Bachette Episode 9: The One Where Cam is Set Free to Hit Up Grindr

19 Oct


Morning lovers, coming to you from GERRRRRRmany because that’s how Rico and I roll when we give guest recappers wings and they decide to fucking well use them.

In all seriousness, though, we’d like to say a big THANK YOU to Roxy Rose who took up the Hot Ruth mantel so admirably and really put her foxy little back into making you kids spray port all over the upholstery.  To be honest, the Guest Recapper thang is a tough gig – not just because this crap is harder than it looks, but because the Dog doesn’t bother editing with a iron fist when there’s a 500 tonne semi trailer that can mow down a hell of a lot more pedestrians.

Anyhoo, you’re a peach Rox.  Best of stuff with your own blog which you’ll have to forgive us for not linking to because our Manager said no and if we argue with him he barks at 4am and then still shits on the shag rug.

Right moving on because the boys are sitting around the table moaning that warm bodies who feel lovely when the lights are off are dropping like flies and does one of them really have to walk away at the end with a GIRL?

Speaking of the gentler sex, in comes Osh to count ponderously on his thumbs to make five and let the chaps know that THIS is the ep before Hometowns and that means if anyone is packing 14 inches or an Immunity Idol, now’s the time to whip it out.

Sadly no one does, which leaves Osh no choice but to summon the date card from between his two favourite cheeks and go back to his collection of Rebecca Gibney videos.

‘Let’s get our hands dirty’ reads the clue and five sets of nuts ricochet back into five abdominal cavities at the thought that George’s vag has entered it’s Awkward Time and one of them might be required to touch it.

And the lucky son is… Lee and which has Jake the Ripper far from happy because, aside from the vaguely hinted promise of gore, his date was so long ago he’s started seeing it riding a penny farthing.

Lee, however, insists he’s not worried at all because he’s got sisters and when you grow up with girls you learn not to get overly hysterical over a sighting of Red Beard’s Toothpaste.

Off to the date though because here’s George wondering if Lee really likes her or is just tagging along behind his bossy hunk of a tongue.

In comes Lee and when George teases that their date will have a movie theme he practically SHRIEKS Dirty Dancing because one time his sisters tied him to a pole in the basement and forced him to watch it until he had nothing left to bring back up. He’s right, of course, and a brief, tongueless embrace later and they’re off to meet John the Stunt Coordinator.

According to Big G, John is a massive fark of a deal, has worked on practically EVERY John Farnham comeback tour and is basically there to make sure they’re both in possession of a full understanding of gravity.


John: Stunt Meat

Instantly Lee is worried – and not just because he always suspected Newton of being in line with Big Pharma – but because this stuff involves communication and trust and other things his sisters tortured out of him from a tender age.

Less worried is George who is more than happy to dash up and down the grassy knoll knowing her chesticles are looking the best they have since Night One.  Up into his arms she goes and Rico mutters it was lovely and all but now poor John’s lugged his first aid kit around for nothing and there goes our chance to see jagged calf bone snapped back into place by a seasoned professional.


Sadly nothing broken

A rain pash later and it’s off to the less aerobic portion of their date which involves not nearly enough drinking and Lee showing up in spectacles and admitting he’s blinder than a mole with a fork in both sockets.

Back at the ALLMANsion, though, and the lads have been saved from eating the slowest of Osher’s Perimeter Dobermans by the good, completely philanthropic folks at KFC.


Caution:  product may contain nuts, seeds and SATAN

Despite the fact he’s got tubes of allegedly chicken-related grease sliding down his froat at regular intervals, Jake is still annoyed that Lee got the date rather than the person who’d make sure she never went on another one.

While the other boys nod and try not to think about the 34 day life span of the average KFC chicken, Jake admits that he’s worried because if she and Lee actually enjoy their time together he’ll have to do him too and the kill room he set up for later only has enough plastic sheeting for a single corpse.

Back on the date though and Big G feels that Lee doesn’t make much of an effort and which is silly because if those glasses were working any harder they’d be standing on a street corner in a cone bra.  After a bit of questioning, he admits he’s scared that she’s dating four other guys and G wonders if it’s just ‘the situation’ or if he’s usually more confident when his girlfriend texts him at 2am and tells him she’s fresh out of frangas.

A few uses of the words ‘amazing’ and ‘Hometowns’ later Lee is feeling better and gushes that he loves hearing her coming –  the only exception being when she’s with Osher because her screams annoy his sinuses and Osh tends to yip like a Dachshund.

A bit of giggling and a heavy wedge of rigor mortis tongue later and the Single is done and the Group Date which will remain a viscous presence in our ears and eyes for years to come is looming vast upon the horizon.

Let’s rip the festering scab off though and get on to it.  Today’s agenda is all about Awkwardness and Pain – also inclusiveness because those feelings are now ours to claim until we die.  Which could be soon, according to Rico.

Anyhoo, because the boys wrote a song for her when they were up to their hairy tits in Pinot Gris, today they get to do it stone cold sober with a chubby Asian guy called JC judging harshly from behind a box of buttons.

Just like John the Stunt Meat, JC is Big Deal Producer Meat and he’s clearly signed a deal to synth the shit out of Georgia and her five potential life-penises, in exchange for a future collaboration with Vanessa Amorosi.

According to JC, the boys should ‘let the music speak and take them somewhere’ –   preferably out into the street where there’s a Volvo driven by a lead-footed granny.  But failing that he’ll work with his boom box  and on a scale of Ashley Simpson to Mariah, try and keep them hovering somewhere around a Britney.


Chesterfields.  Lots of Chesterfields.

Anyhoo, teams is the name of the game and what follows is hard to write about so we’ve decided not to – and not just because my ears are hemorrhaging and my keyboard is covered in blood.

What we will say, though, is that claiming Lee to be the worst singer of the bunch doesn’t quite cut it.  If Lee’s voice were a food he would be Casa Marzu.  Don’t know what Casa Marzu is, lovers?  Well according to the good folk at Cracked:

‘Casu Marzu is a sheep’s milk cheese that has been deliberately infested by a Piophila casei, the “cheese fly.” The result is a maggot-ridden, weeping stink bomb in an advanced state of decomposition.

Its translucent larvae are able to jump about 6 inches into the air, making this the only cheese that requires eye protection while eating. The taste is strong enough to burn the tongue, and the larvae themselves pass through the stomach undigested, sometimes surviving long enough to breed in the intestine, where they attempt to bore through the walls, causing vomiting and bloody diarrhea.’

Wait, it gets worse This cheese is a delicacy in Sardinia, where it is illegal. That’s right. It is illegal in the only place where people actually want to eat it. If this does not communicate a very clear message, perhaps the larvae will, as they leap desperately toward your face in an effort to escape the putrescent horror of the only home they have ever known. Even the cheese itself is ashamed; when prodded, it weeps an odorous liquid called lagrima, Sardinian for “tears.”

Rather less of an ear pustule but still a violation was Jake the Ripper, who for the occasion opted to evolve into Jake the Rapper.  Actually ‘evolve’ is probably the wrong word, especially considering all the gesticulating and Rico reckons if he really cannot perform without using his hands then for the sweet love of foil bags take up the fucking maracas.

Anyhoo, into the fray of musical detritus comes Osher and by this time Big G is so excited to hear the final product she’s just a step and a popped body suit from humping the equalizer.  Big Time Deliverer of Musical LIES JC, though, has done his work and while Osh tells George it’s time for her to pick the winner, he fucks off to sell the raw clips of Lee to all those countries who haven’t yet gone nuclear but still want to kill people.

Back to the verdict though and George picks Jake because rap hand or not, he ‘made his song personal’ and she liked the way  deaf people now know what ‘bitches’ are.  Jake, natch, is thrilled because this will give him the chance to gauge her body language and work out how easy it will be to get her into the back of a panel van.

According to George, the marquee they’re in was once used by Miley and Justin after their Sydney concert and that means licking the couch cushions will probably get them off their collective faces.  Even so the convo is dull because Big G is looking for ‘connection’ and that means best not to get so maxed she invites the Jake AND half the camera crew to Hometowns.

Anyhoo, they hold hands and those pesky winged bugs in her guts start acting up so Jake has no choice to but to create a seal over her mouth to stop them flying out.


‘Butterflies, it appears we have no choice but to go with Plan B’

She then tells him that she wants him to fight for her and he gets excited because fighting often leads to killing when you dip your knuckles in resin and broken glass and HOORAY for another round of face raping.

Then it’s a bit of camera time for our George where she tries to squeeze out some tears about the HARDNESS of it all, only to find her meds have kicked in and made her eyes drier than a neglected bunion.

Cocktail Party time though and because George had no issue with his glasses only his singing, Lee’s using tonight as his visually challenged Coming Out party.

After a bit of cheersing the boys work out that Lee may have brought his specs but he’s missing a rose, and that means his earlier impression of a German carol singer with part of his throat shot out could be sending him home after all.

In comes G in a bloody awful outfit that looks like something Rico’s mother would have worn if she ever sat at the Captain’s table on a P & O cruise.  Once again she’s yapping about it being the hardest night eva, but by this point we have precious little sympathy, not to mention boxed claret.

First to get some alone time is Matty and who, according to Daily Mail, looks vastly better with oil on his nips than Sam and Rhys put together.

Speaking of put together, he’s keen as fuck mustard for that to happen and when he all but begs her to pick him Rico mutters that he should be cringing but he can’t because he’s still got the pictures out and can’t stop twanging over that six pack.

Next up for some alone time and which is so violently awkward we’d almost take Lee’s singing over it (kidding) is Cam.  Problem with Cam is he’s about as interested in dickies touching vagies as seeing Disney get disbanded by a global conglomerate, and if we compare his hand action on the Group Date here:



And here:


More touching

To here:


No touching

Well, I think that’s a clear win for Team Throbbing Member.

Anyhoo, he tries hard in his own special way but we all know that where he really wants to be is backstage hoping Lee will ask for help with the Dencorub.

Last for some one on one is Courtney who uses his time to wonder whether their connection is numero uno.  Only wait, because this is BIGMISTAKEHUGE territory for G who cannot abide it when her boyfriends do fucked up stuff like acknowledging each others’ existence.

To the cameras Big G says that Court should be worrying about HER, not the other lads or, god forbid, his dignity.  She then has another stab at crying which is thwarted by tears who refuse to give a single damp fuck unless they’re stuck in Tasmania reporting on a cheeky Cocker Spaniel who collects his owner’s newspapers.

Rose Ceremony time and Lee is still wearing his glasses in the hopes the light reflection will bedazzle George into forgetting his recent foray into tuneless carnage.

According to Osh, all the boys have a bond with the G and how lovely it is that tonight five will become four and that the odd one out will have plenty of time in the cab to reflect on his bond and the likelihood that it never fucking existed.

First to get a rose are Lee’s glasses because they look sturdy and presented an excellent case for their lack of vocal chords.

It’s at this point Cam suddenly has the epiphany we’ve been waiting for the whole nine weeks.  Why is he here?  Does he really want to bring George to his mum’s house?  Where on earth will he hide his collection of Fairy Godmother costumes?



But of course he’s worried about nothing, because the next rose goes to Matty, followed by Jake, followed by Courtney and the Dog comments that he’s not usually one for happy endings, but when he is it’s because boys like Cam don’t belong at a dinner table pretending they enjoy a side of labia with their chicken parmy.


Anyhoo, of course Big G walks him out but all he wants to talk about is how cool the other guys are and how he has no hard feelings because Lee’s back in the other room.


Ok, seriously, he looks a bit shocked but if our dreams could take solid form this shock would turn to a plan and that plan would turn to the limo driver and shriek ‘NEXT STOP ANY CLUB WHERE I CAN DO THIS!’:


Cam in his natural environment

Well, lovers, we’re getting on a plane tomorrow so we’re placing our pristine reputation once more into the atrophied wank fists of the brilliant depravity that is Bloody Mares.

See you after about 50 bottles of miniature airline plonk!

xo Flawless

P.S – anyone notice how G’s tits were pointing at Lee?  Are they trying to tell us something?  If so, well played tits!  Sing it loud, darlings.  Sing it loud! xo


Him’s our man



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