In beautiful sunny Thailand there is no paradise aboard Valor as the crew of Below Deck fractures at the seams under the misguidance of Ashton Pienaar.
To be fair I don’t know if it’s Ashton being in over his head from a leadership perspective, or like many a bosun before him, culled by the crazy of a green deckhand. Or a redhead. In this case the double-whammy!
Abbi Murphy has essentially decided that leadership and pecking order be damned – she does what she wants! Like getting so wasted she spends the morning vomiting and misses her clock-in time on deck. Abbi thinks working on Valor, for Captain Lee Rosbach, is like being the tortilla chip flipper at Chipotle. You know – it’s totes fine to text your boss half an hour before your shift starts to let them know that you were like partying soooo hard the night before that your mascara is still smeared all over your morning after dress and mixing with tears from vomiting for 2 hours straight. Hotttt!
Oh sheesh, last night’s Below Deck was A. MESS. From charter guest Brandy, a literal sea sponge soaked in champagne and leeching everywhere, to Kevin Dobson‘s inability to count, to Abbi Murphy‘s drunken disarray… I don’t know what is in the water over in Thailand, but remind me never to drink it!
So Helen + ‘friends’ are on a beach picnic, slurping down cocktails and fish sandwhiches, taking selfies, and Brandy is so trashed she’s speaking in tongues and seeing apparitions in the pattern of her beach towels. Too bad she didn’t have an epiphany about the evils of gluttony, like Helen advised.
Oh my Below Deck where on earth do you find these people? I think it’s safe to say that Helen Hoey‘s friend Brandy is not just sipping on the al-al-al-alcohol, but adding in a little something extra. So that’s where chef Kevin Dobson‘s “extra” went!
Helen and Richard are back, pretending to be foodies who are rich and fabulous. They have brought with them a literal motley crew of cougars. Actually, I think these women were Motley Crue groupies back in the 80s. (Psssst… I think even Tommy Lee quit partying… Maybe?)
On last night’s Below Deck there was everlasting love, shitty tantrums, and Abbi Murphy‘s hair blowing in everyone’s faces. Most notably Ashton Pienaar‘s!
So we open on the toilet, where apparently chef Kevin Dobson dreams up all his best dishes. To contrast with footage of Kevin counseling himself through explosive diarrhea, chocolate pudding, and the selection of “very slower” progress anti-poop medication, we also see proof that Kevin is a very thorough hand washer. So diphtheria be damned! Good thing too, because some ‘I Do’ popping is the plan for the evening, and if there’s one dinner you can’t fuck up, it’s the one which will set the tone for the primary charter guest’s marriage.
Regular old Below Deck is back, they’re terrorizing beautiful Thailand, and Kate Chastain continues to be the best motivational speaker the reality TV world has ever seen. She’s really missed her calling not doing infomercials or pioneering a QVC collection selling stain-proof table linens and clothing that is both practical for scrubbing floors and fish, while remaining reasonably cute, yet wrinkle-proof!
Captain Lee Rosbach has returned to steer Valor into battle, but the battle will inevitably, only, wage on board. Joining Kate and Captain Lee is Ashton Pieneaar, who has been promoted to bosun as a reward for almost dying on Captain Lee’s watch last season.
Last night’s season finale of Below Deck Mediterranean was a tale of too little, too late backhanded compliments. I still think we need a reunion (and I’m super curious about the real reason that’s not happening, but unfortunately I’m not the one in charge over at Bravo) because one of the biggest questions I want answered is why Captain Sandy Yawn turned suddenly on Hannah Ferrier in the last gasps of the season.
Was it just an amalgamation of so many lazy moments that built up for Sandy? Was Sandy tired of feeling like Hannah wasn’t hearing her demands? Was Sandy influenced by Ben Robinson‘s opinion of Hannah?
But, seriously, why is Sandy – on the last day, of the last charter – upset that table is not set at 5am? Meanwhile the deck crew is just twiddling their thumbs. They put the slide up, they take the slide down, you do the jet ski pokey and you shake your whizz all around… Like what guest is going to wake up, and before they’ve had coffee, decide to take a brisk jet ski ride or slip down the slide?
It’s the final charter of the charter season which means we’re almost at the end of the rope for Below Deck Mediterranean. The last charter is a bunch of financial guys from New Jersey or Cali or someplace that breeds tools like it does venereal disease and inflation.
The primary is actually named Randy Madrid. Which is a name no one actually has. It’s a stripper name. Or what somebody changes their name to when escaping their criminal past or trailer park childhood. Basically, I expect Season 2 of Dirty John to be about someone named “Randy Mardid” who has 6 fake passports and a couple of baby mamas down in Idaho and Louisiana, and drives a mysterious Lamborghini to his computer job in the McDonald’s lobby. Which coincidentally is also where Colin Macy-O’Toole takes his dates.
Not a day goes by on Below Deck Mediterranean without kitchen issues, bad weather and Captain Sandy Yawn throwing a “Sandtrum” – aka, a Sandy tantrum – about something, then getting over it 2 seconds later to direct her wrath at someone else.
Sandy has 2 speeds: hugs and snugs – I love you like bananas, ice cream, and motor yacht docking – or screams and yells. After a season of flying under the radar, Joao Franco and Hannah Ferrier both finally found themselves in Sandy’s crosshairs. Meanwhile, Travis Michalzik got all the love a Sandy can offer. You know it’s the end of the season when the chief stew and the bosun are in trouble!
High winds are rocking the Mediterranean as fall approaches, which is why it’s a bad idea to book your motor yacht vacation during discount season – especially if you’re prone to seasickness as guest Deana is. She’s literally crawling on the floor, moaning like her entrails are being ripped out. Hannah escorts her upstairs and gently rubs the inside of her wrists to help regain equilibrium. It’s not quite a taint, but Hannah jokes that she assumed her hand job days are over. Are they ever? Especially if one hopes to net a 65-year-old millionaire!