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5 Reasons Beyoncé’s Pregnancy is Good for America

It gets lonely at the top so Beyoncé announced today that she’s gifting herself with not one but two tiny infants to keep her company alongside Blue Ivy and Jay. Congratulations Beyoncé, but more importantly, congratulations America. Here’s why Beyoncé’s pregnancy will help Americans cope with their crumbling nation-state.

 1.     There will be two more rich liberals in the world.

George Soros. 

While Donald Trump’s idea of charity is going down on Melania for her birthday, Beyoncé and Jay-Z put a big chunk of their wealth towards Hurricane Katrina survivors and earthquake victims. Did you know Jay-Z bailed out dozens of Black Lives Matter protestors in Baltimore? Or that Beyoncé donated her entire salary from Cadillac Records to a rehabilitation center for recovering drug addicts? With the advent of these two tiny human beings, both of whom stand to inherit millions of dollars from several world tours, there are likely to be two more rich liberals in the world. And when Trump redirects the entire federal budget to fund Ivanka’s fashion line of gold couture butt plugs, we’re going to need Beyoncé’s twins to pay for Social Security and the DIY space your friend Benja is trying to get up and running in Bushwick. George Soros can’t do it alone!  

 2.     The twins won’t grow up to be adult white people.

White people are what got us into this mess and, let’s be honest, they probably won’t be what gets us out. The last thing America needs is more white people right now.

 3.     This means Beyoncé and Jay-Z are still having sex.

 Fascism isn’t a great backdrop for sexual relations – why do you think there are so few pornography period pieces set in 1930s Germany on xhamster.com??? During times of unique terror, it can start to feel like nobody’s fucking. So there’s something comforting about the knowledge that Jay-Z and Beyoncé are still making time and space to perform their marital duties, especially after the very public tumult of their last year together. It’s almost enough to make you want to get back on Tinder and swipe right on every guy with a dog in his profile picture.  

 4.     This pregnancy could lead to another Witch Mountain remake.

Witch Mountain is one of the best movies of the 20th century and in an America where both witches and mountains are at risk, it deserves to be remade with a different set of twins every year. There’s no reason it shouldn’t be remade with these ones.

 5.     Maybe Earth can handle one more generation.  

  I trust Beyoncé’s judgment unequivocally and if she thinks the earth will last long enough to support one more generation of life, so do I. This is the permission from God we’ve been waiting for! Go forth and populate the earth with your seed, y’all. From Generation X to Generation Y to the Finale Generation.

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This morning, I woke up in an awful mood, due at least in part to having eaten two sandwiches and a serving of kung pao chicken before bed, but also because, in less than three days, a man by whom I am utterly revolted will become the leader of my country. Humor can be a powerful weapon against injustice but sometimes it's easier to enter your credit card information into the donation page of Planned Parenthood.

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My Bachelor blog can now be found on Catalyst’s website. I’ll post the link here weekly. 

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I wrote this song for everyone out there who has been shamed for not wanting to watch the Olympics with your mom. 

It’s called “I Don’t Give a Shit about the Olympics.” 

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“MOM I’M ASKING DAD. LET ME ASK DAD. YOU SAID DON’T INTERRUPT.”

Welcome to this week’s coverage of The Bachelorette, a show about one woman’s journey to find Green Bay Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers.

On this week’s episode, Jojo pretends to seriously consider her options before making the least dramatic decision in Bachelorette history – Jordan. Robby, the former competitive swimmer who - in case you missed it – professed his love for Joelle in Uruguay, goes home with a broken heart and a participation trophy.

I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

RIP.

Let’s start at the beginning, when the Earth wasn’t yet the Earth as we know it but rather an uber-charged atom waiting for the go ahead from God to explode into a million billion zillion little pieces of matter that would come together to create a livable environment for a species so abominable – so terrifically soulless – that they would go on to forge a legacy of torture and war and racism and The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

Let me be clear – I don’t know science.

This was a long time ago, by the way, long before the only benevolence of which humans would prove to be capable was bastardized by a man named Mike Fleiss. One sunny morning in the land of Hollywood, Mike Fleiss, a chubby producer unafraid to harness the outsize power available to white men, decided to merge love and capitalism in what would become the saddest, most successful reality show in history. The masses turned him into a very rich man and Mike Fleiss would never be called to answer for his crimes against humanity.  

Except for in November 2014, when he was criminally charged for harassing Bay Watch star David Charvet and his wife, actress Brooke Burke. He did answer for that crime.

Mike Fleiss. 

So here we are now, all of us the victim, all of us the perpetrator, starved for drama and disgusted by the hunger that fuels the exploitation of our peers.

 What does all of it mean?

Anyway, I’d forgotten how classy Jojo’s mother is - and a practical chooser of men to boot! Jojo, who has been methodically eliminating men based on a one to ten “abs, face, booty, legs, hair” scale, doesn’t have the mature sensibility of her mother, Soraya. Soraya is a learned female who chose her partner for his money as much as for his utter lack of universal desirability. A broken home was never in the cards for Soraya, Patron Saint of Elegance. She advises her daughter to remember that if the whole wide world will fall to their knees for a man, he will one day let the world do so. Translation: Jordan is a man of loose morals who will one day leave you for a younger woman named Tamara.

Or something along those lines.

God bless you, Soraya. 

Did anyone else see the wisp of a brunette female sitting at the end of the Fletcher family couch? She spoke not a word and her face didn’t move once. She looked melancholy, as if her short life had come to an abrupt end and she was condemned for eternity to haunt the home of a family who sent their youngest daughter to date former professional athletes in Los Angeles. I’d post a picture but I don’t think she was actually there. 

DM me if you, too, saw this ghost.

After all the men have been returned to their cryogenic chambers, it comes out that Jordan has failed to ask Jojo’s father for permission to marry her, which is a huge no-no in this antiquated performance piece of a regional theater production.

Despite my beauty – or perhaps because of it - it’s doubtful that anyone will ever ask for my hand in marriage. In the unlikely case, however, that a gentleman of marriageable age should express interest, he should expect to direct the request to my sister’s three-year-old Yorkie puppy, Charli. Charli, should she still be alive by the time I walk down the aisle, is the only living thing I trust to give me away properly.

Jojo, understandably (in a sexist way), intends for her human father to give her away, which means Jordan’s failure to ask his permission will have potentially catastrophic consequences for their relationship.

Just kidding. Jordan apologizes and calls up Jojo’s parents from Thailand, demonstrating both the beauty of forgiveness and the miracle of technology.  It’s a non-issue, even though the producers use their tremendous skills of manipulation to convince Jojo that maybe Jordan never loved me, or her, or anyone, or anything, YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

To be fair, this is all probably true about Jordan but it should be deduced from his six-year record of never having slept with a girl more than one time rather than from his not having asked the father of a woman with two boyfriends if he can marry her.

I don’t know, you guys. I don’t know how love works. My sister does, though. She’s in a *Facebook Official Relationship* and keeps screaming at the television screen like, “THIS IS SO FAKE, I KNOW SOMEONE WHO WAS ON THIS SHOW AND THEY SAID IT WAS FAKE, OH MY GOD BECKY DO YOU ACTUALLY BELIEVE ANY OF THIS WOW THIS IS BULLSHIT, DID YOU GET ME A PRESENT FOR MY BIRTHDAY, BECKY I’M SERIOUS YOU HAVE TO SPEND AT LEAST TWENTY DOLLARS LIKE I DID ON YOUR BIRTHDAY BECKY BECKY BECKY BECKY.”

For the record, I didn’t get her a birthday present but that’s only because I sent her a Snapchat selfie that said “What do u want 4 ur bday” and she didn’t answer it. I’ll probably order her a Groupon massage later this afternoon.  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARA. CONSIDER THIS BLOG THE FIRST HALF OF YOUR BDAY GIFT. 

There are a lot of shitty aspects to being the Bachelorette but I think probably the best part is that America has a front row seat to your relaysh drama. You can literally walk up to anyone on the street after the show airs and there’s a solid chance that, not only do they know exactly who you’ve been seeing, there are no limits to the number of opinions they have about you and your boo. I would abuse this privilege to the nth degree, should ABC ever come to their senses and cast me as the Reigning Queen Supreme Triple XXX Diva Bachelorette. 

There was never any question as to how this season would end but I do have a lot of questions about where life goes from here: How will Jordan and Jojo support themselves on the salaries of a fake real estate agent and a former NFL quarterback? How long before Jordan is caught in a Cleveland airport bathroom stall committing sinful acts with a woman who works the register at his favorite airport Starbucks? When will Jojo come to understand her true worth as a woman and move to Portland to start a feminist bookstore? When will Soraya rise up like a Phoenix to bring the rule of men to its inevitable finale? Is the existence of the female orgasm, having no basis in biological evolution, the soundest argument for the parallel existence of an altruistic God? 

It’s been a WILD & CRAZY ride. Thank you all for coming along with me. I’m honored to have been the recipient of your unquestioning faith that I actually watched this show week after week instead of just making shit up, even when I was undeserving of that faith. 

This may be my last blog post ever, as I am starting journalism school on Thursday so I can further perfect my ability to bring The Bachelorette to life on the page. I received a few DMs from some of you recently (thank you!) and I want to encourage anyone who feels compelled to reach out to please do so - especially if you’d like me to reconsider the cessation of this blog! Sometimes, it feels as if I’m shouting into the void about things that don’t matter and it’s refreshing to feel instead as if I am shouting at between twenty and thirty people about things that don’t matter. 

With love,

Becky. 

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“Think About Your Thoughts Before You Say Them.”

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW has this show had a 31 season run?

I’ve spent the last few months taking a hard look at where this country is heading and I’m scared. Climate change is threatening our cities’ coastlines. Income inequality is shrinking the middle class, consigning millions of people to a life of poverty. Donald Trump is threatening the foundation of American democracy itself. Chipotle’s stock price is at an all-time low.  

And it looks like the next Bachelor is going to be Chase, Luke, or Robby.

CHASE. LUKE. OR ROBBY.

Sit with that for a minute.

I have dedicated the last two years of my life to making sure teenage girls and straight men in their mid-twenties have had access to fair, unbiased coverage of The Bachelor/ette and it devastates me to say that it might be time to put down the metaphorical pen and move on. After having spent a full season documenting in painstaking detail Ben Higgins’s journey to the blondest, whitest, most lobotomized basic female he ever could have loved, I’m not sure I’m the right person to do the same for any of the above men.  Ben ruined me.

He ruined me.

I did my best to provide you with a brief summary of last night’s Men Tell All but the well is dry and the year is 2117. There is no water left. There are no humans to be found. The only proof any of us were ever here is a dirty piece of paper tumbling in the breeze. If there were anyone left to look closely at this piece of paper, they’d have made out  a series of numbers and letters written in red ink. This is Hillary Clinton’s Gmail password.

She was never any good at safeguarding her Internet privacy.

I love you all and good night.