Today I saw on People.com that ABC announced their newest Jerky McJerkface for season 17 of The Bachelor. Seventeen seasons of this mess? Really? The whole concept of reality TV often baffles me – because we’ve gotten to the point where it’s anything BUT real and just a race to see who can suck money out of the tabloid well the longest once the dust from the final rose ceremony (brought to you by 1-800-Flowers.com! has settled).
When did this madness even begin? Do you remember around early 2000 when the geniuses at Fox decided to air Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire and had 50 skanks parade around on stage and then the winner was basically picked because of her looks and had to marry the dude on the spot and literally dry heaved into the camera when he tried to eat her face on live television and got the marriage annulled ASAP and then posed for Playboy? So after THAT the geniuses at ABC were all – “hey this looks like an amazing concept and the OBVIOUS basis for true love”?????
It is fake dipped in silicone slathered in whatever Joan Rivers’s plastic surgeon uses to keep her face from cracking off.
Okay, so I MAY have sent my picture in to be a contestant in 2005 but in my defense: I was 24 (I think that is their cutoff age), had just moved across the country for a $12/hr job and had $10 to last me every two weeks after I paid all my bills. So the prospect of being whisked away to Los Angeles (followed by an island! Isn’t that how they do it now?) to have the producers of the show get me drunk and have me make out with some dude in a hot tub until he decided the next girl was better than me seemed like a step up from trying to ration a box of pasta and butter over the course of a week.
And that’s another thing – all these people do is make out in various bodies of water on tropical islands: hot tubs, pools, under a waterfall, in the shower, etc. I’d fall in love too if ABC let me go on tropical excursions in the Caribbean for six weeks with a hot dude…that is until I was eliminated for not being the cattiest or whatever because every season doesn’t it come down to some deranged lunatic and a virgin who is from like south east west central Kansas and still uses dial-up internet and when the dude goes home with her he has to milk a cow to impress her parents?
It baffles me that people are still interested in watching 25 anorexic girls named Sarah Jessica Tiffany Amber Vienna get into cat fights over some snake who will inevitably dump ALL of them until he picks the cross-eyed girl his entire family can’t stand who was like, in jail two years ago in Florida, and has a tramp stamp that you have to stare at while he’s making out with her under a waterfall during the “On the Wings of Love” video montage and all you have to look forward to in the morning is possibly getting groped by some homeless man on the train, which would be the most action you’ve seen in months.
So yes, here I am – 31, single, and refusing to watch a scripted show being passed off as a reality show that is anything but while the people involved always end up being recycled on The Bachelor Pad where the 7th runner up from season 6 of The Bachelor winds up marrying the 4th runner up from two The Bachelorettes ago and now I just have a headache.
A Series of Very Bad Decisions 