Well I’ll be damned. I never thought I’d live to see the day.
Not the day when a verbal altercation between two Bachelorette contestants is so stilted and ham-fisted that it was clearly staged, but when the whole contestant pool had to leave the mansion so quickly and unceremoniously.
“I told you we were low on funds,” Chris said when I called him upon catching the news.
“You sent them to a resort, Chris. You’re hardly broke.”
“A resort?” he scoffed back. “It’s in the middle of goddamn Pennsylvania. Who in their right mind has ever willingly gone to rural Pennsylvania? Besides, it was seasonal. The place wasn’t even open. You know what kind of rates you get for something like that?”
“I imagine they paid you,” I said absently, already thinking through excuses that could get me off the phone.
“Exactly, that’s the goddamn point! This is the type of thing we’ve had to do to stay afloat.”
“Speaking of staying afloat,” I said, an edge in my voice like the blade of a razor. “Can we talk about the fact that the sleaziest nice guy, the walking Viagra bottle, is still on the show? Do you know how much I lost on that?”
“What do you want from me? The show’s wrapped and in the can, Clint.”
“Professional courtesy,” I responded, lighting a cigarette and then snapping the Zippo shut. “The least you can do is let me know what kind of hit I’m in for.”
“Hey, you’re the one that’s playing by the rules of the viewer. It’s not my fault you took a bath.”
I hung up after that. Rules of the viewer, my ass. A blind man can see this is Jordan’s season and the rest of the episodes are about who’s going to be the next bachelor. My early money’s on Chase for some reason – but after this last double dose of ridiculousness I’m waiting another week before putting some real numbers up.