The Bachelor’s engagement is over. America cries.
Husband: I found out about you and Karl. I followed him to his condo last night. And I killed him.
Wife: NO, NOT THE BACHELOR, NOOOOOOOO!
Scientist: Ladies and gentlemen of the press. This little box will revolutionize music. It has the ability to convert any pop song created in the last ten years into a fugue indistinguishable from the works of Bach. It took me 20 years to invent. Once it warms up, I’ll—
Reporter: Dr. Frinkle? Your machine is on fire.
Scientist: NO, NOT THE BACHELOR, NOOOOOOOO!
Dad: Thomas, it’s your turn to guess.
Brother: Yeah, hurry up retard.
Dad: Don’t call him that!
Brother: I’m tired of playing Clue with him.
Dad: He’ll do fine this time. He just needs some gentle guidance. Go on, Thomas.
Thomas: The bachelor did it. With the spoon.
Dad: NO, NOT THE BACHELOR, NOOOOOOOO!
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