byChrisWhite – 2015

I reckon it’s time to come clean, yes, I find myself on the couch every Monday night, caught right in the sticky web of “The Bachelorette” alongside Emily. You know, watching superficial train wrecks unfold at a genteel speed is a guilty pleasure that somehow keeps drawing me back. It’s kind of like watching a man in a tuxedo trip down the stairs in slow motion—you know it’s painful, but it’s also too ridiculous not to see how it ends. And boy, Emily must think I’m a prize-winning buzzkill with my play-by-play sarcasm, offering up my commentary like I’m the off-screen narrator with a vendetta against love itself. But honestly, how can I not? I mean, Kaitlyn, terrified of pigeons, has pigeon tattoos inked all over her body. Make it make sense.

Now, someone tell me why they’ve gone and moved the Rose Ceremony to the beginning of the show. Is nothing sacred anymore? I used to find some solace in the reliable rhythm of it all, you know, like the way you count on the sun rising in the East. But instead of roses at the end, we’ve got thirty ab-bearing goons, each hoping for their interview into stardom, I mean, into Kaitlyn’s heart. It’s not love they’re after; it’s the chance to stretch their fifteen minutes into a reality spin-off. Although I’d wager a night in the fantasy suite is a consolation prize they’re not turning down either.

Speaking of consolations, ABC must’ve thought they hit pay dirt when they pitted two ladies against each other, hoping one might shed tears for America’s viewing pleasure. Worked like a charm, didn’t it? And let’s not forget Kupah, whose name evidently translates to “race card” in Swahili, as he bid his dramatic farewell. “I don’t want to go home,” he told Kaitlyn, “because you’re hot, and you like movie quotes just like me.” Stirring stuff, Kupah, clearly the words of a true romantic visionary.

And then we’ve got Tony the ‘Healer.’ Now, Tony’s one for the books. He packed his bags and left, because apparently, his warrior heart, his gypsy spirit, and his childlike wonder couldn’t take the brutal sumo wrestling any longer. “I came here for love, not body slams,” he practically whimpered before departing, his internal spiritual odyssey taking him away from Kaitlyn and back to whichever commune he rolled in from. Apparently, the spirit of a gypsy doesn’t fare well on the wrestling mat, especially when Kaitlyn failed to whisk him off to the zoo like his inner child had hoped.

And JJ. Oh, JJ, the shining beacon of conceit. If JFK and Austin Powers had a baby, it’d be JJ, all swagger and polished jawline, with teeth large enough to strain minnows from a creek. He’s got some sort of cliché tattoo in Japanese, probably means “California Roll.” He claims he loves Japanese culture, but it seems the extent of that love is sushi and whatever else he picked up at a hibachi chain. ABC’s editors must be having the time of their lives, trying to make us believe that JJ and Clint are one step away from a whirlwind romance. I’d wager JJ hasn’t figured it out yet, his mind seems plenty occupied by his favorite subject: himself.

Now, let’s talk about Jared. Initially, I pegged him as just another forgettable face, but I’ll admit, he redeemed himself somewhat. He confessed to Kaitlyn that he was initially smitten with Britt, which wasn’t the smartest strategy if he hoped to win her over. But hey, points for honesty, right? But then, before you know it, Jared’s out here stirring the pot, instigating nonsense and ratting out Clint and JJ for their bromantic indiscretions. I’m convinced this guy manages a Chick-fil-A somewhere; he’s got the air of a man who’d pitch you a two-for-one chicken wrap with a side of moral righteousness. And Kaitlyn should think twice before dragging him home, he’s already showing signs of recession… facial hair recession, that is.

Of course, the show concludes with Kaitlyn confronting Clint, whose affections seemed more attuned to JJ’s golden locks than her own. And here I sit, baffled, watching Clint deny, deny, deny while Kaitlyn glowers at him. Clint, buddy, roses aren’t what you need here. You need JJ’s email, and you’ll be set. The way ABC is crafting this love triangle is something else, turning what’s probably a perfectly straight bromance into fodder for crass sensationalism. I’ll bet a buck or two that neither of these guys is actually gay, just two fellas a little too cozy for prime-time America.

Now, let’s not forget Kentucky Joe. Poor guy didn’t get nearly enough screen time. He brought moonshine, so he’s already winning in my book. Joe might not “embrace Japanese culture” like JJ claims to, but I’d wager his idea of sushi is a corndog cut into rounds. But he strutted his stuff in that sumo diaper without a care in the world, at least until America got an unintended lesson in anatomy. Frankly, ABC missed the boat with Joe. They should’ve put him in that classroom for the sex-ed scene. Can you imagine? “Now, y’all, this here is what we call a cornhole where I’m from.”

All this ranting, and it’s probably best I get it out of my system here, spare Emily another night of me ruining the “magic.” I’ll leave her to her Zen, unlike Tony, who had to run away to find his inner peace. Maybe I’ll slip into one of those sumo thongs myself, add a little levity to the evening. Though I have to wonder, what ridiculous group date is next on Kaitlyn’s list? She’s stuck on these absurd, hyper-masculine antics, maybe next it’ll be pistol dueling. A fitting finale, Kentucky Joe taking out JJ with a clean headshot, and there I’d sit, finally believing in the magic of television once again.