I make my husband watch The Bachelorette every week like it’s his job.
He’s gotten his revenge, though: He has become the ultimate champion of all that is evil in Bachelorette-land.
He doesn’t hate Chad Johnson.
Chad Johnson, if you are not aware, is the 28-year-old, six-foot-two Oklahoma luxury-real-estate agent and/or marine and/or small dog owner and/or mourner of his recently deceased mother and/or worst reality-show contestant in the world, who basically turned The Bachelorette into The Chad Show before (finally!) getting kicked off this week.
But, of course, not before the bulked-up villain earned a two-night special by threatening to go on a sporty murder spree (“I’m going to cut everyone here’s legs off, and arms off, and there’s gonna be torsos … and then I’m gonna throw them in the pool”). And not before delivering Oprah-style pronouncements to all the men in the house, “You’re going to lose your teeth!” and “You’re going to lose your teeth!”
“This guy,” my husband says, “is fucking hilarious.”
Ugh … men. You can’t watch The Bachelorette with them. You … well, yeah. You basically just can’t watch The Bachelorette with them.
“Threats of violence are not okay,” I cry out, trying desperately to give voice to the serious danger that Chad represents to America. “Why is Chad doing this? Why is he being so over the top? How can you defend him?”
“I think,” my husband responds simply, “he’s just run out of shit to say. Besides, it’s not like he’s actually going to kill anybody.”
Here’s a sampling of Chad’s remarks about the competition before he, according to Pat, ran out of shit to say.
Chad, imitating the other men:
“We’re a bunch of butt-hurt dudes and we’re going to confront you … slightly.”
Chad, on the other men:
“It’s like if the Care Bears surrounded you and told you they’re going to kick your ass.”
Chad kind of destroying the other men, tbh:
“Is this the first beautiful girl you’ve ever seen? You don’t have TV? You don’t have magazines?”
The worst part about Chad is realizing there is something so familiar about the way he mocks these men.
He sounds exactly like my husband. (And Kenny Powers from Eastbound and Down, but that’s an entirely different column.)
Now, my husband is no health and exercise freak (he couldn’t pick steroids — or for that matter, a barbell — out of a lineup) but he and Chad have something important in common. They both think every guy on The Bachelorette acts like a jackass or a punch line — or, the ultimate insult if you’re a conservative white man: a woman.
Compare if you will, the words of my husband to the words of the Chad.
My husband on “erectile-dysfunction expert” Evan (side note: God, those chyron writers are cruel. Note to future contestants: Get final chyron approval! You think it’s an accident Chad got them to write luxury before real-estate agent? Evan, yours could have read “luxury erectile dysfunction expert” for Chrissakes):
“Yeah, there is a lot of testosterone in that house. So why doesn’t this guy man the fuck up? I bet that guy’s kids are so ashamed. They’re probably like, ‘Can Chad be our dad?’ And then Chad can Hulk out and say, ‘Rrrr, I’m going to father your children!’”
My husband, on the fact that Evan has whined four different times about his torn shirt:
“You know, a lot of guys would stand up for themselves — not the shirt.”
My husband, on James “Auditioning-for-a-Record-Deal” Taylor as he serenades JoJo instead of, you know, kissing her:
“Oh, you were made fun of? Really? Why? Is it because you miss every social cue? This guy is unbearable.”
My husband, on the diminutive contestant Alex, who positioned himself as Chad’s Enemy No. 1:
“Why did they let a toddler on The Bachelorette?”
My husband on what would happen if Chad was picked to be the next Bachelor:
“That would be awesome. ‘Do you accept these teeth?’”
I’m turning into Hodor now as I make my protestations. My repeated exclamations of “Not okay” are mushing into “Nokay,” “Nokay,” and I’m running low on strength.
In response, my husband gives me the same side eye that Chad does while calmly eating an uncooked sweet potato and saying, “Let’s not pretend I’m Hitler” to his one friend in the house, Canadian nightmare and alleged “male model” Daniel. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d probably hate Chad if I met him,” my husband finally responds with droll Chad undertones. “I’d probably just hate him for different reasons than the rest of America does.”
I wonder aloud if my husband will boycott the show now that his “hero” is gone. His eyes light up, seizing upon a thumb-screw from past arguments we’ve had.
“Chad doesn’t care what other people think, you know,” he says. “He doesn’t apologize. He’s kind of like Trump.”
Oh, good lord. At this point, I feel about as hopeless as Bernie Sanders if he were trying to win JoJo’s heart on The Bachelorette — or, say, the Democratic presidential nomination.
Because everything I love about my husband — his humor, his provocateur nature, his good, decent heart — has created in me about as much overwhelming devotion to him as Bachelor host Chris Harrison has to repeating the phrase, “I’m Chris Harrison.”
So, yes, I give up. You read it here first.
My name is Mandy, my husband is a Trump supporter, and (just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse) he kind of likes Chad too.
