Ok, lovers, I hope you’re all sitting down because we’ve got some news for you that may well shock you to your tiny, black cores: Alex is no longer our favourite!
That’s right, you HEARD that right, and don’t get us wrong because we were completely rooting for him when he climbed into that tiny plane because every man and their sensitive gag reflex knows that this was no joyride – this was a test of the stomach lining! Make no mistake about it, lovers, Alex was never meant to climb back out of that plane with his breakfast still intact! He was supposed to roar his guts so violently that Sam would head to that butterfly house solo and scratch one off thinking about Sasha!
But where were we? Oh yes, so anyhoo, we were TOTALLY behind him when he refrained from giving that Tiger Moth a new interior paint job. We LOVED that he’d taken the worst that the Frost could throw at him without so much as a wet belch. But then of course he had to spoil the whole fucking thing by ticking the two boxes (yes, plumber Dave, we too have boxes) that Rico reckons are bigger deal breakers than a bed covered in Cabbage Patch dolls:
- He thanked the Frosty for ‘organising’ stuff. I mean, bitches please to the power of infinity! Does anyone anywhere still believe the Bach or Bachette sits up late into the night Googling date ideas and then getting put on hold with florists and personal chefs and butterfly keepers for eff’s sake? We KNOW you’re too bright to buy into that Alex, so why do it? Why would you say that? We looked real close and even played it back a few times but you didn’t wink or nudge her or do the fist-to-mouth head-job motion or anything! And then, later, to make it worse, you had the utter nerve to ask her where she finds the time. We’ll tell you where she finds the time, Alex: when she’s getting her nails done and a whole fleet of faceless minions are scurrying around behind the scenes doing the work they will never, EVER be thanked for! And for that blatant smarmery Alex, you are dead to us! Dead to us we say!
- He went back to the house and described their kiss as ‘lingering’. Alex, let me be blunt: I’ve ‘lingered’ more in toilet cubicles unexpectedly filled with chunder. In fact, let me tell you a story, Alex. Sometimes the Dog will come back into the house with A Look on its face. That Look usually means that something has gone wrong with his toileting and he can not be trusted to sit down on the couch without leaving a scorch mark. At times when I see this Look I grab a couple of wet wipes and perform the task that my opposable thumbs can, and the Dog’s somewhat more rural clean-up cannot. I do not enjoy this task, Alex. I certainly do not linger. And yet, I’m usually at this disgusting business for a good five to ten seconds longer than your ‘lingering kiss’. But in case you still need more assistance understanding the difference, let me present Exhibit A:
Note the presence of tongue and how Sam’s mouth is wide enough to receive it and any stray penis who just wants a warm place to lay its weary head. Now let’s look at Exhibit B:
Note how Sam’s jaw is no longer in danger of dislocation. Note also that her lips appear to have collapsed in on themselves in an effort to block the entry of stray fluids. THOU SHALL NOT PASS, those lips are saying, Alex. Those lips are clearly engaged in a job and have NO INTENTION of doing overtime
Oh lovers, it’s so horrible to start the day in a bad mood but there was just so much to rage on in this episode. Take Sasha, for instance. Supposedly he has not told the other guys that he now has the spare key to Sam’s tonsils ‘out of respect for Sam’. And yet, when Alex came home with tales of the kiss that lasted for less time than it takes Rico to suck down an Aussie Burger, who is it that wants to thresh out every single non-gory detail, just in case the cameras or the blind folks missed anything? Sasha!
Moving on, though, because the one part of the episode that made our hearts sing was that glorious four-way post-dodge-ball situation at the Spa where three boys attempted to smear mud on Sam’s exposed bits and pretend their boners weren’t for each other.
Then it was some alone time for each guy, with Will getting the least sexual sponge down in the history of TIME, Richie getting a slightly more sexual pool with some rose petals, and Kayne getting who in fuck knows because we didn’t see anything and that probably means it was a sauna where Sam’s eight inches of Maybelline face fell off and Kayne’s doodle kept trying to rap its way out of its towel.
We mentioned in our last post that our money is now on Richie to get a burst of strength in the coming laps and wipe both Sasha and Michael off the track. Our reason for this is that not only is he a rather comely (and potentially ginger) young lad, but he seems a touch brighter than Sasha and his hugely muscled thighs, and less inclined to leave an oil slick in his wake like Professional Footballer Michael.
Speaking of Professional Footballer Michael, turns out he’s actually Professional House Flogger Michael who was very nearly Professional House Flogger Michael The Bachelor, only he got nailed at the finish line by another Professional House Flogger called Blake. Rico reckons that means our recent assessment that he’s gunning to be the next Big Man in the Mansion is so on the money it’s practically shitting on it, because everyone knows when you blow your first audition but then get called in for a second, you WORK until your money maker is just a white blur in a borrowed thong.
Or orange if you happen to be Tony.
But getting back to Michael because we really need to face up to the homemade gift elephant in the room, or as Rico calls it: ‘Twenty Yawns in a Box’. Ok sure, Sam now knows that his favourite number is four and that his go-to dish is black bean lobster or something equally pretentious. But where were the really useful tidbits, Michael? How many inches are you? Is that girth or length? Do you make the girl sleep in the wet spot or are you a gentleman? How long do you spend on the toilet? Is that because you’re being sensitive and changing the bog roll or reading Jugs? Have you ever answered the call of the wild burrito in a Video Ezy and blamed it on your girlfriend? Important facts, Michael, IMPORTANT FACTS!
Not that Sasha’s gift was any better, though, because whereas Michael’s was at least trying to be helpful, Sasha’s was a tattoo design masquerading as an innocent drawing that you just know she’ll be getting inked on her flaps if Sasha gets the final rose.
Oh god WHY are we so bitter today? Is it because poor Kanye had to get his top off for the third date in a row? Is it because Will had a far better and significantly whiter body than we ever dreamed and we’ll never get to see it again? Is it because that guy who looks like Richie in bad lighting, but was actually a whole separate person and we never realised, went home?
Or maybe it’s just because we’re drunk and Rosie Waterland is so much funnier than we are.
Until next time lovers, and the dreaded two-on-one Atomic Orange Tony and Junior Tribbiani date that will hopefully end with only Jr. Tribbiani coming back because Tony makes Rico’s (admittedly unreliable) gaydar keep shrieking and it’s just so damn hard to focus on the all the action.