Meet Your Meat

Being the Bachelorette isn’t an easy gig, no matter how much free Pinot Grigio they’re doling out. Every season a charming young woman goes in with the promise of being wooed by twenty or so eligible men, but inevitably she’s forced to deal with a bunch of boys.

At least JoJo isn’t dealing with the same level of entitlement Kaitlyn was. Back then just about every jackass that made it past the first night – and a few who didn’t – copped an “if she isn’t acting interested in me then I’m not interested in her” attitude to an astoundingly great deal of success. But that isn’t to imply the point of view’s become passé.

Enter Chadwick L. Swolbruh of the Tulsa Swolbruh’s (because making fun of a dude named Chad Johnson would be like watching professional baseball players hit off a tee for nine innings). This meathead killed the “Who Will Emerge as This Season’s Villain?” prop bet before I was even able to establish the lines. Not only has the state of Oklahoma given us such hits as this embarrassment of a court ruling and a despicable bill that is one signature away from becoming law, its latest claim to fame is giving America a walking autographed copy of The Game (and I’m not talking about Ken Dryden’s eternal hockey classic).

There’s nothing quite like watching someone insult a woman on national TV and then mansplain his actions to both her and the other fraternity brothers to make a guy wonder if he’s in this business for the right reasons. I knocked back a bourbon and got the main man on the horn.

“You’ve got Chris,” he said with too much pluck for my liking.

“You’re killing me, Harrison,” I responded as I lit a cigarette. “You’re sticking me with clowns who make BroBible’s views look progressive. How the hell am I supposed to drum up action with this nonsense?”

“Clint, aren’t you supposed to be the bookie? I don’t call you and ask you how to do my job.”

“Clearly. Or I wouldn’t be in this mess. Give me one good reason why I should ride this out.”

“I’ll give you two: each of Kimmel’s size twelves. I hear his cobbler’s been specializing in steel-toes these days.”

“The Geek has a cobbler?”

“And a long reach. Don’t even think about skipping town, Clint. Just do your part. We give America the goods, you give them the odds.”

I hung up before he could try to extend the pun further. This may come as a shock, but Chris Harrison’s original material doesn’t play in Peoria – or even Tulsa.

The rest of the night played out much as everyone expected. I drank too much, the guy whose profession was listed as “hipster” was sent home along with some other contestant who’d received roughly as much screen time as I have, and Luke the war vet won “the battle of the deadest eyes” against “Bachelor superfan” James, aka “The PA they asked to do the show for a couple weeks because some other dude dropped out.” It doesn’t really matter in the end – no spread was large enough for anyone to put money on that moon-faced man-child.

Just so I don’t run the risk of Chris making good on his threats, here’re some early bird specials. You can grab 100:1 odds on James F., Daniel, Evan, Chet, or Vinny making it to hometowns. Even if one of those names is made up, it doesn’t hurt to lay a sawbuck on each of them. You never know what kind of chicanery the producers have up their sleeves around week four.

If that weren’t sweet enough, I’ll give everyone with deep pockets a freebie: -900 that Evan doesn’t make it through next week (which includes both episodes). I’ll give +375 on the flipside, but that’s only if you’re a risk-taker who doesn’t mind pissing away their money. It isn’t really a season until the erectile dysfunction specialist gets sent home, anyway.

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