Me Estella, Eugene

Episode Report Card
Djb: B- | Grade It Now!
Northern Overexposure

Travelogue completed and stardate logged, Eugene cops to being "nervous" about the experience of the coming week: "I'm feeling feelings for these ladies, and I know they're feeling feelings for me." Is that that song by Milhouse's dad? ["It could be. By the way, can I have the keys to the car, lover? I feel like changing wigs." -- Wing Chun] Also, honorable mention to the word "feelings," which has just charged ahead into fourth on the list of most frequently used words on this season of The Bachelor, moving up six notches ahead of former challengers "death," "dead," "father," "fairy tale," "lobster claw hand," "Cuba," and "visor," but still ranking significantly below perennial winners such as "journey," "connection," and -- sing it with me if you know the words -- "Nana." But anyway, Eugene's nervous: "It becomes more and more challenging to figure out what the right thing to do is, possibly for our future." Now he's responsible for the entire future? I join him in his previously expressed nervousness.

North, Miss Tessmacher! North! The Stock Footage Film Festival shows its culty fan fave of Private Plane Taking Off You're Supposed To Believe Eugene Is On (I loved the original, but Gus Van Sant's pointless Private Plane Taking Off You're Supposed To Believe Anne Heche Is On remake was so unnecessary and self-indulgent), and in mere montage-y moments, we're helicoptering over the icy ice of Iceland. Though they say Iceland is green and Greenland is icy, just as you park in a driveway and drive in a...holy crap, when did I become my mother's "Email forwards to drive my kids crazy" Outlook folder? Was it after I knew that Lincoln had a secretary named Kennedy and that Kennedy had a secretary named Lincoln, or before? Anyway, a slo-mo helicopter that looks like I imagine would be something ripped from the opening credits of M*A*S*H (I never watched that show growing was way too brown) flies over water lapping up onto a huge shelf of ice that's either a glacier or The Fortress Of Solitude. We arrive at a skyline of what Cleveland would look like if propped up against the background of a Blue Mountain Arts card you'd send your hippie daughter on Earth Day. And there, in this distant, desolate wasteland, we find Eugene (wow, there really is no getting away from him, is there?) waiting on the aforementioned ice shelf and telling us, "We've arrived in the vast cornfields of Canada!" Just kidding. What he actually says is, "I'm in Alaska today in the middle of a glacier. I'm waiting for Kelly Jo." We stumble upon Eugene to I'm sorry I have to be the one to say it, but that outfit is just not flattering. At all. It's a good thing we're distracted by the vast desert of blinding snow that surrounds him, or else we'd be awfully put off by the insanely mirrored, cop-in-a-'70s-porno sunglasses (hey, I can see my house in there!) and the black sweatshirt unzipped and showing us the skintight blue shirt replete with stomach rolls and echoes of the manboobs that were. By the way? I'm totally writing a slim volume of extremely pretentious poetry and entitling it Echoes of the Manoobs That Were. Please buy it. It'll be good. I promise. I'll rhyme "Nana" with "Copa Cabana."

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