This season of The Bachelorette is so hard to make fun of. Emily is choosing all the right guys. Granted, she’s snatching my future husband (One-F-Jef) out of my distant grasp even though our synched-styles could front wedding magazines for decades—but still, she’s choosing all the best dudes. Which, in turn, makes it difficult to make fun of her or the suitors.
Still, I think we should take a moment and praise God that she sent ProBroRyGuy home even after we got a behind-the-scenes look at how he gets his facial hair to look like a cornfield maze! As we all know, he continued to make asshat comments about trophy wives, his awesomeness, and then repeated how “shocking” it was that she wouldn’t give him a rose.
Is it, ProBro? It’s shocking that she didn’t like the origami shaved into your chin? She’s not into guys with 33-inch necks who “shave their legs and pluck their finger hairs?” She doesn’t go head over heels for douchebaggery in teal shoes wearing a suit I can only assume is made from the refined silk of six affliction tees you borrowed from The Situation? Bizarre.
The best part of ProBro’s exit though? His acknowledgement to the producers that they might try to edit things to make him into an “arrogant ass.” Unfortunately for him, the editing skills of a blind alligator could make him into that—even though I’m pretty sure they cut his “I think you’re making the wrong choice” comment and made it sound like he was saying it to Emily as he gave her his last hug. I’m positive the producers schooled me on that one.
Next item: the fact that DaddyDoug and Wolfman are somehow still around. How Wolfman has managed to hang on this long is beyond me. That squirrely-headed sobfest doesn’t stand a chance; Emily just felt bad because he was crying over some ripped playing cards he keeps in his wallet. And as for Daddyio-Dougy, he, once again, brought up his son as ammunition for love, referring to the movie they watched as “something that’d be great to take the little guy to.” Did you guys know he has a son? He loves him so much. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked the producers to create a hologram of his baby boy so that he can see him nearly in the flesh.
And when we all thought Emily was going out to profess her undying love to Chris Harrison at the end of that rose ceremony, the producers duped us again, shocking everyone (gasp!) when she came back with two roses instead of zero. Which, as always, brings us to Arie.
Oh, Arie. I love you just a little bit less than One-F-Jef, and not nearly as much as Emily loves you. They dry-humped in the streets of Croatia, and he snuck into her bedroom like he was on a damn episode of Clarissa Explains It All. Which makes me wonder, if it’s that easy to sneak around, why aren’t people doing it every night? I’d be all over that! Peace out, bitches, I’m going to get me some alone time. Screw this group date shit. I mean, they were making out in her bed with his hand all up on her booty—clearly the restrictions aren’t that intense.
Seeing as Chris Harrison says there are “no rules” (which obviously must be true if Arie used to smooch a producer), here’s what I would do if I were Emily at the next rose ceremony.
- Instead of roses, I’d hand DaddyDoug and Wolfman flight itineraries home.
- Then, One-F-Jef would get a skinny tie and my (Liz Riggs’) address—with a one-way ticket there.
- Sean would get directions to the nearest church.
- Chris would get a nose job.
- And Arie would get the final rose.
Can’t wait till next Monday, suckas. Love, @riggser.
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