The talented and hilariously entertaining Jo Thornely is back with her latest recap of The Bachelorette.
Roses are red,
And Shakespeare is tragic,
Piss doesn’t kill plants,
And your dust isn’t magic.
You guys, LOOK HOW FEW BLOKES ARE LEFT.
There’s just so much spare room now in the Bromansion. Well at least, there is until Apollo celebrates getting his second date with Sophie by raising his arms.
A second single date is YUGE, and the boys know it. They also know that Apollo is one of the finest humans ever built in a fine human laboratory, or as Stu puts it, “that chiselled man-body crap”. Yeah Stu, you’ll just have to make do being a pub-owning millionaire, here’s a tissue.
But in case you’ve only packed two pairs of joy underpants for the date with Apollo, throw in another variety four-pack, because this date just got awesome.
“I thought we’d just play with puppies” Sophie tells Apollo, and regardless of whether or not she means her boobs or actual puppies, he thinks it’s a great idea. For the record: she means actual puppies.
But nothing stays pure on this show. Everything needs a twist, and today’s twist is dog yoga. Yeah, I’m not calling it ‘Doga’. I’m not going to do that.
Dog yoga is pretty hard to take seriously, especially when it starts with an instructor squirting her ‘love spray’ into the air.
I’d love to say the toilet similarities stop there, but:
But at least dog yoga’s meditative qualities take effect so that Sophie and Apollo can enter a trancelike state and be utterly serious about their asanas.
After they’ve put the dogs downward it’s soph-a time, and this is a good one. Comfort level high, bonus trellis, thorough use of fairy lights, excellent chance of everything being burned to the ground – if I’m not mistaken, that’s a pashing couch.
Soph voices her concerns that in the past when she’s dated entertainers they’ve always been competitive with her, but I think she’s safe – traditionally magicians only compete for jobs with Elton John impersonators at RSL clubs.
They chat and it’s nice and all, but look. We’re not here for a haircut. Do it. Do the thing.
The next morning we’re onto the harbour for a teamwork sailing exercise which makes James happy, as he’s always loved sailing. Anything that makes Jimmy happy is absolutely alright with everyone.
In two teams there’ll be two sailing races, with Sophie sharing her valuable crewing services between them. As everyone predicts, Jarrod slogs his guts out sailing both boats and cleaning barnacles off the hull and chairing a meeting of the UN and building a urine-proof greenhouse to prove to Sophie that he’s proper boyfriend material, which leaves Blake time to give Sophie a quick shoulder-rub.
I ask you: which is the smarter man?
“I turn around to talk tactics and Blake’s massaging Sophie” Jarrod seethes. “You gotta focus on winning this race, and massaging isn’t part of a race” he adds, losing the race that matters. Honestly that guy is so tense if you stuck a lump of coal up his arse, in two weeks you’d have a Ferris Bueller reference.
“We win, even though Blake was too busy focussing on Sophie” Jarrod says of the first race, getting the pot and the kettle on speakerphone for a group chat.
For the second race, Sophie notices how much calmer the non-Jarrod yacht is and smiles the whole way to victory. Look, I like sailing, but without a gin and tonic it’s not really a spectator sport, so let’s just stare at this nice picture of James and his arms having a really nice day and then get on with the next bit.
Blake wins some alone-time with Sophie for being such a good masseuse, so they head off for a glass of deckside champers and a chat. In the distance, the sound of Jarrod’s sphincter rage-clenching drifts gently on the wind.
During the chat, taking advantage of the romantic sunset and sound of gently lapping water, Blake shows Sophie the bro version of his vulnerable side. “I’ve been trynna like, break down my barriers to be like that, sorta thing?” he says, quoting straight from the Big Boy’s Bumper Book Of Poetic Sh*t.
“Yep” says Sophie.
“I really wanna kiss you now” says Blake.
“Nup” says Sophie.
Seemingly trying to have dates with every bloke in the house who habitually wears a backwards baseball cap, next Sophie takes Sam on a date to fulfil the severe contractual obligations required under the binding Double Delight Rose Treaty.
Unfairly raising his expectations, she picks him up in a Hummer.
Sophie wants to find out if Sam’s here for love or to further his career, but she doesn’t really have time to ask him any questions in between his offers to help her with her own career. Yep. A voice-over artist with a ponytail giving Sophie Monk showbiz tips.
Aiming the date at an accurate age level, Sophie drives them to a park to play giant Connect 4 and have another stab at some serious discussion, but Sam’s answer to every question is basically “that reminds me of a story about how awesome I am”.
At the end of the date, while Sam bangs on about how he sprinkles magic dust everywhere and people are lucky to have him in their lives, our expectations that there’ll be any kissing at all plummet. Interestingly, our expectations started at zero.
Surely once we get to the cocktail party we’ll be able to talk about something that isn’t Sam?
“I’m really confident in my connection with Sophie” says Sam, and NO, I SAID SOMETHING THAT ISN’T SAM.
“Hey, good news, my pot plant’s finally growing!” says Jarrod, and NO, ANYTHING THAT ISN’T SAM OR THE FRIGGING POT PLANT.
“The boys in the house, they better be scared” says Blake to Sam while they’re discussing how confident they are, and UGH FINE, LET’S JUST GET TO THE ROSATORIUM.
Wait – something’s different in the Rosatorium. It’s (sniffs air) it’s the scent of an almost unbelievable amount of dramatic procrastinating.
Osher tells the room that two blokes will be going home tonight.
The fellas are whittled down to just AJ, Blake, and Sam.
Sophie asks the guys who already have roses to leave the room, dashing our promo-generated hopes that somebody was actually in trouble.
Whaaaaaaat damn you misleading promos.
AJ is eliminated.
Whaaaaaa-actually no that makes sense.
Then, after a very long time and about forty-five unnecessary but still quite stressful red herrings, Sam, confident he won’t be sent home, is sent home.
We almost feel sorry for him.
KIDDING! We almost feel nauseous as he tells us in the limo that if Sophie had seen his life, she for sure would’ve fallen in love with it.
Bye, Sam. Seriously, what the eff is up with your hair, dude.
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