The Bachelorette S15 E05: What Happens in Vegas

Well, Hannah and our bevy of bros didn’t jetset off to Vegas this week—they went to Scotland and unearthed the Luke Ness Monster—but I went to Vegas and was too busy drinking my way through the city to properly get caught up. YOLO! I say. Please god make it stops, my liver says. 

In the spirit—and since my entire recap of this episode is “Why the fuck is Luke P still here?”—I’ve gone ahead and decided which liquid delights of Vegas most closely align with our sad sack of remaining suitors. 

Let’s dive in! 

 The Rose Winners

 Tyler C

Tyler C—aka everyone’s hot WWII era grandad—is clearly a mouthwatering Cookies ‘N Cream Supreme Crazyshake™️ from the Black Top Tavern. It’s literally so pretty you want to eat it in one bite, yet also surprisingly classy given that it’s technically in the Venetian. And even though it’s approximately 628,628 calories, just like Tyler C, it’ll never judge.  

 Kevin

it seems fitting that Kevin—a man we only know because he slapped a plate of chicken nuggets out of another man’s hands—be likened to a glass of Corona. Not even a bottle of Corona, but Corona right out of the tap. Perfectly drinkable, sure, but also perfectly forgettable. 

 Dustin

I have no fucking idea who Dustin is, so an empty glass feels fitting. Although a chilled glass still feels like too much credit here. 

Grant

The only reason I’m allowing Grant to be a dirty Belvedere martini from The Venetian’s Lago by Julian Serrano is because he’s 60 fucking years old, so he gets the classic cocktail on this list. 

Devin 

I also barely remember Devin, but I’m pretty sure one time he wore a Hawaiian-print shirt, so why the fuck not—Devin, I dub thee a Piña Smash from Julian Serrano Tapas at the MGM Grand. This is giving Devin far, far too much credit, but c’est la vie.   

Mike

Mike’s as cool (and delicious) as a cucumber in a saketini from Morimoto. End of story. 

Connor J

I mean, Connor’s not terrible. But he’s not great. At least he’s tall. Fittingly, I dub him a 32-ounce frozé by the Mandalay Beach wave pool at Mandalay Bay. It’s pretty good—especially good when the temperature soars past 106° F and you’d literally drink the pool water to keep cool—even if it gets kind of bland and disappointing when it melts. And far too quickly at that. 

Dylan

Dylan rounds out our triumvirate of bros I can’t, for the fucking life, remember. Every time I see a picture of him I go “oh yeah, that fucking grin” though, so why the fuck not—let’s call him this Tropical Açaí Bowl from Blizzard in the MGM. Not bad for you, in theory, but my god do you lament the lack of alcohol. 

Peter the Pilot

Given Peter’s proclivity towards piloting off to tropical locales, it seemed fitting to pair him with the Goldie’s Dirty Banana from the Golden Tiki. A little too much to have more than one, it’s still delightfully tall and fairly satisfyingly sweet. At least for the meantime. 

Jed

Jed—the most boring, most overrated contestant of all time—is my glass of water at   Lago by Julian Serrano. Bland, boring, and hanging out between two far more enticing choices (ahem, Tyler C and Mike) yet still powering on despite it all. 

Luke P

Our resident Luke Ness Monster is just like the Black Top Tavern’s Elderflower Frozé—enticing, at first, in small doses, but immediately gives you a splitting headache when you have too much of it. And it makes you feel sick after chugging it. Also, it’s tiny. Like, really tiny. Just like Luke. 

Seriously, he’s a pipsqueak next to the other bros. Explains a lot, really.

(ABC)

The Rose Losers

Luke S

Rather delicate looking, but not quite—I always forget he was the Luke that made the oral sex joke on After the Final Rose, not Luke P) —Luke S is just like this Champagne Socialist from the Chandelier Bar at the Cosmopolitan. Also, like any good bubbly cocktail, Luke S knows to quit when he’s ahead, a la his self-propelled expulsion this fateful episode. God rest ye, merry gentleman. 

John Paul Jones

Sadly we bid adieu to our perfectly coiffed, labor-screaming playboy John Paul Jones. In honor of that luscious head of hair, I declare him to the the jauntily styled Dole Whip and Rum from The Golden Tiki—lots of hilariously ostentatious fluff, and all of it wonderful. 

Goodnight, sweet prince, and we shall see you rise once more in Paradise.