BACHELORETTE DRAMA: The International Model Is An International Flog


Look, we could spend a lot of time here talking about the inaugural crop of suitors vying for the hand of Sam Frost – legitimate legend and beautiful sea unicorn.

We could talk about Michael, who absolutely has not played for the Socceroos despite all claims to the contrary.
“Bench player on the Youth Squad” does not equal representing Australia at the 2000 Sydney Olympics, you git. Google exists. People will find this stuff out.
We could also talk about others, like Art Garfunkel
…or Budget Bradley Cooper
…or Alex Perry Has Lost His Sunglasses
…or even Davey, voted “Most Likely To Use The Word ‘Friendzoned’ When He Inevitably Misses Out On A Rose.”

We could talk about that lot. But owing to the rapid-fire turnover rate this show possesses, we have to take this one and only opportunity to talk about David.
This.
FUCKING.
GUY.
HOLY CRAP. What an absolute toe-rag.
From the instant Episode 2 flickers onto screen, he’s into it – first of all stating that he doesn’t want to score the first solo date with Sam, preferring to hang back in the shadows and let other people go before him so the chaff can be weeded out and he can swoop in to look good-by-relativity – which is some straight-up, end-of-the-night, “You don’t wanna go home with one of those *LOSERS* do you?” predatory shit if I’ve ever heard it.
So when – much to his very visible disgust, I should add – it’s revealed that Sam actually picked Dave the Plumber for Solo Date #1, he spends the rest of the time literally seething about not only that, but the fact that Michael is a soccer player and that’s something?
But it got worse.
The Group Date rolls around, which our International Model – lest we forget he’s an International model for a moment – is involved with, and he meekly brings up his lack of aquatic experience, excusing it with the pearler of a fact that his parents are Polish and thus, by virtue of European-ness, are different to the amphibious creatures bred in Australia.
The Cliff Dive group date involves Sam standing atop a cliff sending a stream of thirsty blokes off a giant rock face, Lemmings-style. Except David – yet a-fucking-gain – can only manage to bring himself to do it if, and I shit-you-not quote, “I’m just gonna imagine you’re in there drowning.
BUT IT GOT WORSE.
In the pre-Rose Ceremony formalities, last ditch efforts to avoid the cold shoulder are made. Particularly by those who got zero dates this week *coughDAVEYcough*. But at this stage, so threatened is he by Michael’s apparent soccer superstar status, that Prince Pretty crashes the one-on-one chat and just casually sits down all like…
What up, fam?
Then he makes up some legit cock-and-bull story about how “some of the boys” (You) had “voiced some concerns” (It’s you) about the late hour and Michael’s football career (It’s just you, you knob. Stop being a knob).
And so Sam, clearly rattled by this, decides to take him away for a quick chat about it. But before she can do this, he MATERIALISES A HAT OUT OF NOWHERE, claims it’s “a bit of the gangster in him” (*VOM*) and flashes us all this face.
SF.
San Francisco.
Sam Frost.
Get it? GET IT? GEDDIT?

Sam goes HAM on him and his palpable vanity, and thus officially declares the Bachelor Mansion to be a No Daves Club.
(No DaveSSSS. They’re allowed to have one.)
Osher and Sam, being the diabolical power couple that they are, send him off by throwing a BILLION DEGREES OF FIRE at him in one of the most incredible silent glares you are ever likely to see in any form of entertainment ever.
Fucking BYE, FELICIA.
David attempts some limp-dicked “I didn’t want you anyway lol” buffoonery before hopping into the limo and insisting “I might stay single for a while” like that’s a choice he’s voluntarily imposing upon himself and not the sound of a nation of vaginas simultaneously closing the pod bay doors on him.
And off into the night he goes, presumably to do some International Modelling.
Because he models, you guys.
Internationally.
Two episodes in and the series has already lost its great villain. Where do we go from here?
Personally, if I had my way, I wouldn’t have just kicked David off the show. I would’ve made a straight swap.
David, for Doug Bollinger. Because come on now, that little wave?
ADORABLE.

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