The Official Bachelor Blog of Trump's Second Year in Office // Week Nine

Photo courtesy of ABC

Photo courtesy of ABC

Welcome back to The Bachelor, the only show committed to finding wives for men multiple decades past their sexual prime.

There were two episodes this week, but I finally did something for myself and chose to boycott the "Women Tell All" episode because, quite frankly, between Natalie Portman's sass at the
Golden Globes and Lena Dunham's Vogue essay about getting a hysterectomy, I think white women have had more than enough opportunity to say their piece. Wake me up when orangutans have mastered sign language and are ready to tell me everything.

Last night, I showed up 15 minutes late to my friend's place where we had planned to watch it
and let me tell you why: because I was doing other shit and didn't feel like leaving until 15 minutes later. It had nothing to do with broken subways. It had nothing to do with having to take a last-minute poop. I could have been on time and I chose not to be.

Like so many of my decisions that can be traced back to blind ingratitude, it ended up being a
good one for I missed the entirety of Kendall's date. I showed up just in time to see her looking
like a perfect 10 in that red-hot pantsuit, moments before she and Arie would kick out the camera crews and commence doing kinky taxidermy sex shit.

Next up: Lauren. As per usual, Lauren is the "before" character in an antidepressant commercial and Arie is into it. He can't get enough of how Lauren acts like she is going to die of dysentery at
literally any moment. On one hand, I understand this. Lauren has literally the perkiest ass I've ever seen on any living thing. It defies the laws of physics.

What I'm saying is, wouldn't you???

Because Arie likes to make out with Lauren so much, we are subjected to violent close-ups of
his face. This is unpleasant because the closer you get to Arie';s face, the more you realize he is a rapidly aging Dutch white person whose pallor could accurately be described as "moist."

The truth is Arie is attractive but he's attractive in a pale white person way, which is extremely fleeting. His time is almost up and by that I am not referring to his opportunity to sexually
harass and systematically underpay women. For all of this man's shortcomings, I do believe he
would pay me the same amount as a man to, for example, wash his race car.

Arie tells Lauren that he loves her which is almost special except then he runs straight into the
lanky arms of Becca and tells her the exact same thing.

In a way, it's charming how this franchise inadvertently touts the practice of polyamory.

After Arie leaves Lauren, he takes Becca to the desert where they have sex. Or at least I think
they do. Then, her ex-boyfriend takes a plane to Peru to find her and tell her that she cannot
marry this television man because she belongs to him.

His name is Ross and he is probably not on social media because he did not know until just
recently that his ex-girlfriend was on a television show about marriage. If only he had read this blog, none of this would've happened, but hindsight is 20/20 I suppose.

Ross, fortunately for us, is much hotter than Arie. He is a sexy sex man with eyes like the deep
blue sea. Yet somehow, Arie is the Jolene in this scenario. Becca sends Ross away but the
damage has been done and Arie is officially unsure if her pussy is worth the inconvenience.

Ain't nothing like love.

As expected, Arie kicks Kendall to the curb, sending her back to California to stuff the bodies of
more dead animals. Still, she will go down in history as the most unlikely second runner-up in
Bachelor history.

Join me next week to find out which one will sign up for a lifetime of cleaning bedpans and
changing diapers.



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

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