|"Did someone say Snoop Loops?"|
Nah yo I said "froop-a-doops."
|"Oh my base. Carry on."|
I can't even come close to handling Frank. Can't. Even. Come. Close.
Since Frank came into our lives, nothing else matters. NUH-THING. I don't care about this blog. I don't care about yogurt. I don't care about Kentucky potentially going undefeated (jk I totes do omg can they #DO #IT?!). All I want to do, all day every day, is go nose-to-nose with the furry little creature who now lives in my house and shits in a box.
So Monday night, as we settled in to watch our favorite toilet bowl of a TV show, I noticed that Frank was missing. Not missing missing, calm down, I'm not saying he ran out the door or anything, I'm just saying that I hadn't seen him for a while. Normally he's bing-bonging all over the place, jackknifing off the bookcase, sticking his little butt in the air like he's the King of France. But last night, nothin. So when I suddenly heard a little meow coming from the couch by my wife, I had to figure out what was going on.
"Is the Frankinator sleeping next to you?" I asked my wife.
"Ummm, yes?" she replied.
"Has he been there all night?"
"Just nuzzling? And cuddling? And being snoop loops cupes?"
"So you're basically just hogging our cat now?"
"No, not at all. It's just..."
"IT'S JUST WHAT, DAR?"
"It's just that you have spaghetti hanging from your chin and I hate you."
"HE'S MY CAT TOO, Y'KNOW?! HE'S MY CAT TOO!"
"I WANNA RIP YOUR FUCKING FACE OFF."
I mean, THE AUDACITY of them to snuggle together right in front of me! Frank, I understand, he's a goddamn cat. But my WIFE? The woman I dedicated my life to?! Do you know how that made me feel, Dar? You don't think I wanted to feel Frank's soft, warm breath on my neck as I held him up and squeezed his belly forcing him to exhale even though I know he hates that? It's just #rude. I wanna snuggle too, guys. I like snuggies. WILL SOMEONE PLEASE SNUGG ME?
What I'm getting at here folks -- for those of you who aren't familiar with the ancient blogging technique of crafting a metaphor and then having to explain that metaphor in the very next paragraph -- is that Chris (the farmer, not the host of the show who literally does nothing) and Britt are total fucking assholes. Their behavior during the group date -- being affectionate in front of the other women, stealing little pecks on the lips, escaping to that lame-o concert, HOLDING HANDS -- was downright despicable. They should be ashamed of themselves for being so insensitive. It was hurtful. It was disrespectful. And it was insulting. And I think Carly actually used those three adjectives when describing her feelings making this paragraph completely void of one original thought.
|Britt loves a smokey eye, doesn't she?|
But still, this whole thing could've been easily avoided if Britt and Chris (the donut brain, not the guy who steals money from ABC) thought for one measly second before they walked back into that grouper holding hands. All those idiots needed to do was come up with a somewhat believable story to tell the other chicks. A simple white lie, the basis for which all relationships are based on.
CHRIS: Okay, Britt. Here's what happ'd: we ducked out for a minny, I got a severe case of dye-dyes, and then had to rush to a bathroom before I shit my pants.
BRITT: Perfect. And on the way to the bathroom, I had to grab the rose and make sure you didn't shit all over it.
CHRIS: Yes. And as I blasted shit out of my butt into a somewhat-clean but still super-disgusting public toilet, you stood by the stall door making sure everything was okay.
BRITT: Right. And because I helped you out while your ass exploded, you gave me the rose. Got it?
CHRIS: Got it.
BRITT: Good. Ready to go back in?
CHRIS: Yes. Gimme your hand.
BRITT: No, you idiot!
Slaps Chris across the face.
CHRIS: Goddammit I want you so bad.
BRITT: I want you too.
CHRIS: I wanna bring you back to Iowa and bore the shit outta you.
BRITT: I wanna fuck your butt with a strapper.
CHRIS. You know what? I want you to. I WANT YOU TO.
BRITT: Where are you going with this, Evster?
CHRIS: No idea.
BRITT: Probably should've ended this scene like six lines ago.
CHRIS: More like 12.
BRITT: Don't be #rude.
See? Easily avoidable! By the by, can we talk about the fact (and when I say "we" I obviously mean "me" because I'm the only one talking here and I'm not even talking, I'm writing, and omg shut the fuck up Ev and just get on with it) that The Bach franchise has just OBLITERATED everything that is sweet and innocent about holding hands? When did holding hands become so casjz? I don't know about you assholes, but I've always thought of holding hands (especially in public) to be a very sweet and romantic gesture. Maybe even the sweetest! I've tried to choke out plenty of women in the bedroom. I've asked to be spit on. To be kicked about the head, neck, breast and chest areas. But I have only attempted to hold hands with a very select group of women. That is some real Harry Met Sally type shit. Any woman can be chained to a bike rack in a man's attic. But only an angel is worthy of a hand-to-hand embrace.
ALSO, what is up with that "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" song? Am I missing something? Is the American horse population in danger? How does having sex with a man help a #horse? If it does, great, I'm all for the preservation of horses. They're beautiful creatures (with the saddest, dumbest faces) and I totally appreciate a movement that encourages more women to sexually overpower men. But if horses have been dropping dead because women are riding them too damn hard, that is a MAJOR problem. And I appreciate Big and Rich (and their wallet chains) calling the issue to the nation's attention.
"Hey Big, what's a matter with Mr McNibbles?"
"Aw shoot, Rich, he's had dye-dye for weeks now."
"Any idear what it's from?"
"Two gals rode him hard last week. Rode the life right outta 'im"
"GODDAMMIT BIG WHEN WILL IT STOP? WHEN WILL IT STOP?"
"Dunno, Rich. Dunno."
Spits wad of tobacco that lands in a pile of horseshit. Big and Rich eat the horseshit and then write a hit song. KA-CHING.
All right, enough of all this jibber jabber, let's get to Meltdown City.
That whole panic attack shit? That scene where Kelsey had a goddamn panic attack and passed out on the floor and needed OXYGEN. Yo, she legitimately had a panic attack. She wasn't pulling that stunt for attention or to postpone the rose ceremony -- she had a legit panic attack because she is incapable of controlling her basic human emotions. I'm not saying a sane person can't have panic attacks -- they can, and I imagine they're quite overwhelming, and terrifying -- but there is no reason to fake a panic attack on a TV game show that has a less than a 6% success rate. What is there to gain?
Think about it this way: no man on this planet would find it attractive for a woman to have a panic attack. NO MAN. There's no thought like, "Wow, she's panicking. I want to help her and make sure she's okay." That would never ever ever happen. It's more like, "Whoa, this woman is a nightmare. What can I do that will calm her down so I can get her out of my life as soon as possible? Also omg my #horse just died."
Ashley on the other hand, wowzers bowzers. Dial down the desperate lady. #DIAL #IT #DOWN. I cannot remember anyone in this show's history being that much of an emotional wreck. She cried every single episode, and I honestly can't think of one reason why. It's not like her horse died because some non-virgin rode it too hard. Although it was kind of amazing when Kelsey was staring her down and she replied that just because she's dumb as shit that doesn't mean she's super fucking dumb as shit. That being said, she is super fucking dumb as shit and I think she'll die a virgj.
I literally don't care about this blog post anymore and am just gonna end it.
Yo! Coming tomorrow is part 1 of TVMWMMWMWMW's Oscar Preview with Feddd and Sara Circs. Be sure to check it out. But for now, check out Koko and her kittens. I CAN'T HANDLE ANYTHING ps as I'm typing this Frank is nibbling my foot. He's a bit of a nibbler!