Dead to me

This show, much like my heterosexuality, is dead to me. Seriously, I might just call this season quits. First, I'll have you know that tonight I tuned in from lovely Cleveland, OH. (And when I say lovely, I imply "gross, disgusting, depressing and awful.") But you're all bright enough to get my mild sarcasm by now. If not, remove yourself from this blog immediately and slap yourself really hard on both cheeks.

But back to the theme of this blog. "The Bachelor" is dead to me. Let me elaborate.

Byron blows. Who is this disaster area? He is certainly not a catch. The only catch in my eyes is the catch of the day. Apparently he is a fisherman. Who is he kidding right now? Do these girls actually think that's cool? So, his job is dead to me. His personality is also dead. He may have left it in his bass fishing boat. In addition, his skin is dead to me as--I mean, literally, his skin is dead. What is he, 56 years old? Crow's feet much? Good god, ever heard of botox? Honestly...

And then there are the lifeless, plastic bachelorettes. Resident bitch, Krysta, sucks. But she's supposed to, so I'm over it. You're over it to, I hope. All the others blow too. I don't remember one of their names, and I don't intend to learn them.

The past hour was perhaps the most boring hour of TV ever. I am not invested anyone or anything to do with this show (except the chick who wore the kickass Pucci dress at the rose ceremony). Nice choice. But the pantsuit on the other chick? I think you know where I'm going with this. Let's just write it off to a bad line (or eight) of coke before the rose ceremony. Because if she honestly thought a pantsuit was a good choice, she needs more than eight lines of coke.

I'm done.

This week's awards:

Leatheriest face: Byron. He blows goats. And apparently the wind blew the shit out of his face for the past 55 years.

Fakest tits: Wait, what's her name? Oh yeah, I don't care. But she's the chick that apparently was sucking up to Byron by applying all his interests to her life. Dumb.

Ugliest: Krysta. Your face is too round and we hate you.

Sincerely,

Your pissed-off bachelorite.

p.s. I really think I'm going to hold off on this season, and wait for the true love of my life, "The Bachelorette." I don't think I'll ever get sick of that shit.

I'm sorry, what?

Yeah. So "The Bachelor" starts tonight. Is ABC kidding me right now? Why didn't they call me to tell me? As a consultant to the network, you'd think they'd let me know by a personal phone call. Apparently they didn't get the memo that my phone number changed (along with my address) since the last season. I feel dirty. I feel alone. I feel taken advantage of.

Here I am in Hotlanta, completely oblivious to reality (like most deranged Southerners). I leave the city for two days, and my life changes completely. Who am I? What do I believe in? Am I still as fabulous as I've always been? Please. Let's be honest. Of course I am. I'm just in the dark when it comes to my reason for living.

So, friends, I cannot watch tonight's premier--which leads me to a tough decision ABC has forced me to make. Do I watch this season? Or do I wait for what I thought was the next season (that with Jen as "The Bachelorette")? I mean, we all know I like that show better. But we also know I am the number one fan (a fact I am unwilling to argue).

Tomorrow will be a sad day for you all, I know. Just suck it up and deal with it. As I meet college's future freshman, you will be watching "The Bachelor" alone.

I've let you down. And I apologize.