This last week, a television tragedy seemed to throw all women for quite the loop. No, Oprah is just fine – thank goodness for that! Same with all the ladies on The View. No need to despair, Desperate Housewives is still on the air. The real big news – OMG, can you believe what happened on The Bachelor!
You have got to be kidding me.
I don’t even know what night it happened. Maybe it was Monday of last week, because about Tuesday, the outcome of the show was the buzz everywhere I turned – on the floor of a show in Las Vegas, in the airport, on a phone call with my wife – and, all that was just Tuesday! Then, there was the radio, more TV, hearing my wife talk on the phone about it, and then having her pepper me with questions about it. It’s never ending, and it doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. At least my wife says it’s not going away until Bonnie Hunt has the final say on her show.
For those of you unaware, apparently the bachelor, on the final day of taping, selected one of the two finalists to be his enduring love, thus eliminating, of course, the other. But, on the live wrap up show some weeks later, he dumps his chosen one for his real love, the aforementioned spurned one. And, that’s where it all started.
“I can’t believe he would do that on national television!”
“How hurt that poor girl must be.”
“How can the second girl possibly accept the guy back?”
“What was he thinking?”
“Would you ever do something like that?”
Wait! Forget all the other questions. Let’s just focus on that last one. No. No, I wouldn’t ever do something like that, although, as a guy, I’m inherently capable of just such an act. No, I wouldn’t do that primarily because I would never go on one of those shows looking for love. People, that just doesn’t work, for either the one who has to make the selection – let’s see, since that person sort of puts the cast/candidates/applicants or whatever they are through a certain amount of tests, let’s call the selector the “tester” - or for the pool trying to be chosen as “the one” – naturally, we’ll call them the testes.
Yes, with one “e.”
Now, I’m far from being an expert on all things love-related. But, I think we can all agree that attempting to find true love on a reality show is a pretty bad idea – a bad idea as far as finding love, that is. It’s a great idea for other goals though, which I’m fairly convinced is the true motivation for most of the testes.
Through my extensive research on the subject, I’ve determined the testers and testes, budding celebutards all, have the following goals when appearing on any of the “looking for love” shows (The Bachelor, The Bachlorette, A Shot of Love, that one with Flava Flav, I Love New York, and all the other trash of “must not see TV”), in order of increasing priority:
1. Be on TV
2. Be on TV and make out with a hottie or two
3. Be on TV, make out with a hottie or two, and win some money
4. Be on TV, make out with a hottie or two, win some money, and make such a spectacle of oneself as to ensure your participation in a spin off show, such as VH1’s I Love Money
5. All of the above, but go so far over the top that you get a entire TV show of YOUR OWN, ala I Love New York, and the spinoff of that spinoff, Real Chance at Love
As I tell my wife, don’t feel sorry for anyone who gets his or her feelings hurt on shows like those – I highly doubt the testes were there in the first place to sincerely get their feelings stroked and find their soul mate. Or, rather, at least most of the testes. There’s probably the odd knuckleheaded one or two who actually thought they’d find love in a reality show – well, they’re just a bit on the ‘tarded side, and I guess they do deserve a bit of pity for that.
So, back to answering my wife’s question - no I wouldn’t do that; pick one girl over the other, then, on national TV, pull the ol’ switcheroo and hook up with the other one instead. No, I wouldn’t do that. That being said, I would trade places with Bret Michaels and appear on Rock of Love. [Honey, that is, of course, if I didn’t already have you J]
Okay, is she gone?
Alright then. Now, where was I? Oh yeah.
Rock of Love is simply the reason I picked up the guitar in the first place. Let’s see, best I can tell, the format of the show is something like this: First, pick an aging rock star. Then, through some selection process I would LOVE to be privy to, somehow choose sixteen or so bimbos of every hair color, ethnicity, and race – diversity is great, except for one necessary commonality that cannot, and will not be negotiated – big, surgically enhanced, augmented breasts. Sixteen girls, sixteen flowing locks of “stripper hair,” sixteen pairs of long, slender legs balanced atop stiletto heels, sixteen pairs of breasts struggling mightily to stay under the skimpiest bits of cloth, and sixteen pairs of eyes buried under enough gaudy makeup to be the envy of every teenage girl in Indiana.
Now, I don’t know what’s in it for the girls, but I can certainly see the attraction for Bret. You ever wonder what the negotiations were like to get the first show started? My crack research staff uncovered the actual call, a portion of which I have transcribed below:
Producer: Okay, Bret, the concept is that we put a bunch of sexy groupie types in one house. You get to hang out with them all, play kissy face, go on “dates,” and then pick different ones out to go behind closed doors, off camera. How’s that sound?
Bret: Uh, that sounds pretty good.
Producer: Great, now about the financial terms, …
Bret: Hey, I’ll have to check with my banker, but I think I’d be prepared to pay up to $100,000.
Currently, Bret is halfway through his third season of the show. Hmm. I wonder what happened to the first two girls Bret picked?
Hello! It’s no big freakin’ surprise that ol’ Bret is on the third edition of this show. You think he’s going to find true love this time around? Ha! If you think so, I’ve got some Citigroup shares that would make a sound investment for you. It says right here Bret’s going to ride this for as long as people watch and sponsors buy ad time – he’s a guy after all. He’s living the guy dream, and he doesn’t even have to work for it. They’re working for him!. I don’t think Bret’s dead, but every guy 13 to 87 is convinced he is in heaven.
Of course, that’s just this guy’s opinion.
"They Froomey Under The Bus!"
1 day ago