Thanks to the sad lack of mounted animal carcasses or a secret weapons cache in anyone's basement, this year's 'Bachelorette' hometown dates were, I'm sorry to report, a complete snoozefest.
Not that I don't find JP's roller disco antics somewhat quaint, in a "we can smell the cheese from here," kind of way -- but when the evening's most eventful moments were a tie between JP falling over and every single relative Constantine has bursting through the door to accost Ashley, there may be a spark missing (sorry, Ames).
Excuse me while I go and check what my water heater is doing ...
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