|Pretty sure they're wearing the same t-shirt, which is incredible.|
It's time to stop dancing around the subject that's on everybody's mind, a topic that's out there, staring us in the face, dying to be discussed. Few people are willing (or even able) to tackle this issue. But that's what I'm here for ladies and gentleburgs -- to do the lord's work, and break down the hard hitting assignments that other blogs are too scared to touch. You see, this year on The Bach we are dealing with someone who we have never seen the likes of, a man who is doing things that no other Bach has done. This year, we have ourselves a certified Level 19 Poon Hound.
Yeah I said it.
I said it!
A Level 19!
This guy will stop at nothing to take his tongue and rub it against other people's tongues. In a boat, above a cave, ON A GROUPER (with three different women!), back-to-back-to-back, and I haven't even mentioned his fluffer sesh in the Pacific Oashe. (By the by, let's not get carried away people, he did not boink Clare in that ocean. There was some stupid article written today about how he boinked her, and how horrible of a person he is, but that's just ridiculous. If he boinked her, like actually boinked her, then Clare would've let it slip to the other ladies that they boinked, and then all the other girls would've gone absolutely boinkers and left the show. He probably finger banged her, I mean, he definitely finger banged her, but there was no boinking. Take it from me. I know about boinking, and boinking in an ocean is not fun. Honestly the only fun place to legitimately boink is on a bed. Sure, sure, Glenn Close will have you believe that boinking against a wall or on top of a Buick Le Sabre is hot -- and it sorta is -- but it's not fun. That's make-believe Hollywood stuff. For the record, I'm at a Level 24. But you knew that already. Glenn Close is at like a level 37. Jane Fonda is somewhere in the 200's.)
|The extra "n" is for naughty.|
But Juan Pabs, wowzers. It kinda makes last week's ep -- when he refused to kiss that Jewish lady -- that much more ridiculous. I mean, if she wasn't already embarrassed enough, she should be now. That was like offering Darryl Strawberry a giant sack of cocaine and having him deny you because he's doing a cleanse. Actually, it's nothing like that. That was probably the worst analogy ever, but you get the point. Juan Pabs will wipe his tongue on ANYTHING, even Renee, who I must say looks fabulous for a woman in her late 50s.
Renee (who I think is the most desperate lady to ever appear on this show) was so excited for a kiss last night that she wasted her Vietnamese lantern wish (a wish that had NO BOUNDARIES) on a measly kiss from a man who literally can not stop himself from licking other women. She's honestly lucky her wish came true considering you're not supposed TO TELL PEOPLE WHAT YOU WISH FOR. And she told an entire national television audience. C'mon lady, you gotta understand how wishes work! Specifically the hierarchy of wishes.
There's little wishes (like when you throw a nickel into a fountain) where you wish for simple stuff like not getting diarrhea after eating Wendy's. Then there's big wishes (like blowing the candles out on your birthday), where when you wish for important stuff like not getting congestive heart failure after spending all year eating Wendy's. Then there's WHOPPER wishes (like when you're in THE SOUTH OF VIETNAM and dropping FLAMING LANTERNS into a river) where you go for the gusto and wish for stuff like peace and love and the ability to become a world class DJ who rocks the club and has sex with women against walls and looks good in hats. But a kiss from Juan Pabs? That's like the lowest level of wish. That one of those, "Oh, I just found a penny on the ground of this disgusting subway car. Should I pick it up and make a wish? Meh, it has hair stuck to it. Whatever, a wish is a wish" wishes.
|#6 Spicy Chix all day every day.|
Well, not every day. That'd be ridiculous.
It's not like she even needed to wish for kissing Juan Pabs. It was bound to happen anyway. I mean, think of all the ladies he kissed Monday night: Clare, Andi, I honestly can't remember who else, OH SHARLEEN, Chris Harrison. Whatever example he wanted to set for Cuh-mee-lah has been blown outta the water (PUN INTENDED AND I HATE PUNS). I fully expect Camilla to become a total gutter slut (that's a good thing!). You know, one of those little girls who's like sitting in kindergarten exploring her vagina. And I don't mean that in a sexual way! Calm down Woody Allen! I mean that in a very natural and Age of Discovery way. Little girls explore their vaginas. That's just a fact, that's a medical fact. Don't get mad at me because I'm the one who brought it up. You know damn well you've been to a 5-year-old's birthday party where one girl spent the entire time in the corner elbow deep in her underpants. IT'S NATURAL. It's exploration. You think Jacques Cousteau would've become a Level 37 Poon Hound without doing some deep sea diving? THANK YOU.
What the hell am I even talking about? No clue, absolutely no clue. So considering I just went off on a stupid tangent, it's probably a good time to go off on another tangent and say that there's this friend of mine (who I've never actually met, frankly he's a Twitter friend, but he's a good Twitter friend who works for the Sixers and often gives me free tickets), well this week he asked me to mention that he thinks that Danielle (the light-skinned black lady who was kicked off) looks exactly like Stephen Curry. Personally, I think that's racist, and they look nothing alike, but I'll let you be the judge.
Back to Captain Poon Hound who also made out with Nikki even though she proved to be the weirdest person on the planet after telling him that she "looks forward to going to her job every day." That's some crazy-ass shit. Look, I like my job, I do not have a horrible job, I'm a writer at an ad agency and work in a creative environment with nice people and we get to do some cool things, but I would never ever ever say that I "look forward" to going to my job EVER. Any day where I'm not wearing sweatpants is a goddamn waste. I am currently typing this in my sweatpants and feel as free as a bird. There is something seriously, SERIOUSLY, wrong with Nikki and I would be SHOCKED if she makes it past next week (unless she's a secret level 14 Gutter Slut, which I doubt that she is).
WHAT IS THIS POST EVEN ABOUT, EV?
Omg shut up it's about Juan Pabs, the Makeout King of Ithaca, New York, and how every woman I know (that's like three, three different women!) now absolutely hates his guts. Yes, he shamed Clare for luring him into the ocean, and yes he will probably end up cumming all over Sharleen's smooth and moleless back, and yes maybe he's the worst father figure/role model since Dwight Yoakam in Sling Blade (WHATEVER, DOYLE!), but he's still Juan Pabs and he's still super cute and when he speaks in broken English it makes me smile every time.
Last night, after he had to send Danielle and the Dog Lady and Someone Else home, he said, "I don't like saying goodbye to the people." I mean that's adorable, folks. Absolutely friggin' adorable. And sweet. I think he was legitimately sad to send them home. Earlier he got all tongue-tied while trying to pronounce "pediatric," a tough word to say even for native speakers. The bottom line is, I'm proud of him for boinking or not boinking Clare. I'm proud of him for the back-to-back-to-back Frenchings. I think that makes for wonderful television and a pretty decent role model. What do we want for the future of this country? A bunch of prudes who can only boink in a bed? Or a nation of slut cannons who will fuck in the back of a Vietnamese restaurant?
I think we all know the answer to that question.
(It was the second one.)
(The one about the restaurant.)
(Thanks for reading.)
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