Unbeknownst to me, this season of The Bachelor had its very own mortician bachelorette! I admit I have never actually seen an episode of this show- though lord knows I shun you not, tacky television.
Spoiler alert: You’re all going to die.
Second Spoiler Alert: Mortician bachelorette was sent home on this week’s episode.
This is a legit picture of mortician bachelorette weeping in the back of her rejection limo, black nails cradling her face in existential angst. (Photo courtesy of a tumblr blog specializing in close up shots of spurned Bachelor contestants writhing in despair).
Oh, mortician bachelorette, where to begin? Your rejection was heralded to me by the folks at Death Reference Desk via an article titled “Brad Womack Hates Death.” Brad Womack is this season’s bachelor. It’s really a shame he hates death, as he has the word WOE built into his name.
I’m going to watch the episode in question on Hulu and report as it goes along.
Ok, wow, first impression, this Brad Womack character is a tool + bag. Toolbag. Bag of tools. Seriously THIS is the dude who gets to decide between like 30 women? I would rather fight for a bag of rodent carcasses.
Blah blah they’re in Seattle for some bachelorette who’s not a mortician.
Blah blah they’re in some charming country town for some bachelorette who’s not a mortician.
I’m not going to lie I’m skipping over these other women. Oh! There’s a graveyard, we know what’s coming. Cue ominous organ music as mortician bachelorette begins her interview:
“Death has been a big part of my life ever since I was a little girl, which I think is very healthy. Not only is death inevitable, but we’re a death denying society so people are scared of death. I want Brad to come in here and not be afraid of death and just kind of see that this is life, and I put life into that.”
OMG MORTICIAN BACHELORETTE. You are seriously OWNING this mortality acceptance speech right now. And on a ABC reality show, no less. Watched by millions of people. Realistically you’ve already done more for the revolution in 30 seconds of soundbyte than my past few years and many future years of effort. I’ve totally been going about this wrong.
It looks like Toolbag Brad and Mortician Bachelorette are meeting at a mausoleum. Brad says he already loves it! She is relieved, and tells him that it gets even prettier further in. Oh, no wait, sorry love, he means the town the mausoleum is in. Not the mausoleum itself. The mausoleum is trippin’ his shit OUT. “It’s crazy to think that this is her life- I haven’t even thought of death,” says Brad.
Mortician Bachelorette, continuing to OWN this, asks him if he’s considered what he wants done with his toolbag corpse after he dies. Answer: “Yeah I haven’t even thought about it.” No shit, Brad. “I want to be cremated,” she says gleefully.
Now she’s showing him the cremation retort. He’s literally turning green. I am eating this shit up. Snap! It’s a PowerPak brand retort. That’s my machine, yo. Dramatic close up shot of retort flames. This is the best thing I’ve ever seen on TV.
Oh girl, now you’re taking him into the embalming prep room. Do it, mortician bachelorette! Make Toolbag Brad get on the prep table and describe how you’re going to slice open his vein to achieve proper blood drainage. Now you’re making him LIE DOWN on the prep table! My heart can’t take this joy. And you look so happy! You must know that he is horribly uncomfortable and yet you keep going. You are becoming my hero. Yes! Show him that needle injector. Now stab him! Stab the toolbag while he’s lying prostrate and defenseless! (note: That last part’s not actually in the episode).
Brad, you are officially the embodiment of the head- in- the- sand death denial in the United States. I don’t blame you, I know you were raised in that environment. I blame you for sucking, but that’s a different matter.
This time spent at the funeral home is where any chance mortician bachelorette had to actually win this show disappears. Brad asks, “where are we gonna go from here? I don’t need to see a dead body, I really don’t.” Brad, that’s exactly what you need. Exactly. If I were a doctor I’d tell you to take two dead bodies and call me in the morning.
Mortician Bachelorette I LOVE you, even though you name is technically Shawntel and you are wearing Uggs and your ABC bio says your favorite book is Eat, Pray, Love. This just proves that death acceptance is for everyone!
The worst part, Mortician Bachelorette, is that I totally get it. Well, not the humiliating myself on national television for a death-denying toolbag. I don’t get that. But I do get the drive towards eros that comes with a life of death.
Gentleman suitors of lady morticians come in three varieties:
1) The Brad Womacks: The gentlemen who want to know nothin’ about nothin’ about nothin’ death-related. As Brad himself said, “I’ve been thinking, if we get married, these are going to be our conversations. They’re going to be centered around death.” Yes Brad. These would be your conversations. Not all the time, of course. But yes. To love a mortician is to accept that they are a psychopomp, a Charon, an underworld walker. We love death first and you…. not second, really. But equal. You are the eros to balance the thantos.
2) The Fetishizers: The dudes who are like, “shit yo, you do like corpse stuff? That’s so hot. Like, tell me what you do to the bodies you like burn them? Or like, bury them?” These are the guys who are into scantily clothed women in zombie makeup sitting on hot rods dripping fake blood. They see your mortician-ness as a natural extension of this. Like you’re somehow connected to the naughty or transgressive. Like we do cremations at Hot Topic while psychobilly plays in the background.
3) The Ideal: A delicate balance. They are rare. Like death unicorns with horns of truth. They don’t have to be all JoeCoolMortality, but they are at least interested. They can see how death’s intimate relationship with life is a source of inspiration. They have one of ‘dem “open minds.” Mostly they realize that while death is a preoccupation of everyone, it’s especially a preoccupation of you, lady mortician. And if you’re taking an interest in 1930’s ragtime record collections or fly fishing or whatever the hell it is they enjoy, they had better suck it up and listen to your cremating a fat person story.
Dear mortician bachelorette, this Brad Womack was not of the third type. He was not the ideal. Hold out for it sistah soldier, and thank you for your work on the revolution. Whether you know it or not.
Viva la muerte!
ps- A search for “Death + Unicorn” yielded better than expected results.