12 Monkeys is doing its best, but so far it just makes me jones for the original movie.
Bachelor took a big blow with the defenestration of
Ashley S., who was either auditioning (badly) for a role as a spaced out mescaline freak or (sadly) just keepin it real. Unfortunately her demise eliminates the last bachelorette with synaptic activity, and we've been left with the least interesting (and, truth be told, least attractive) subset of the original pride.
There are two saving graces (savings grace?): (1) the single mother was punted too, thus ending those endless segments about how she's devastated by missing her son though evidently not so much that she wouldn't go on a TV show for a month), and, more importantly, (2) this year's crew has a number of high-functioning alcoholics, who seem oblivious to Prince Farming's displeasure with That Sort Of Thing. (PF has actually been a 1-2 WAR surprise in that he's not playing the Iowa Jeebus Card every 3 seconds and has been mackin on everything that comes within 5 feet of that
goofy visage)
They also introduced a new element this season, which is that Chris' bedroom is all by itself but close by the house. Now, the technical term for this is a Fvck Room, and each week we get teased that yes indeed this is the night we will see PF plow whichever pathetic ring-seeker offers up her well-worn precious to His Noodly Appendage. The producers must have gotten the memo that the recent sets of girls have been a little on the frigid side, so they also introduced the time-tested memes of virginity quivering under the irresistible pressure of fame whoredom, er, I mean, true love.
As far as skank-on-skank violence, there hasn't been any yet, and in fact this year has none of the fake friendships and fake enmities we demand from our fake reality shows. With trippyt*ts gone, they will need to manufacture something pronto to keep some semblance of subplot or this is going to be a very long couple months.
