two hours of my life that I will never get back

Having recently given up cable to be, um, more productive, I’m a little late to the dregs of the network reality TV scene. Sure, I was there for the first Survivor coronation, and I reveled in Joe Millionaire’s every smootch, but The Bachelor, arguably the more vanilla of the bunch, had passed me by. That is, until last night when, overtired from a long day and unable to make a selection from my interminable Netflix queue, I found myself flipping back again and again to the dude and his over-made-up ladies. If I had bothered to live-tweet the thing, here’s what might have spewed forth:

Wait, this guy was on the show before? Why on earth would someone do this twice?
Wow, he really likes that dentist. Actually, he seems to like all of them. A lot. Give this guy the Colin Ferrel award for boosting a lady’s self confidence.
That girl has…fangs? Really?
Sweet girl with the Southern accent who pledges to be his best friend, your agenda is transparent. And you say “like” too much.
The Boston girl says “I’m wicked sorry” about interrupting another girl’s chat with the Bachelor. I like her style.
Wait, he gives the first-pick rose to the girl who says “like” too much? I’m changing the channel.
Rose ceremony. Who are half of these people? Clearly, they’re going home.
He’s given fang girl a rose. Of course.
I can’t believe I’m still watching this.

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