Oh you’re not wrong there, Chantal – boy did it EVER!
Remember how just yesterday we were yapping on about how the producers were really putting their hunched backs into fucking with some of the bachelorettes so hard it’s lucky they’re still able to walk without a luggage trolley? Yes? Well guess what, lovers: tonight it’s Chantal’s turn!
Before we begin, Rico reckons it’s important that we make clear that Chantal is not unattractive. She’s naturally pretty, has lovely clear skin and reminds us a little of Nat from Nova minus the thong-in-the-mouth speech impediment. Unfortunately for Chantal, however, she’s got rather rubbishy tits and the producers are nothing if not eagle-eyed in spying a person’s weak spots and designing a whole date around them.
Naturally, when Chantal’s name is read off the date card, she is beyond excited – particularly because Amber thought she was a shoe-in and anything that makes Amber eat her own shit and possibly choke on it is a high point in the day of the average bachelorette. And, at first, the date looks relatively harmless. In fact, Rico goes so far as to say that THIS is the date Laurina would have killed for, because it’s all about pampering and being given stuff, rather than undergoing extreme dermabrasion courtesy of the forces of nature.
So of the two presents, one is a rather simple pair of earrings which, really, would look pretty inoffensive on anyone. The other, tragically, is a rather ornate dress that has Rico hissing into his wine bucket and the dog retreating under the coffee table with his tail nestled against his testicles.
The problem, of course, is that it’s a strapless, fitted bodice and Chantal is so stricken at the thought of how her toneless boobs are going to present in this monstrosity, that she turns to the only comfort she has on hand: alcohol.
Hours later and the production assistants have finally managed to haul her drunk ass out of the hotel spa and into the dress and shove her into a restaurant to meet bachelor Blake.
‘When I saw her,’ Blake tells the cameras, ‘I thought: mother of SHIT! That bitch is SHITFACED!’
Still, he manages to avoid looking at the way the dress is eating into her boobs and creating a second, smaller pair under her armpits, before leading her to the table where Chantal is crushed there’s no sign of a kebab.
‘Harrruuuuuuurrrrrr?’ she slurs, prodding the food in front of her.
‘It’s Japanese’, explains helpful Blake.
‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!’ brays Chantal, before belching into her wasabi.
As the dinner progresses, Blake does his best to look charmed by Chantal’s inability to perform simple hand-to-mouth coordination and, for reasons that have Rico and I mystified, engages in a lengthy hypothetical about Chantal being sober enough to bear his male progeny.
‘Raaaaalphaayyll.’ Chantal gurgles cluckily. To which Blake replies that that’s all well and good, but surely she’d prefer a name she can actually pronounce when she’s too pissed to make it up the stairs?
But then it’s dessert-time, and because this is The Bachelor and the producers are evil, they’ve wheeled out that twisted little goblin, Adriano Zumbo, to create a rose dessert that looks exactly like a menstruating vagina.
‘Heeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy!!’ Chantal screeches when the demon chef departs. ‘Tha’ Bruuusshe Willish?’
‘Who?’ enquires Blake politely.
‘Dahh Haarrrrd ma’fucker – HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.’
It’s at this point that Blake decides he’s had enough and attempts to drag Chantal out to the car, only to have her mistake his intentions for a slow-dance.
‘Arrrrhhhh gaaahhhhhhhhhh’ murmurs Chantal seductively, which has Rico snatching up the Dog and looking for the exit, because we really HAVE been watching an awful lot of The Walking Dead, and last night we got to the one where Hershel’s decapitated head got a whole new lease on life.
Blake, however, either:
a) doesn’t recognise the danger
b) is under really, really strict instructions, or
c) really does just offer his tonsils to anyone within a thirty centimetre radius
Because the next thing you know they’re kissing away and Rico mutters that if Chantal gets any more hornied-up they’ll have to drag out the plastic sheeting.
Anyhoo, at some point or another she managed to get a rose because when the driver pours her out of the limo and back into the house she’s clutching it tighter than the neck of her last bottle.
But let’s move on to the group date because all of the new faces are there, plus a couple of old faces (Jess, Laurina, Kara), and one haggard one (Amber).
For the occasion, Mary has pulled out her trusty hooker boots, Kara has provocatively covered her vagina with a banana skin, and Rachel has decided to forgo her natural eyelashes for the blackened bones of her previous boyfriends.
And the destination is? The fairground! Which means many, many opportunities for Jess to dislocate her jaw with childlike glee – not to mention stalk Blake with all the skill of a seasoned deer hunter.
Anyhoo, it’s the usual bumper cars followed by booze and canapes on the balcony, followed by rides, which is naturally followed by one girl – the Claire Danes-ish Anastasia – making Blake melt in all the wrong places by threatening to barf on his Country Roads.
‘Stop the ride!’ screeches Blake, and barely has Anastasia’s green-faced carcass hit the deck before Jess and Laurina are making a dive for the empty seat. And the winner? Laurina – who credits Jess’ defeat to the fact that her ass needs its own side-car.
Next up for some time with Blake is Kara, who gets taken for a closed-cage ferris wheel ride with – you guessed it – yet more piss and canapes. Kara, being the dim-witted, dim-brain, dumb-do that she is, uses her precious minutes to whine about how Blake left her ’til last in the previous Rose Ceremony, and didn’t he know that she slathered her legs in an extra layer of Atomic Orange just for him?
To shut her up, Blake hands her a rose – the sight of which has Jess deciding to stop skirting around the idea of being a barnacle, and latch on for good – step one being to use her superior ass-power to push old, stabby-lashes Rachel off the centre spot and win the whizzy-dizzy challenge. Yay!
Her prize? a whirl on the carousel and the chance to get every other bachelorette so lathered up Rico reckons he’s surprised we haven’t stumbled across John Travolta in a homosexual clinch.
Anyhoo, alone in their little car, Blake confesses that he finds Jess’ ability to appear at his side out of thin air ‘calming’, because it reminds him of Anita and – hang on a second! Jess soothes his fears with a little more teeth, and when he questions her tender age she assures him that she’s looking forward to ‘growing older’ with her chosen life partner. Not to mention wider.
What follows is a little unclear, but apparently there was some sort of kiss and the next thing we know it’s back at the house for the Cocktail Party where Chantal is getting a blow-by-blow of just who’s breath she can expect to now be stinking out Blake’s mouth.
Because she’s no longer drunker than an Irish receptionist, Chantal is FURIOUS because what in the hell did she let her tits stagger around in that hideous frock for, if not for the ultimate prize of Jess dying in her sleep? Still, for all her rage it pales in comparison to that of Laurina – and strangely Mary – who lays into Jess with the full fury of someone who has clearly forgotten that every single bachelorette was been selected on the basis of her ability to play battle of the salivary glands with a complete stranger, without a thought for the feelings of their nearest and dearest – let alone 12 jealous bitches.
Rico reckons Laurina really needs an extra slap for forgetting that it wasn’t so long ago that Lisa was pulling HER into a sympathy hug – and because we kinda like Laurina does that mean we have to like Amber too?!
Anyhoo, Laurina’s typically ladylike mouth unleashes all manner of salty sailor language that culminates in Jess getting teary and apologising for having a strategy that actually WORKED. Laurina then decides that since Jess has broken her vow of group date chastity, she now has no choice but to storm stroppily over to Blake, pull him into a private conversation and – OH MY GOD SHE REALLY IS AMBER!!!
Blake seems to agree, because he uses almost the same wording on Laurina that brought Amber back from the brink at the last Rose Ceremony – with the addendum that, in the real world, he wouldn’t sprint from HER like a startled faun.
Laurina seems to find this soothing – so soothing that even after Jess gets her rose first in the ceremony, she still accepts hers. Though she does pause long enough for Rico to call her ‘Lamber’ and for the Dog to finish its article on Reverse Botox.
The sad news of the Rose Ceremony comes when our Great White Hope, Anastasia, gets booted – more than likely because the only time Blake likes to share bodily fluids is when they don’t come complete with chunks of carrot. Instead, the last rose goes to strange Mary – who actually doesn’t look THAT dissimilar from Anastasia in that she has cascading black hair and the tiny, sharp teeth of an alpha tip rat.
The show ends with a dull preview of some so-called sabotage that is scheduled to occur in the next episode and, to Rico’s utter dismay, doesn’t appear to result in any bloodshed.
Until next time, lovers!