Bachelor Party

Here's the great thing about The Bachelor: You can not watch an entire season, tune in only for the finale, and still come away totally caught up and with the great, great need to shower. Skank-o-Vision will never let you down.

I was in my office battling a mighty e-Stack last night (direct student quote: "In teh book the author, talks about many things which have been recorded in the long history of time") and needed the intellectual lift The Bachelor would provide as the kiddies failed, failed, failed.

One of the final two contestants was an actress, and the other was--are you ready? are you ready for this?--a pharmaceutical sales representative, which is apparently the Official Industry of The Bachelor. There have been enough pharmaceutical sales representatives on this show to sink a RiteAid, and I want to see it bust out a mortician or a lumberjack. Once. Just once.

The Bachelor, who has a British accent, which makes him automatically intelligent, chose the actress and her roots over the suitcase of Zoloft. The girl he dumped was wearing a dress which somehow simultaneously consisted of ninety billion yards of material and yet totally exposed her downstairs lady parts. She and The Bachelor took a mega-dreamy stroll by the sea, one of her arms draped in his, the other clamping her dress together so as not to provide America's first pixellated Final Rose Ceremony. It was, truly, every little girl's dream.

She knew what was coming the second he took her hands and said, "Thank you!" Because... yeah. And she was on track to one of the classiest exits the show has ever seen, simply providing the requisite tearing up and downcast eyes, and she practically had one foot in the Limo of Despondency, and then... "She was the falsest person here! And to think that I was up against her..." Oh, ohhhhhh! So close. Claws back into the bags of complimentary Paxil pens and Avodart clipboards, dearie.

The winner, sponsored by peroxide, and her dress, which was also determined to announce to the world whether or not her bikini waxer missed a spot, rolled up. It was, just as the promos promised, the Most. Romantic. Proposal. EVER.

"Monkey," he said, "will you marry me?"

I went downstairs to talk to my husband. He was watching cars go in a circle and mash into each other.

"Thank you for not referring to me as a primate prone to rubella infections when you proposed, " I said.

"Okay," he said.

It was the Most. Romantic. Evening of Grading. Ever.

will you take this bag of thorns at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com

Comments

[red pill junkie]

"“Monkey,” he said, “will you marry me?”

So, if that's the compliment, what will this guy use as an insult??

[mike hates bad TV]

Evidently one of the previous season's skanks will host "The Bachelorette" next season. Oh. Can't wait.

No, I can't believe M.B. didn't win the JamsBio "Thriller" contest, either. Evidently, nobody has taste anymore.

And what kind of tenth-rate computer was that student using? Any half-decent word processor program will change "teh" to "the" automatically.

[Dan-the-Soldier/Brother-in-Law]

"I went downstairs to talk to my husband. He was watching cars go in a circle and mash into each other."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! YES!!!!!!

[j.s.]

Don't be too hard on those kids. The history of time IS really really long, and teachers expect you to memorize the date of every battle, coronation, election, beheading, and court case. The poor writer of the quoted essay is probably in the early stages of a mental breakdown.

[Amy P.]

You can not watch an entire season, tune in only for the finale, and still come away totally caught up and with the great, great need to shower.

I swear you cannot watch "Brett Michaels: Rock of Love" without needing to bathe in scalding water, either.

This was hilarious, MB.

[For Real « Blonde Champa]

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