Welcome back to The Takeout’s weird column about the food, or absence thereof, in the many corners of the Bachelor cinematic universe! I’m your host, Allison Shoemaker, and I have also seen the 1989 Cameron Crowe film Say Anything starring John Cusack and Ione Skye. In the sixth week of Katie Thurston’s Journey To Find Love, Katie makes it clear that she is pretty freakin’ bored with this stage of the process; she would like to ditch the cannon fodder and get down to the business of making out with burly Canadians who love Cusack references and once read a book about Alzheimer’s. And so this episode is a bloodbath. A most brutal culling. Look on her works, ye mighty, and despair.
Blow the cake out of your nose and let’s get started.
She ate cake out of a man’s nostrils.
Perhaps y’all think I am exaggerating for comic effect. Friends, I am not.
Honestly, I feel my work here is done. I need not write about anything else. (But I will!)
Yeah. Justin got a solo version of the dreaded “let’s pretend we’re getting hitched” date, sometimes used to scare off the poor Brendans of the world. We have barely seen these two humans speak to each other. But hey, he’s very handsome and he’s got that GIF face. There are a couple of weeks to go, but: see you in the finals, Justin.
She also ate cheese, but only the metaphorical sort and only the portion Blake was serving. We’ll get to that later.
Oh, and one more thing, as a fun little bonus for the six of you who fall in the center of the Venn diagram connecting “Reads column about food in Bachelor franchise” and “knows all the words to Les Misérables”: Change the words “heart”and “love” for “nose” and “cake.” It has brought me joy for several hours now.
A deep-fried tentacle of eldritch horror, a bad roast, crispy hot dogs, cheese from Connor, and cheesier cheese from Blake. Also, there were many, many euphemisms for masturbation. She didn’t eat euphemisms for masturbation, but if she had, it would have been a veritable feast.
Look to the right of the wine glass in the foreground of the photo above. That is a pincer, fried past the point of edibility, resting on a bed of lettuce. Justin gets his rose.
Before the episode gets cracking, Katie challenges all the dudes to go a week without masturbating. It is very weird, but not as weird as the fact that the woman who brought a vibrator to her limo entrance on the last season of The Bachelor uses a series of increasingly awkward euphemisms for masturbation instead of just saying “masturbation.” It’s also pretty weird that they’re aping a 1992 Seinfeld episode, but hey, whatever makes you happy, girl. But it does lead to Connor trotting out an increasingly surreal (and thus funny) series of euphemisms of his own, among them:
- Friday Night Lights
- Saturday morning balloon races
- How do you like them apples
- Solo hockey
And my favorite:
This will be important later when Blake performs maintenance on his sprinkler system. Next.
This “date,” featuring everyone who isn’t Justin or poor Connor, is hosted by two absolute legends: RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars winners Monét X Change and Shea Coulée, the latter of whom is also Chicago royalty, so bow down, etc. I love them. And I am grateful for their presence here, because these dudes are not funny. The
best only joke any of the non-queens makes comes from Aaron, to Hunter: “We all know you’re a leprechaun, dog. I know Katie has a heart of gold, but you can’t add it to your pot.” That’s the high watermark, and it’s... not a very high one. Fellas, those aren’t reads. This is a read.
And this, this is a read:
The dudes are correct in that Hunter is, in fact, full of shit, and we know that to be true because Hunter is the latest in a long line of Bachelor Nation also-rans to somehow forget that if they lie in front of a bunch of cameras those lies will definitely wind up on television. No one—I repeat, no one, not even sweet Michael A. or good ol’ Greg—gets the rose. Oh, and in the post-credits scene, Shea makes a solid Stagecoach joke. Make Shea Coulée the new host of Bachelor In Paradise, sign the petition now at change.org.
The second one-on-one date of the week goes to Connor, and from the earliest moments of said date, his inevitable doom is made clear. Katie openly refers to the date as an opportunity for “one last kiss.” Jason Tartick, a Bachelorette alum, says he’s “rooting for him.” They grill hot dogs, Katie asks for hers crispy, and we never see it consumed. And they don’t not-eat their dinner together because she dumps him in his hotel room and cries a lot. So does he.
But neither of them cries as much as the other dudes in the house. Seriously, they WEEP.
Sweet Michael A. kisses him on the cheek. Aaron says he wants to be more like Connor. Greg simply cannot deal. Even Hunter pretends to cry. That is not typical. Meet your new Bachelor frontrunner. Big Eponine energy:
Should you run into Connor in real life, please keep that dear sweet man away from any barricades you might encounter.
So Connor’s exit takes place at approximately the 1:02:57 mark. By 1:04:23, Blake is doing this:
This is like the third thing that’s happened with Canada Bro that’s seemed like it was well and truly scripted—not contrived, scripted. Blake is going to win. If I were one of the dudes on this season and I was there for the right reasons and was now watching at home, I would be furious. Katie is producing her own rom-com, and she already knows which dude she wants as her co-star. She and Blake make out a lot because Blake borrowed a bluetooth speaker from someone, and then Blake goes home to lose the WoWo challenge. (Again I say, scripted.)
Seriously, mark it down: Blake is going to win. Apologies, Greg/Michael A./Justin/Andrew S./other people whose names I don’t remember because you’re for sure not actually in the running, but you’re all just lining up for a Connoring now. And at the rose ceremony, Katie sends all but six of the dudes—plus Justin, who already had his rose—packing. Bye, Tre. Bye, Aaron. Bye, Hunter. Bye, Turtleneck Guy.
After all is said and done, Katie looks around at the destruction she hath wrought. Somewhere offscreen, poor sweet doomed Greg contemplates the massacre:
Is this even a question?
We’ll miss you, your bad puns, and your general vibe of niceness, Connor, but most of all we’ll miss your constantly exposed sternum. Adieu.