On the Threshold of Hell

As Clark W. Griswold said in Christmas Vacation, "We're standing at the threshold of hell!" Barely a month since I lambasted the antics of the shallow and recently moleless Jen Scheft, who despite vehemently denying that she was dating her boss is now dating her boss (and says in Us Weekly "I just hope people respect my privacy and realize this is personal" - good luck, you plastic surgery disaster), ABC has rolled out a new installment of The Bachelor, and this time it's a doozy.

Meet Charlie O'Connell, America's newest Bachelor! He is the brother of Jerry O'Connell, formerly Vern the fat kid in Stand By Me, and currently banging Rebecca Romijin-Stamos-Romijin. You see, the folks at ABC decided that recycled singles from previous seasons, heirs to a tire magnate's fortune, and third-string quarterbacks did not pack the celebrity punch they were looking for. Now, they have resorted to securing the services of the sibling of a B-list celebrity. Who wouldn't tune in for that??

Thankfully, not me for the first half of the premier episode. Given the recent outcome of Molegate, I swore to myself that I would never patronize this steaming pile of pigshit of a TV show ever again. That vow lasted about 67 minutes into the new season, as the unsettling part of me that exists in every human, that horrid desire that resides deep in the darkest recesses of our collective psyches, that makes us slow down and watch a car wreck or tune into surgeries on television, implored me to turn on channel 7, if for no other reason than to gawk like a country fried rube staring at a boy in an iron lung at a carnival sideshow.

I assure you, nothing could have prepared me for the horrors I witnessed. I tuned in to see Charlie - who comes off like your typical club-hopping, cleft-chinned, pompous ass, hanging with a bunch of desperate, young women with low self esteems...do I sound like a fucking broken record here??? This is the same schpiel I spew EVERY TIME I write about this damn show! But ABC has taken it to the extreme. There were make out sessions, provocative dance floor maneuvers, body shots, heavy petting - and this is the FIRST EPISODE! And it's all happening in front of all the other girls! And they don't seem to care! They just want to be the next one whose throat Charlie chooses to shove his tongue deep within. And he doesn't seem to mind that he's completely shitfaced as he does his obligatory "talk to the camera, but not TO the camera" soliloquy. Smarmy, defined.

I couldn't take it - I had to walk away, and come right to the computer so I could alert you, my nine loyal readers, of what was occurring. I am sickened. I am having a hard time keeping my food down. I realize that this scene is the norm as far as mating rituals go for folks in this early-to-mid-twenties age range. How sad. Right now, as I type this, Charlie is standing in front of these girls wearing a black shirt with the first three buttons undone, with NO SPORT COAT, no doubt drenched with the wretched fumes of some vomit-inducing, pheromone-laced cologne product, explaining to one of the 97-pound waifs that he didn't pick her because "I just want someone I can, you know, have, like, fun with, you know?" AAAGH!!!

Given the boundaries that Episode the First has already pushed, I am fully confident that there will be an outbreak of venereal disease before we even get to May Sweeps. I can only hope that I can repress the unholy urge to witness this piss-poor excuse for copulating deep into the desolate corners of my mind, lest I go mad in the process...

Still, my money's on the bartender from Ft. Lauderdale - I felt that she and Charlie had this amazing connection...