Let me start off by saying fuck Chris Harrison. Fuck him right in the face. That guy, that little weasel, stirring up shit on After Da Final Rose, berating Juan Pabs and insisting he admit he was in love with Nikki, parading around the television audience like his name was Phil Donahue. Let me tell you something: I served with Phil Donahue. I knew Phil Donahue. Phil Donahue was a friend of mine. Harrison, you're no Phil Donahue.
It's a shame that Harrison is such a fat fuck, because as retarded as Juan Pabs is (and he is retarded, he is definitely retarded, and I know you're not supposed to use that word anymore, but that guy is 100% full-blown retarded) at least he's willing to admit that his relationship with Nikki legitimately starts NOW. He has no friggin' clue if he loves her. He likes her. He likes her a lot. 'CUZ SHE GOT DEM GROUND ROUND TITTIES, but just because ABC flew him all over the world and put her very, very, very round breasts on a #horse, that does not mean he's ready to propose. For every Sean and Catherine and their stupid, disgusting love, there is also Emily and Jef (JUST THE ONE F, THANK YOU VERY MUCH), and Jillian and Ed (The Short Shorts King of Chicago) and Deanna and that Snowboarder Guy (shocked that one didn't work out. I mean, who wouldn't wanna marry a snowboarder???). So you know what Harrison? Let Juan Pabs and Nikki's tits figure it out at their own pace. We know they're doomed. We know Juan Pabs is a doorknob. His own family essentially called him a hyperactive, stubborn dick. But at least allow him to give Nikki one night of pure, full-throttle, Venezuelan finger blasting.
And poor Clare. Poor, poor, poor, pathetic, dirty, incredibly erotic, disgusting, lucious-tongue-having Clare. No matter how crazy she is (I mean, she's like a level 9, right? Or a level 12? She's like off-the-charts crazy), it was still super sad to see her twinkling little feet appear on screen, in that stupid teal dress, revealing that she was the first one off the boat. It's incredible that you can still feel for a woman who earlier in the evening said, and I quote, "The one thing that I 1000% believe in is how much I love." Ughhghghh, what does that even mean? Rudolfo, Juan Pabs' dorf of a cousin, and living proof that the Galavis DNA is filled with shit salad, should've just sent her home right then. I mean, what was that guy even doing there if he wasn't going to run and tell THAT? The only acceptable response to a human saying, "I 1000% believe in how much I love," is, "Nope! THANK YOU!"
Rudolfo instead chose to tell Juan Pabs how "ready" Clare was, which was like telling someone that the sun is HOT. There has never, EVER, been anyone more ready than Clare. She was ready from Day 1. When I lived in Boston, I used to play pickup ball at this playground near Boston College, and there was this dude José who was always SO READY. Anytime you were choosing up teams, or determining who got next, José was there stretching his quads and jumping around like a goddamn jackrabbit. We called him Hose. And Hose wore rec specs. And he was an absolutely terrible basketball player. BUT HE WAS SO READY. Need a fifth? Hose. Need someone to slap you five after EVERY possession? Hose. He was a total spaz, and he face-guarded people, and he once shot a ball that landed in the tennis courts. I don't know how it happened. I don't know how a person shoots a ball into a tennis court. To this day, in over 30 years of playing basketball, I have never seen a guy shoot a ball into a tennis court. And yet, José... I think it hit the top of the backboard and bounced over. But I honestly don't remember because every black dude on the court instantly started cracking up and fell to the ground. Hose was so ready, though. Back on D before you knew it. "My bad, my bad, match up!" Terrible player. Absolutely terrible. But so ready. I'm pretty sure he was retarded.
How 'bout this #horse by the way?!?!
|"Marigold? Where's Marigold?"|
"Oh, she just went for a quick dip."
What's goin' on here? Do horses just go swimming in Saint Lucia? If so, I am booking a ticket there STAT. Can you imagine putting your head under water, taking a couple strokes and swimming into a horse?! Oh, sorry horse. I didn't see you there. "Actually it's Marigold." Also, can you surf on a #horse? I've never been surfing, but I feel like surfing on a horse is the only true way to do it. What do you think that horsie's name is? I think his name is Leonard. Leonard the Horse.
|Phil Dons, interviewing my dad in 1984.|
The two of them fucked shortly after this pic was taken.
BACK TO THAT LITTLE SHITBAG OF A TELEVISION HOST. Phil Dons was probably throwing up all over his grave last night watching that guy try to engage with the audience. It was one thing to be disappointed in Juan Pablo not proposing. I get that. Harrison works for a goddamn television network, and he wants his stupid show to deliver on its promise of pure, unadulterated dogshit. But once it became clear that the dude just wasn't there yet, that he wasn't ready to propose to a woman who he'd known for TEN STUPID WEEKS -- or 70 days for all your maths majors -- I think Harrison coulda eased up and been like, "Yo, I ain't tryna mess with no broke ass trick who says I love you after four dates either, bro. I got you. I gottttttttttttsssssss you." And then the two of them coulda high fived and gotten down on their knees and snorted some coke off those couches like REAL RENEGADES DO.
Look, the bottom line is: who gives a shit? This show once again provided us with weeks and weeks and weeks of total toilet domination. It got friends and family members to gather 'round the ole TV set, and spend time together -- laughing, crying, and barfing all over each other. And that's really all you want out of a TV show. Well, that and slam dunks. It'd be cool if there were more slam dunks on this show. And black chicks. Would it kill them to put at least 12 black chicks on every season? Also, what about a guy who has like four dicks? That'd get ABC to tha top of da Neilsen Ratings. God this blog is so stupid. I'm sorry. Thanks for reading. I love you.
JK I hate you but whatever.
Full disclosure: I watched last night's finale BY MYSELF (my wife was away in Denver on bidness). OMG DON'T JUDGE. Whatever, ain't no thing, 'cuz I stay tru to da game. Hey, people sure went bonks for that True Detective show, huh? Should me and da wifey check that shit out? I mean, we've got Game of Frones and Mad Membs coming up, and we haven't watched Antiques Roadshow in a longggggggggg time, so I don't know what to do. The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the omg how old is Bob Dyls these days he's gotta be like a hunnerd, right? He and Phil Dons should fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkk.