The problem with the Bachelor’s new “to be continued” format, is that it’s like watching Memento each week. I have to rewind through the last week’s episode to remind myself who these women are once Nick sends them home, and frankly I don’t have the brain cells to live through this show more than once.
The show opens on the lucite heels of last week’s pool party, with Nick’s remaining girlfriends seething over his romp in the princess bouncy castle with Corinne. While the aforementioned naps in a bed filled with scabies and delusion, the women conspire to confront Nick about her intentions and maturity. Vanessa draws the short
hair extension straw (let’s be honest, she’s got the least to lose anyway) and she sits Nick down for a little tete-a-tit.
“It’s her or me,” Vanessa vaguely implies, while Nick smirks knowing that it’s actually Corinne or a blow to his ratings. “Have patience, especially about Corinne” he encourages, because we all know Corinne isn’t going anywhere until Sweeps are over.
There’s some seriously shitty alt-therapy™ going on between Sarah and Taylor, who take it upon themselves to wake Corinne up from her third nap of the day to let her know she’s entitled. Corinne promptly texts Raquel to cancel all future in-mansion therapy sessions. She’s gonna do Corinne, which, in this case, means not brush her hair and squeeze herself into a red Bebe bandage dress from 2013.
Raven (who, by the way, is my frontrunner, so stop fucking tweeting me asking me why I hate her) thinks Corinne’s lack of remorse for dry humping Nick in the bouncy house is “weird.” You know what else is weird? THE NAME RAVEN.
Despite Taylor’s prediction that women will leave if Nick gives Corinne a rose, Corinne gets a rose and nobody goes home. Everyone packs up her baggage (and also her suitcases) for a journey around the globe all the way to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. As the ladies settle into Waukesha’s finest AirBnB, Nick’s mom and dad meet their wayward son for a cup of coffee and a promise that this is the last time they are going to have to be on TV. Nick is noncommittal. Maybe because he’s not sure he’s found the one. Maybe because he needs seat fillers should he ever land that coveted spot on Dancing with the Stars.
Nick chooses Danielle L for a tour of his hometown, where he casually points out all the spots he made out with girls before he started kissing them on national television. You know the problem with living in a small town? It’s that you not only know everyone, you’ve probably dated them, too. After making cookies and sucking face, Danielle and Nick run smack dab into
a production assistant Nick’s ex-girlfriend.
“Why is he still single?” Danielle asks “Amber.”
“Did you read Andi’s book?” she responds. (I wish.)
Nick knows he and Danielle have a physical connection, but is there something deeper he wonders, searching for answers inside the plunging neckline of her evening dress. If the Bachelor had an awards ceremony, Danielle’s double stick tape would lose for its supporting role. While unclear if Danielle goes shopping in sweatpants, it’s obvious she’s comfortable going anywhere without a bra.
Can you believe we are only 49 minutes into this shit show? I swear this is longer than The English Patient.
The next day is the
poop group date. Although he didn’t grow up on a farm – please, the guy was born wearing skinny jeans – the girls learn they’ll be doing various farm-related activities. This date does not agree with Corinne, who would rather be at spa that serves chicken tacos – so a Spaco Bell, if you will. But instead, she’s surrounded by a bunch of jealous haters who are shoveling cow shit with her boyfriend. What’s a girl to do except fake carpal tunnel and order Seamless?
That’s what I’d do.
While Nick makes the rounds getting to know the other women, Corinne reveals a little insight into who she is. And that’s a corn husk. You have to peel back the layers, she explains, before you can reveal the yellow buttery corn filled with little pellets of information, which you’ll promptly shit out in 12 hours without absorbing anything. So, basically, Corinne is human insoluble fiber.
No wonder she’s so tired. She’s been running through your digestive system all day.
Apparently the women – Sarah in particular – still have some unresolved issues when it comes to Napgate. How can a woman who plays in purple pink houses and sleeps through rose ceremonies possibly have the maturity to marry a 36-year-old-man who quit his job to find a wife on national television. In response, Corinne squeezes her boobs and demands, “you call this immature?” Then she informs America that both Michael Jordan and Abraham Lincoln took naps, and everyone knows being on the Bachelor is way more exhausting than being a six-time NBA champion or emancipating the slaves.
The final one-on-one goes to Raven, and it’s the Jade date – you know, the one where the Bachelor brings one girl home to meet his parents way too soon, and uncovers some pretty disturbing, intimate information about her. It all starts innocently enough, sitting on the sidelines of Nick’s little sister Bella’s soccer game. “Raven,” Mr. Viall remarks, “That’s an interesting name,” silently hoping his son hasn’t brought home a stripper.
Raven is no stripper, but she may be a sociopath. After a day filled with cheap skating, arcade games and over-the-shirt action, Raven confesses to Nick that she walked in on her ex cheating on her, checked out the girls platinum vagine and retaliated by beating him in the head with a stiletto. My husband, the lawyer, says this could be used to file charges against her. I advise him that if he ever cheats on me, he’d better hope she’s wearing ballet flats.
In the ten remaining minutes of this episode, Corinne simultaneously chugs Champagne and shovels pigs-in-a-blanket down that gorgeous pie hole of hers, confirming that she is my spirit animal. Then, with the strength of a thousand French grapes and sodium erythorbate, she takes Taylor by the hand for a little tough love.
“The way you treat me is disgusting,” she slurs.
“You’re immature, unintelligent and your breath smells like a sports bar at closing time,” Taylor responds. (I’m paraphrasing)
“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” Corinne snaps.
“I’m just suggesting you go upstairs and brush your teeth,” Taylor counters. (Again, paraphrasing.)
“I totally can’t even,” Corinne concludes.
Me neither, Corinne. Me neither.