute streaking comet that was Hannah Anne’s runway performance. She was even able to overshadow the line of the season so far: “boyfriends are temporary; cashmere is forever” – hell yeah Carson Kressley (although he clearly doesn’t have a cat with expensive taste!) The date wasn’t as dramatic as I was expecting, partly because of Hannah Anne’s transcendent performance, but also because of the incredibly arbitrary system of scoring. One highlight was another ticket to ride the Victoria F emotional rollercoaster – the topsy turvy fairground attraction that doesn’t end with a picture of your screaming faces, but with multiple episodes of the waterworks. If anyone has misplaced a large bag of freshly chopped onions, then my first port of call would be her vicinity, although if it is a concerted tactic to garner sympathy roses then the strategy has been effective to this point.
For those who wanted Monday night fireworks, Clemson and LSU weren’t the only Tigers with their claws out vying for supremacy on national television last night! The Kelsey Mykenna confrontation followed up by Kelsey’s vicious attack on Hannah Anne was a dramatic one two punch that resembled a wounded heavyweight in the twelfth-round swinging for the fences. Trying to pick out the most hurtful lines was difficult. I felt like an overburdened intern trying to scribble down all of the wild recitations of an overly-excited auctioneer… here are some of my favorites:
“You make your bed and you have to lay in it too” – bed makers are better at everything.
“I don’t tolerate snakes, they’re my least favorite animal” – alright Indiana Jones.
“I’m real, you’re calculated” – projecting.
“I’m not moving forward because I’m not a fake bitch” – ice cold.
Homeric. Miltonian. Maybe even Mean Girlian. The Hannah Anne Kelsey rift is only just getting going and I’m fired up about it.
One final thought… The bitch is back, let’s fucking go, see you next week Demi ❤