The Official Bachelorette Blog of Trump's America // Week Three

Welcome back to The Bachelorette, the intrepid series that explores new frontiers of male emotion.

This episode begins with lying, cheating, beautiful DeMario imploring Rachel to give him one more chance, but Rachel is a perfect, scary woman who shan’t be played. She tells DeMario she’s glad he learned a lesson from being accosted on national television by a Tinder date that went too far, but it’s too late to use what he learned at the mansion. Especially not when Bryan is still sleeping under its roof.

DeMario disappears into the streets of Hollywood, hopefully to use what he learned to make the world a better place, but more probably to find Instagram sponsors. Godspeed, good man.

From there, we travel to the emotional crevasse between Blake and Whaboom, a terrifying, dark place that even Rachel is too afraid to go, especially after Whaboom tells Rachel that Blake stands over his bed at night, watching him and eating a banana.

“Is this a real story?” asks Rachel.

“Yes,” says Whaboom.

Later, Rachel confronts Blake about the accusation, to which he responds that that’s totally ludicrous because he doesn’t eat carbohydrates, which bananas are chock FULL of.

Rachel, at a loss, gives neither of them a rose, and honestly, I don’t even recall her saying goodbye to them. And with that, the jesters of her court depart.

I mean, there are still a few left.

Next up: GROUP DATE ON ELLEN! Both group dates on this episode show just how far feminism has come. The men are forced to take their clothes off and, respectively, grind on Ellen’s middle-aged female demography and mud wrestle. As a woman, I feel that I’ve somehow earned this.  

After watching the Russian man perform a professional-grade strip performance, Rachel quickly realizes that Freddy the insolent fourth-grader who wandered on to set from a nearby playground does not belong amidst this group. After he confesses his longstanding lust and fulfills his lifelong dream of kissing her, she’s like “or not” and sends him packing.

And she gives the rose to the Russian.

Next up is my dream date: riding a horse down Rodeo Drive and right into the stores and having the storekeeper hand me a glass of champagne while my special baby horse takes a big shit on all the merchandise and then leaving without having made a purchase.

Add buying your horse horse a cupcake to the mix, and who even cares about the man sitting on the horse next to you!?!?!?!? My absolute favorite type of person is the person who lets you feed their animals so that their animals will love you. This is rare because most people, especially in Hollywood, want their animals to stay lithe and beautiful, but when it happens, you need to savor the moment and keep it in your heart forever.

Someone DID accompany Rachel on this date, but I’m not paid to remember these men’s names, and unfortunately, this one’s name is not on today’s docket. He did get a rose, though, so there’s a severe chance I’ll have to learn it someday.

The next day, Corinne and three other women who I don’t care about show up to support Rachel as she watches the man who might be her future husband wrestle other men in an indoor pile of mud. It’s erotic, it’s dirty, it’s sexually adventurous—no doubt this date came directly from the American mind of Corinne Olympios. Also probably Corinne’s idea was to place three horny, disrespectful women next to the mud pit to yell out things like “SHOW ME YOUR BALLS” to the men, stripping them of even more humanity than they’ve already given up by agreeing to be on this show.

Her revenge on men moves like the monster in Halloween—slowly but inevitably.

Kenny, who is a professional wrestler, loses to Bryce, who grew up as the oldest of three boys and probably made his brothers’ lives a living hell. Poor Kenny.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who won. The women agree that Pretty Boy “once you go black you don’t go back” Dean is the hottest in all the land and that Rachel should aim to make a life with him.


Later on, drama bubbles to the surface when it is revealed that some of the men have been shit-talking Eric. Lee, whose Twitter account is full of awful, sexist, homophobic, racist “opinions,” says that, while he loves Eric to death, he just doesn’t see him with Rachel.

Poor Eric definitely has an anger management problem because even though it would be an infinitely better strategy to stay calm in the face of these accusations (which essentially add up to “Eric has anger problems”), he loses his shit.

Eric’s hot though. Love him or hate him, you can’t change the facts.

Anyway, some other stuff happens, and then suddenly we are delivered from the hell we’ve all chosen, free to take showers and read books and spend valuable time with loved ones.

Join us next week to see if Eric, unlike me, is capable of love.


Becky Scott is a Brooklyn-based writer who enjoys buffalo wings and writing journalistic longform pieces on The Bachelor. 

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