Okay, so my pal Efunk got me sucked into watching “The Bachelor: London Calling”.
Apart from them ripping off a song title by The Clash, a band I’m sure Sonny Jim is familiar with due to the age of his siblings (although he strikes me as a guy who probably likes The Smiths–I sorta dislike that about him), the bachelor this season is a pretty funny guy. (and I’m sure the title was not his doing) He has the sense of humor that in a perfect world, would turn this dismal, sad little show into a true laughapalooza.
First, here’s what the geniuses at ABC SHOULD have done:
Call in Pfunk and Efunk as “relationship experts”.
It would be delightful. We would be perfectly coiffed and attired women with sensitive insight and glaringly white teeth. We would offer our ‘expert’ take on the proceedings from the vantage point of the bar located inside the mansion. The first two episodes would go off without a hitch. We would be on our best behavior.
There would be a confessional where we would show our true colors. Yep, we would rank on each and every woman who walked through the door.
“Get a load of the head on THAT one! Has she seen the business end of a hairbrush?”
“Did she say she was a HOTDOG VENDOR? What the heck is that all about? She could have said waitress and it would have been respectable.”
“Oh, who is she kidding? She’s 37 if she’s a minute!”
We would also get them riproaring drunk. It would be a requirement. We would most certainly NOT hold their hair when they horked. We would mock them along with the bachelor…we would call him “Mack”. It would be fun.
Next on the agenda, we would get rid of the rose deal. We would definitely have to substitute something. I say a pair of Totes slipper socks which the lucky contestant would wear on their one on one with our plucky single man.
We would call them on their ‘feelings’ for Matt (or whomever).
It’s ten minutes and you’re falling for him? Please make it stop.
I think if you had to vie for a pair of slipper socks you might just want the guy.
After the first couple of episodes, the audience would watch Efunk and Pfunk devolve into sweatpants wearing, delivery pizza eating, margarita swilling harridans.
Oh yes, we would definitely start in on the girls. We would pull our best “Mommie Dearest” waking the kids up to chop down some shrubbery act. Possibly a wire hanger or two for good measure.
We would make them wear Clairol hot rollers and call on Matt. We would make them cry. Often.
There would be a lovely moment where I would walk by in the background cleaning my ear with a Q-tip. I would inspect it and show the bachelor. He would giggle because he’s just as immature as me. I would call his parents and tell them that there is no one here for their son. They would arrive within the next day. I would party with the parents.
Efunk and I would instantly become the cool older sisters he never wanted.
We would coerce the less intelligent of the crew to flash him just as his parents enter.
We would be incorrigible.
Every time one of the girls called another one a bitch, we would make the offender do a shot. We would also do a shot with her. Yes, we would be drunk. We would make a shambles of it. It would be superfantastic.
Eventually, the slut side would show up. We would bring in our cabana boys.
It would be a melee.
Make it so, ABC.
I think Efunk can get the time away from work.
Goodness knows I can.