The Bachelorette and my vomit

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For some reason I find myself here in room 206 of the Sleep Inn, watching The Bachelorette. Jillian has made her choice, and it’s … Ed.

Truthfully, I have no idea who Jillian is. I Googled her 10 seconds ago. I don’t know who Ed is, either, but something tells me I’ll find out shortly after the break.

I could use this space to offer up the common spewings: What a stupid show. Who are these morons? Who in the world watches this dung? Does The Bachelorette represent what we’ve become as a people?

Instead, however, I’ll state what, without question, millions of American men are thinking: Uh … Jillian looks like a woman I could date.

That’s not really a compliment. She’s certainly not ugly. But usually, this show features legitimate, Grade-A hotties; the type of women who never even glanced my way back in college. But Jillian, literally, looks like a gal I hooked up with in the basement of Pi Lambda Phi at the ol’ U of Delaware.

One other point: What sort of fool gets engaged off of a reality show? I mean, I’ve been married for seven years. I know my wife’s likes, dislikes, quirks, annoyances, loves, passions, food choices, food allergies, political leanings, sports leanings. I know what puts her in a good mood and a bad mood; when she needs to be alone and when she needs to be comforted. And marriage is still work.

So … this. Just inane.

But engaging TV.

PS: Just found out who Ed is. He likes bad T-shirts and average-looking chicks. Word.

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