"90 Days" is Bringing the World Together

Not Just About Sexy Time

I was watching "90 Day Fiancé: Before the 90 Days," only the best show on television, and what a mess last night.

For those busy watching the Beijing Olympics and the fall of Western Civilization — and I pity you — the show follows couples who have an existing relationship online but haven't met in person. According to the website, “Using a unique 90 Day Fiance visa, overseas fiances will travel to the US to live with their partners for the first time. Each couple will have just 90 days to decide to get married or send their international mate home.”

Fall in love or amscray it back home?

Damn!

Memphis has traveled to Tunisia to marry a man who still lives at home with his mother. He likes “big women with big boobies” but ejaculates too quickly for Memphis, who nevertheless keeps wanting more “sexy time’; Kim, from San Diego, is meeting singer Usman Umar, who goes by Sojoboy (not to be confused with Soulja Boy), in Africa, but who won’t sleep with her, even though she brought him a laptop, got the big suite, sprinkled rose petals on the bed, and wore polka dot lingerie; Gino, who won’t take off his hat, is sending his ex-wife naked pictures of Jasmine, who is justifiably furious and has been ever since he brought her an electric toothbrush because he didn’t know what kind of dental care they have in Panama; Alina, who, incidentally, has just been fired from the show for sending racially disgusting tweets years back, forgot to tell Caleb, from Arizona, she was living with a guy for the 13 years they had their online relationship (And Caleb proved to be no day at the beach either after being something of a dick when discovering Alina’s diastrophic dysplasia when they meet in Istanbul); and then there’s Mike, who has ADHD, who flew to Colombia to meet Ximena and her two kids, one of whom was conceived during a conjugal visit between Ximena and an inmate.

I’m telling you the show stays with you like anxiety.

Well, last night, Ben, from Michigan, flew to Peru to meet his online lover Mahogany, who, apparently, stood him up at the airport. Ben was crushed, taking comfort in the gym of a Lima Hampton Inn — his “Happy Place,” he calls it — where he calls his friend back home, who gently brings up the possibility that Mahogany may not be genuine and that Ben has been catfished. I feel for Ben, schmuck though he may be — how can you not? — for not even considering someone named Mahogany might not be real or, how to put this gently, his soulmate.

“I guess,” Ben tells producers, “it’s possible Mahogany isn’t real. There’s probably a 3% chance. I have been catfished before.”

Oh, for fucks sake, how’s that for a sweet soul who is capable of crunching those numbers in the midst of overwhelming grief and humiliation. Pathetic bastard flies 11 hours to Peru, obviously gets stood up, and thinks there’s only a 3% chance something’s amiss — and this isn’t the first time it’s happened to him.

I weep.

Mahogany is such a bitch — you know if she actually exists at all.

Hey, how was curling?