Apologies, I’ve been lazy this year in my Bachelor dedication. Rest assured though, I’ve kept a knowing finger on its throbbing pulse from a safe and reputable distance and feel adequately in the know to put a few thoughts to page about last night’s surprise ejection. Here goes…
So, we’re at the pointy end of the patriarchy-affirming Bacho juggernaut and it’s time to see if our astrophysicist (who really works at NAB) is capable of looking beyond Abbie’s bedroom eyes, luscious lips and massive knockers to make a half-decent, full-blooded assessment of who his ideal life partner could be. He’s not about to Honey Badger it all up with cold feet and Yibbida Yibbidahs and giggle off into the sunset, destined to spend his lonely nights scanning starry skies for Southern Crosses and Big Dippers. No, Matt is certain to man up and make a decision, woeful as it may be. And this is where it gets interesting.
The producers have decreed that 2019’s Golden C*nt is Abbie. Fair play. She’s got it all; deluded, self-righteous, pristine B Grade acting skills and, as mentioned earlier, a giant pair of thunder norks front and centre. Hello boys! Come in Spinner! So yeah, the producers took one glimpse at poor Abbie and made sure the editors did whatever’s necessary to cut and shimmy Abbie’s screen time and ensure us punters cuddled up on the couch at home loathe this woman. And boy oh boy, do we ever!!
And every year it’s the same old drama. Insert name … isn’t here for love, she’s only here to get Instafameohhhh. So what? Have you ever tried to make a living? It’s a bloody nightmare. I’d much rather sell some detox enemas or horse piss weight loss shake to my Instee followers and pocket 20k a week. You little ripper!! I wouldn’t be contractually obliged to laser my pubes and wear a bikini…but I still would. That's how much I care about making money for jam. But, more importantly, here’s a news flash; YOU’RE ALL ON THIS (INFURIATINGLY ADDICTIVE) SHOW TO GET FAMOUS!!! Get over it!
Now, just as the producers decided day dot that Abbie was to be the villain, they’ve made the well-founded decision that the pudgy, hyper-tanned nurse from Whoop Whoop was to be the angel. Ah, Elly. She’s lovely, isn't she? Her heart’s in the right place, she’s relatable, she just wants what’s best for Matt…dear oh dear, pass the bucket. If Elly didn’t constantly bung on with all her self-levitating affirmations about her strength of character and virtuous intentions do you think we would have been able to work it out? I don’t think so.
What makes you think Elly’s in love with Matt? Yep, no idea. What makes you think she only cares what’s good for Matt? Yep, no idea. What makes you think she’s a good person? All the throwing under the bus of other contestants? Hmm. She says she’s wonderful so that’s the just way it is. Ah noooo. Sozzle. It isn’t. Having relied wholeheartedly on spreading flattering rumours about herself in order to garner admiration and respect from her squad, it all came crashing down for the show’s angel last night and she’s stumped. I hate to break it to you Elly, nothing could have been more predictable.
Firstly, the Persian Princess spent her entire time in the mansion whinging about Abbie. How’d it work out for Segand of Arabia? Not too good. Second, Elly already wasted a date (or similar) throwing Abbie under the bus about her alleged obsession with using this show as a platform in her ascent to the revered realms of being famous, social media famous, the best kind, the only kind. Perhaps that’s a fair argument, we’ll never know, but I’m not sure if you’re familiar with how most men’s brains work so here’s a tip; if you want to badmouth a girl with giant jugs you only get one shot at it. Give it your all, sure, but if you don’t get the response you want never double down! Never! Elly spent two dates being a broken record, crying blue bloody murder that Abbie only cares about fame. Hot. Juicy. Oh, this is almost as sensual as Halley’s Comet. Survey says, BaBaarrm.
Now, compare Elly’s cold shower performance to Abbie. Gifted a date from hell, moving furniture – umm, how romantic? – she, like a pro, held firm, kept her nerve and pioneered every conceivable way of getting on all fours a Guinness world record breaking amount of times, as Matt restrained every fibre in his being to not strip down naked and do the wild thing then and there. Incredible. That’s how it’s done. Elly, a consummate professional. Matt…you never had a chance. Neither did you Elly.
Now, I’m not condoning Abbie’s behaviour. I’m not encouraging every gorgeous, top heavy, “single” lady in Australia with dreams of social media mega-stardom to race to fill out their Bachelor 2020 application form and wax lyrical about whatever stud they throw in front of you with the dogged aim of social media hall of fame status. No. Never. That’s not my style. All I hope is that the Elly’s of the world rethink how they tackle a nemesis as capable as Abbie…and that is, don’t bother. Walk away. A man dim enough to fall for an Abbie in the first place is a man nowhere near good enough for you. Game over. Case closed. And sleep well knowing that much like big trees fall hard, huge titties droop low, real low. Ahh, Mother Nature is a cruel, wondrous overlord.
Ok, countdown is on for tonight’s ep. Let’s see what Abbie gets up to now!
*Liam Carroll is the author of Slippery, a story about capitalism on steroids in the oil trading world of Southeast Asia. His second novel, Sweet Dreams of Fanta, is a sentimental ride back to the Sydney of 1988, seen through the eyes of a freckly, moon-faced, 7year old Fanta addict. And his third book, Hooroo Love, in the works now