I thought I’d seen it all – but then I saw “The Bachelor,” a pandering playpen of sex that passes for creativity.
I hadn’t even heard of the program until last week, when visiting friends. The husband heard about it at work and wanted to see it. His wife and I also watched. He thought it wasn’t bad. She thought it ridiculous. I was too polite to express my thoughts.
Essentially, one guy (a Harvard grad we’re told – Harvard must be so proud) was introduced to 25 young, unmarried girls. “Girls.” No “woman” would subject herself to such humiliation.
They date and party and each week, he eliminates some until there are the final two. One will get a ring. Wow.
It’s a program for men. No, actually, it’s a program for boys– adolescent boys with roaring testosterone and pimples.
Can’t you imagine the “creative session” that dreamed this up?
Hey dude. How about young babes competing to get hooked up with a guy – promise romance, clothes, jewels, gorgeous houses, limos, travel, food and drink and the chance to strut her stuff for the guy. At the end of five weeks, he eliminates all but the “lucky” one who gets a ring and a promise. Put microphones on them and follow them everywhere with cameras to get close-ups of all the hot moments.
It’s a teen-age boy’s dream.
Needless to say, the network loved it, and the world was treated to the latest in “reality television.” Sheesh! They call it “The Bachelor.” They should have called it “The Meat Market.”
The night I saw it, the group was cut to three; one of those, Shannon, didn’t make the finals. There was a problem with her, you see. Even though Alex, the Harvard dork, said he had visions of her being “the mother of his children,” he needed an explanation of what she meant by being “a good girl” and “how that related to sex?” (I said he was a dork.)
When he finally asked her to spend the night, she declined. Hey, it turned out she was a woman after all!
It was tough for old Alex, who asked such profound questions of another potential mother of his potential children: “I want to know about your boobs.”
But he knew they were “incredible women” and that he was “gonna hurt” one of them and he felt “terrible” about that, but he “had a decision to make.”
Tonight, Alex chose between the two jiggly, giggly blondes he was trying on for size. Literally. It was such a tough choice that he had to have an extra date with each so she could show him just what she could do. Literally. With the cameras there for almost all of it. Trista insisted the camera be turned off at the critical time. Oh modesty, thy name is woman!
As I write this, the ratings aren’t yet in on the final episode, but ABC is already advertising for contestants for round two.
My column last week was about “dumb broads,” women who fell into the feminist trap, believing they could have and do everything. What they’ve discovered is that by concentrating on careers, they reduce their opportunities to have children – for lack of a suitable mate or because their biological clocks have run out. Their current cry is “I forgot to have a baby.” That is dumb!
But what about girls who allow themselves to be tried out in living color on TV, by an insipid, Ted Danson wannabe, full-of-himself bachelor? Talk about demeaning. It’s bad enough most dressed with all the class of a Third Avenue second hand store, but Alex was presented with their bodies like a sex supermarket.
Funny how feminists rant about Hooters restaurants and their use of women and tight T-shirts to – you should excuse the expression – stimulate business, but will say nothing about this.
Bottom line, the lesson for girls is that using sex to get a guy is all it’s about. For boys, the lesson is that girls are there for the taking and everything is up for grabs. (There I go again! Sorry.)
I was inundated with e-mail about the first “dumb broads” column, cheering my courage in being so politically incorrect.
But my favorite was from Eric, who asked, “What are you trying to do? Wreck our good deal?!?!”
“If women ever wake up … single guys are going to have to get with the program and settle down. My friends and I enjoy being thirty-something teenagers!”
His advice? “SHHHH!!!!!!”
Amen, Eric. You made my point.