Oh heaven

The third season of the French Bachelor is about to start.
I. Can't. Wait.
A string of bimbos desperately trying to look like they've got half a brain. An orange-tanned moron pretending to be everything every woman has ever longed for. A piss-poor excuse of a scenario for a half-assed trashy reality TV programme. Something to look forward to.
I'm laughing as I type. This cannot be for real. Oh wait. No it isn't.
Ok, let me describe this. He's 27, he's had the most wonderful life, lived several years abroad, has run his own company and is now a head-hunter. He's so romantic it hurts him to be alone in his 120 sq. meter flat. Ooh ooh, close up of him, looking into the vague, obviously dreaming of the sweet days to come when the TV programme will be catering to his every whim and fancy, and oblivious to how stupid he looks. He's looking for a bride and a mother to his children. He's doing a TV show for that. For fuck's sake.

Let's cut to the chase and let me brief you on the 20 girls as they get introduced.
First bimbo. 32. Actress. Blonde, big-tittied, and showing them too. With an ugly lip-job. No, actually, her whole face is scary.
Second. 20-year old. Her biggest problem is that there is no pillow like she likes them.
Third. 36. Showing her thongs off on TV saying "that will probably win him over".
Fourth. 26. Hurray, she has more than half a brain. French manicure though.

We're being shown some very groovy footage of a bowling alley.

Fifth. 22. 22 and she's allegedly looking to settle down. Looking for love.
Sixth. 22 also. "Looking for a man who isn't looking for his mother". Need I say more.
7th AND 8th. They have twins. They have twins. They're 20. Isn't there something vaguely illegal about that? Oh, they're orange too.
Ninth. 29. Lingerie model and PR in a Paris night-club. She looks OK (can't accuse me of blind jealousy, can you!).
Tenth. 22. Foreign. Ah the accent.
Eleventh. 23. Firewoman.
Twelfth. 21. Barmaid. She looks fun.
Thirteenth. 21. Student in communication. Talking of her parents and already you can tell she's ready to cry before it's even started. Oh now she is bawling. Because she gets to meet the bachelor. Oh boy.
Fourteenth. 25. Fitness instructor. Looks cool.
Fifteenth. 28. Events hostess. Loud (the word they used was spontaneous. I say loud.) And a bit naff.
Sixteenth. 23. Beautician. Nice in a Melanie Hamilton sort of way.
Seventeenth. 24. Nutritionist. Brain-dead. On lithium.
Eighteenth. 20. PR. Extremely pretty. Drenches her lips in lip-gloss.
Nineteenth. 24. Jewelry salesperson. Very pretty. Relatively classy.
Twentieth. 29. Designer. Vulgar.
OK, there was supposed to be 20 of them. Something went wrong and I'm not even drunk.
Twenty-first. 22. Business school student. Pretty. Looks bright.

Come to think of it, they're not only silly, they're scary, in a "fatal-attraction" risk kind of way: apart from the obvious lure of hard-earned overnight TV fame, they all claim to be ready for love, and hope to meet the man/woman of their life and are ready to fall for whoever they meet.
Oh and most of the girls have porn-star nails.
Oooh, which one of them will get the rose? (and don't you just love that ceremony?)

One evening well spent. Hope you enjoyed that, cos I sure ain't doing it again. Ugh.