First of all, I must apologize for my absence on this insanely awesome blog. I've been hibernating, and now that I am nice and rested, and my fat storage is at an all time, cozy high, I'm ready to jump back in. So on we go.
Apparently Monday nights are run by this little show called The Bachelor. I'll admit that I am a reality tv slut. I LOVE me some dysfunctional hoarders, mentally disturbed females calling themselves "bad girls", insanely derogatory young adults getting blacked out in a certain New Jersey city, and little children being forced into glittery pageants that boarders on child abuse and child exploitation. But I JUST DON'T GET THE BACHELOR. I don't get it. I watch it for two seconds, and I want to punch not only the DOUCHE of a guy that they have on the show, but the daddy-issued litter of miscreant females that appear each week. Question number one for you ladies: How many NFL-type concussions have you suffered to make you believe this guy is really your 'future husband' and that he gives a crap about you. #2. Do you really think that your "career" is going to be helped by this? #3. How awful is your relationship with your dad?
But alas, there is one AWESOME thing about the show and it's bat-sh*t crazy cast; their exits. Now, I'm not going to lie, I've shed a tear or two once a relationship has come to a close. But that was a REAL relationship where we actually dated exclusively, had emotional connections which was NOT shown by him giving me a red rose at the end of each day. So, with that said, why are you crying? More importantly, why do you show that you are upset, in front of cameras when you know your face looks like this:
Cat Woman: That, or she is trying to see what she will look like when she's 40, and decides to go for the facelift.
I hear a Taylor Swift-esk song comin' on...
Yeah, she's gonna kill you in your sleep and save your hair.
She just woke up from the alcohol induced coma and realized she doesn't have to stay here anymore.
This looks like one of the one-on-one interviews from Intervention.
She just realized that this show was the high point of her career / life.
Yes, your life has been reduced to the fact that one super-douche hasn't given you a rose. You can go ahead and jump of the top of this house whenever you like.
Holy Cleavage! Not only does he not like your personality, your pathetic attempt at (once again) using your, uh, 'assets' didn't even work. You can follow the other girl to the roof too.
She farted, and is hoping he doesn't notice...
He didn't like her because she was a Trekie. That or she was too dumb to understand how to do the dance from Pulp Fiction. She never did get it right...