This week’s episode of The Bachelor came to us on Valentine’s Day.  If you haven’t lost all hope about romance after having spent Valentine’s Day alone, making your brain hurt from all the math you had to do to divide People Magazine’s recipe for “Romantic Roast Chicken Dinner” into measurements for a serving of one and talking to your cat all night, this episode will do the trick. I am serious, this episode will suck the cheery optimism and spunky glee out of even the most hopeful of romantics.   Pollyanna would kill herself after this.

For this week, we get to go to Anguilla, a place that takes less time to travel to than Brad took to learn how to pronounce it.  Anguilla is a beautiful wonderland of luscious palms and pristine blue waters, a place of epic tropical tranquility. Unfortunately for the audience, all of that is ruined because the scenery on camera is always blocked by Brad, his stupid tattoo and his Xenadrine Harem for most of the entire night.

Like Face-slapping Chantal says, this a “huge” night.  This is the final rose ceremony before The Bachelor’s version of “Meet The Parents”.  Brad’s going to decide which of these women’s families will be forced to endure having him in their homes. Chris Harrison explains this rapidly, lest the mighty Caribbean sun scorch his pasty Vampire white skin.

Someone no one remembers, Britt, whines about not ever having had a solo date with Brad, and Emily gets yet another one-on-one date from Brad.  Brad arrives to pick up Emily AND YET ANOTHER HELICOPTER ARRIVES TO PICK THEM UP.  Does ABC have some kind of back end deal with Rotorway or something?  What the hell is their aversion to cars or trains or donkeys pulling carts?

They act flabbergasted when they’re dropped off in the middle of the ocean on a small island they have all to themselves.  This is a slab of sand with a hut and a hammock.  Tom Hanks in “Castaway” had a better set up than this.  Sure, Emily’s excited now…but wait until she finds out there’s no electrical outlets or running water.  Or toilets.  Brad calls this “the ideal scenario”.  Then he spends the entire time talking about how pretty it looks.   I would go insane with sunstroke if I was stuck on an island with Brad, conversing about the “really cool view”.  Wilson the Volleyball would make more intellectually stimulating conversation.

Funeral Director Shawntel N, goes shopping to a Farmer’s Market with Brad, which she calls her “perfect date”. They shop and jumprope and play dominoes and look at cute baby goats.  It could not be more boring if the camera pointed down towards the ground and quiet literally filmed the grass growing. Later on in the evening, they make out in a tsunami and go to a performance by Bankie Banx.   Brad says “kissing in the rain is very romantic,” because in his mind, he thinks he’s Spiderman and awesome.  I skipped most of this part and got high watching Banx’s videos on YouTube instead.  Believe me, it was a more productive way to spend the evening.

Brit’s been ignored this whole time, so to make up for it, Brad takes her out on a yacht. All the girls are JEALOUS because they deserve to hang out on this awesome yacht and not some boring girl who no one even remembers. Marishka, Bride of Dracula Michelle says not only does she not see them dating, she can’t see them being friends on Facebook. Ha!

Forget Britt. You know who’s friend request Brad needs to accept?  MINE.  That needs to happen. So I can yell at all the people who post those long rambling comments on his wall about who he should pick. Just the fact that there are 800 people who have friended him and are routinely leaving obsessive comments about who he should pick are proof that the terrorists have won.   “Oh my God you need to pic Emily bcause she is a totuuuul sweetheart and so r uuuu!” and “U deserve happiness hope your happy and have finally found true love!”.  I would share more, but honestly, most of them are more disturbing the rantings of a paranoid lunatic.  The Son of Sam had a more stable grip on reality than the people posting messages to Brad.  If you are doing crap like this, YOU ARE EMBARRASSING AMERICA.

I skipped describing Britt and Brad’s date (Couple nickname:  “Brid”) and you should thank me for this, because it is the human equivalent of two pieces of toast wearing bathing suits and sitting next to each other. She ends up crying and going home because Brad didn’t really know her very well.  Who can blame him though, no one probably knows her because she has barely been in this show.  The production crew probably thought she was with craft services or something.  So she bails and forgoes the inevitable post-rose ceremony tearfest.  The loud explosion of cheering you heard was Britt’s family celebrating that they won’t have to endure having to meet Brad.

This week in Most Useless Forms of Viral Marketing we get ABC offering us “Episode Commentary” from Ashley S, which comes in the form of mindless comments shown at the bottom of the online episode.   This is a list of bland, worthless insights, highlighted by such daring statements as “Whoa Chantal is bringing it”.   They make the Facebook comments on Brad’s wall look like the thesis papers of Mensa members studying at Oxford. It all begs the question: Who would find this amusing? WHO?  Who’s expectations of entertainment are so lowered that they actually find this to be an actual enhancement to this show? Who are the people sitting around at home going “Gee, I wonder what Ashley S. thinks of this cliff diving?”

This week, the group date is a photo shoot for the legendary Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, which features a layout of the Brad and the remaining contestants.  Yes, I’m sure all the men in America are thrilled you bumped pics of Brooklyn Decker and Irina Shayk  in favor of Dentist Ashley and BRAD.   Ash and Face Slapping Chantal strip off their tops and show off their impressive hand bra-ing abilities.  Michelle scoffs at the girls taking their tops off and exploiting themselves, and then proceeds to dry hump Brad like a horny dingo in heat.

One more time, because it can never be said enough.  THIS SHOW DOES NOT NEED TO BE TWO HOURS LONG.  It made sense when there was 12,347 women during the first week.  But when you are down to three people, it is just mind-numbing filler.  Please, please, ABC Producers, HIRE AN EDITOR. Have mercy on the viewing public and certain recappers who are forced to endure this show.

In between slipping in and out of my boredom coma, I managed to catch that Brad called for host Chris Harrison so he could inform him of some big news. See, Harrison is a vital cog in the wheel here, people! He’s not just the face of pointless expositional filler, OK?  Brad has to clear his big decisions with Chris first.  See, he’s decided that he does NOT need to go to the Final Cocktail Party, he knows right now who he wants to give his roses to.  Whoa, whoa, whoa, Harrison is like, are you totally sure?  Yeah.  Brad is totally sure.  He’s 100% sure. There’s no need to delay the inevitable.  This is surprising for a show that has basically made an art out dragging things out for excruciating amounts of time, but OK.

So we don’t get any boozey one-on-one scenes or sloppy make out sessions. Instead we get the scene we’ve all been waiting for, when the mighty Elvish prince reaches for his Protection Ruin and points it at the sun and summons the power of the Enchanted Dragon to use it’s fire breath and finally vanquish the Evil Demon Witch Queen Brad does not give a rose to Michelle. She’s sent packing, back to her evil lair in the cavern on top of the cursed Mountain Of Solitude the apartment complex in Salt Lake City she lives in.

Next week, we get to see what kind of people raise the kind of people who want to go on shows like this, as Brad travels around the country to meet the families of the three finalists.  If you need me before then, I’ll be commenting on YouTube about how awesome Bankie Banx is.