The Bachelor Premiere: Tons Of Crazy Ass SoulesMates


Ladies, can I just start this off by saying of Chris Soules: HUBBA HUBBA. No wonder these girls are going bat shit cray over that delicious piece of tender, Iowa meat. And I’m a former Hawkeye, so I’m partial to cornfed men. He’s like a clean-cut, Midwestern version of Matthew McConnaughey and to that I say, “Alright, alright, alright.” ABC has my permission to add a spin-off that includes 30 minutes of Chris working out.

Add to the dreamy nature of Chris the fact that I’m fairly certain ABC trolls the local mental hospitals for some decent looking women with a very loose grip on reality and you’ve got one giant, fucking hot mess.

The network has been going with these live red carpet type things with the pseudo-celebs of seasons past but, really, all anyone noticed was Chris Bukowski taking selfies with swanky Bachelor groupies. That guy is like a scorching case of herpes for this series. He may die down for a bit but he’ll come raging back at some point and it’s always painful and the damage is widespread.

ABC lost me on the long time in between limos. I’m not exactly sure what the point of that was … other than giving us more time to watch Tara down some whiskey and make an absolutely ass out of her and her shitkickers. There were the usual gimmicks, although not as many this year. There were some doozie one-liners, though, with my personal favorite being when Kaitlyn told Chris that he could plow her fields anytime. Pure class, me’lady. Your horse and buggy awaits you and your super swanky mouth and terrible breakdancing moves. Ultimately, she gets a rose, showing us that Chris may like a little mud in his pig pen … if you get my drift.

Britt got the first impression rose because she’s absolutely adorable and plays coy like it’s her fucking job. Let me see here, though. She’s a waitress in LA. I wonder if she has an ulterior motive for being on a widely watched reality TV show. Nope, can’t think of any. Maybe it’ll come to me later. In the meantime, I’m going to do some digging on why she apparently doesn’t shower. Michelle Money never disappoints. Seriously, ABC, please make her the next bachelorette!

The rose ceremony was one of the most pathetic displays of insecurity among women I’ve ever seen in my life. Amanda – oh ye of the fucking crazy eyes and horrible Chicago accent that will never ever cook and clean for a man and is a ballerina who lives with her mom – looked like she was going to be sick. She’d have had to share the toilet with Tara, though, who was about to lose her Jack Daniel’s all over the whole crowd. Even better than the vomit that nearly rose from her throat was the manly yawn she gave before SHE GOT A ROSE. That’s right, folks. Chris loves a good whiskey-swilling, sports-fishing potty mouth. Who would’a thunk.

In the end, it looks like we are in for a doozie of a season, folks, as Chris is missing harvest back in Iowa but looks to be spreading his seed all across the bachelorettes in LA. Stay tuned for next week, when we find out what that crazy bitch yoga instructor expects to get from going back in and pleading her case after getting the ole heave-ho.


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