|Emily and the guys talk about an interview they heard on NPR .|
I don't know where to start.
I mean, honestly, where are you supposed to start?
The guy who introduced himself by saying, "I'm a hugger. Is that okay?" Yeah, that's okay, if you're my Aunt Maxine. You could say something like that, out loud, if you were my Aunt Maxine. But you're not my Aunt Maxine. You're a grown man on national television. And my Aunt Maxine would punch you in the face if you ever said that and she can't punch for shit. She's like 80, and claims her wrist is broken every time she carries a shopping bag. She makes really good meatballs.
How 'bout the fact that there's a guy with a BRAIN INJURY?
Or should we forget about the dudes, and go straight to discussing little Ricki and her bed that has wayyyyyyy too many pillows? No human being should ever sleep on a bed with that many pillows. It takes like 10 minutes just to move all those pillows outta the way so you can get under the covers. And then when you get outta bed, you're just stepping on pillows, just constantly stepping on pillows, one misstep away from a sprained ankle. Gimme two pillows -- one for under my head and one to mash between my thighs. The only acceptable excuse for having 37 pillows is if you just played racquetball and are having lower back spasms. Or if you're Mariah Carey. Or a dog.
One guy thought it'd be a good idea to show up for the Bachelorette with an ostrich egg. Like, "Hey, I've got an ostrich egg, and this is a good idea." I'm curious as to how he came up with this idea. And what were the ideas that didn't make the cut?
EGG GUY: Okay, so Chip, you know how I'm going on the Bachelorette next week?
CHIP: Oh yeahhhhhh, hey, can I borrow twenty bucks?
EGG GUY: No. But check this out ... first night, rollin' up to meet Emily outside of the mansion, "Hey, what's up, how ya doin?" and then boom, I pull out a bottle of hot sauce. "Just in case things get a little bland around here, just call me over and I'll spice things up." Eh? Ehhhhh? Whaddya think?
CHIP: Uhhhh, it's all right. I mean, I get it, I get it. Hot sauce is cool. But a litttttttle too aggressive? Chicks like guys who are strong and stable. Hot sauce is a little too "Heyyy, I'm from New Jersey, check out my dance moves."
EGG GUY: So a hammer?
CHIP: A hammer's cool. Nailing stuff. Fixing stuff. But could be a little tough to carry around all night. Especially if you're wearing a suit.
EGG GUY: Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute. You know that ostrich egg that I have that I never use?
CHIP: Ohhhhhhh schnap!
|My therapist has this same leather couch.|
Here's my move if I were to ever stroll outta the Bachelorette's limo:
Hey Emily, my name's the Evster, I have a blog, a big dick, whatever, get over it ... look (pulls something out of pocket), these are peanut butter crackers. If there's ever a time when you're absolutely starving, I'm talking, REALLY hungry, and you just need something, ANYTHING, to hold you over, come holla at me and I'll give you some of these peanut butter crackers. I won't give you all of them, maybe like 2 or 3, but when your blood sugar's low and you're freakin' out, you know who you can count on. Oh, and if you're lucky, maybe I'll find an extra packet of crackers for little Ricki too. Now excuse me, I see that your panties are getting wettttttttttttttt.
Oh, by the way, if you're looking for me inside. I'll be the guy wearing the Breathe Right. I have a deviated septum.
|How exciting is it when you find these jawns in an 8-pack?|
I guess the biggest surprise of the night was Emily sending the black guy home. You'd think that she'd keep him around for AT LEAST the first week so as not to be considered racist, but clearly she's racist. I don't know why that's surprising considering she's from Arkansas.
Even more surprising was the dude who carried those bobbleheads in his jacket pocket all night. I love bobbleheads and I kinda think the bobbs were a decent gimmick, but those jawns are HEAVY. I've been miserable at weddings simply because I had to carry around my wife's compact mirror thing all night. That guy is a warrior.
The big winner of the night was friggin' Doug, who blew his load early by presenting Emily with a letter from his 12-year-old son. I mean, c'monnnnn Doug, you shoulda kept onto that golden ticket until you really needed it, like on a 2-on-1er. Also, what the fuck is wrong with Doug's kid?
"Dear Emily, my daddy's the best. He tucks me in evvvvvery night ...."
This kid is 12, correct? How many 12-year-olds are still getting tucked in at night?
When I was 12, I was jerking off ohhhhhhhhhhh, I dunno, 15 times a day? Maybe 20, prolly 20 on a good day. Sometimes going with back-to-backers before bed.
I'm pretty sure this was the bedtime routine in my house growing up.
MY DAD: Knock knock! (Dad peeks into my room.) Time for bed E-Mon, lights out.
ME: I'm sleeping!
MY DAD: Remember, Marion is taking you to soccer practice tomorrow. I left your smelly shin guards in the closet.
ME: Why isn't Mawm taking me?
MY DAD: She has diarrhea. Also, the cleaning lady might come tomorrow, so if you could pick up those cum-filled boxers from the floor ...
ME: Shut uppppppp.
MY DAD: What'd you say?
ME: IsaidIfuckingloveyou, gawd.
MY DAD: K, good night. Love you.
ME: Luhyoo. Geez.
Door closes. 12-year-old Evster immediately rolls off the bed, slams onto the floor and sprawls out in an attempt to reach a Penthouse mag underneath the bed. After extending my arm as far as it will possibly go and cramming my neck into the metal bed frame, I finally get my hands on the issue with the campout -- six busty blondes roasting marshmallows while wearing VERY thick wool socks.
Seconds later, I'm grinding my 12-year-old dork (not a bad dork by the way) against the mattress while craning my neck to stare at the magazine spread open on the floor with my soccer cleats being used as paper weights.
After a resounding finale (that everyone in my house could definitely hear), I flip back off the bed, grab my binoculars and stare out the window at my next door neighbor for the next four - seven hours.
- Ryan the former football player has got this isht on lock. He's nice looking, PLAYED PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL, and his "let me check out my notes" gimmick was actualllllllllllly not baaaddddd. Unfortunately, his hair kinda looks like Moroccan footballer Marouane Chamakh's.
|No idea what's goin' on here.|
- I think it'd be pretty funny if during the rose ceremony they panned to a dude wearing a snorkel.
- Ricki can't talk for shit.
- Jef, MC Stevie Boom Beevie, Grandma Randy, Wolf Dog, Kaylinn and Tank Top Tony were all retarded, but Joe, HEY HOW YA DOIN I'M JOEEEEE ... WAGGADEE DOOO, BOOM BOOM BOOM, COCAINE COCAINE, LET'S GO SLEDDING! was the absolute biggest nightmare. I'm so glad he and Longhaired Michael aka Captain I'm Gay are still around.
Are you following my fish, Franck Ribery Jr, on Twitter? You should be. You should also enter the TVMWW Art Contest Presented by Sal's Automotive. Check out some of the entries here. Orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr listen to this Fresh Air interview with Lena Dunham from Girls. Yeah, that's probably the better move.