Below Deck Sailing Yacht: Oof Is A Huge Understatement

Come aboard, we’re about to set sail again on the Parsifal III! I would like to tell you that you’re in for metaphorical smooth sailing and sights for sore eyes. Unfortunately, I’m bound by the rules of these meat-headed guests and lying is unacceptable. Repeated saberings of champagne bottles are fine, as is inappropriate physical elevation of a crew member. You can also swear at will, exaggerate time frames, and drink yourself stupid. Let’s just say, if your knuckles drag on the ground and your forehead still protrudes like your Neanderthal ancestors…you’re going to feel right at home on this charter.

Before the slope-headed monstrosities embark, we have to attend to the damage to the transom. As bad as it looks, it’s the most minor damage we’ll see on this episode. Paget is in full martyr mode at having to fill and repaint the damage that somehow is the responsibility of anyone barring the head of the deck crew. I’ll admit I’m not a damage assessor by trade, but it certainly looks like the boat was hitting the dock for more than the brief time he was on the tender. He’s able to pull it off and make the paint job unnoticeable to the arriving guests.

As the Clan of the Cave Bear approaches it’s as clear as the side of an Ice Age glacier that we’re in for an extreme dose of testosterone coupled with maybe, just possibly, a hint of roid rage. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a man-hater, in general. I just happen to prefer them a little more evolved…at least past the point of grunting.

We got to see two of my favorite crew members share a chat and while I wish I could say it was entertaining, it was more illuminating and heart-breaking. Byron plays his version of 20 questions with Madison and while she coyly dodges many of them to his face, she shares her answers with us in a confessional. She fills us in on the tragic murder of her sister and how it impacted her decision to flee the bad memories that Michigan held and live a purposeful and happy life. If I hadn’t already adored her and wanted to mother her, this would have convinced me.

Next we’re subjected to the pas de deux of Jenna and Adam, or as one of my Twitter friends coined them: Jedam. Although the dance they’re performing doesn’t seem quite that elegant, so I may need to categorize it as a Ugh-si-doh. Jenna may want to take the Spork Express to Spoon Town, but it’s becoming clearer that Adam may be more interested in a fauxmance than an actual romance.

Alley Oop and friends are seven shots in before they even clear dockside and the only thing worse than idiots are drunken idiots. Loud, obnoxious bellowing is on tap as well as a somewhat dated choice of Don Julio 1942. 2013 is missing its bar buddies.

Speaking of bars, a trip to one is in order for the guests and Jenna (in a moment where I briefly admired her wit) chose one with a Yelp review that was a stern warning to any women thinking of visiting. Props where they’re due, Jenna found the Meatheads’ Mecca. After even more over-consumption, the knuckle-draggers return to assorted charcuterie offerings prepped by Adam, and the agave-swilling stomachs in human form are displeased. They want food, not snacks! (All of a sudden I’m briefly transported back to Real Housewives of Dallas’ former star LeeAnne’s wedding.)

Madison, being the only interior member to do any sort of labor above and beyond the bare minimum, decides to avoid waking Fluffy Adam and fixes food for the guys. She’s repaid for her kindness on deck the next day when Lee decides to use her as makeshift free weights and hikes her off the ground. He shoos her off with a “Don’t tell anyone” warning and I’m ready to chuck all of these jerks overboard.

Just when you think it can’t get any worse Tony (who they thought was the nice one) displays either Mommy issues or ex-girlfriend ones. He perceives Jenna’s avowal that the bar they’re going to closes at 11pm as a lie rather than a miscommunication. I don’t know about anyone else, but the under-his-breath seething of this lummox was more than a little disturbing to me. Put down the HGH, bro.

The night wraps up with a boat full of men only managing to bring back two girls, one of whom cannot hold her liquor and proceeds to puke on the parquet. Thankfully that’s all they cared to show us for now and we have a week to recover before we’re introduced to why the crew wasn’t thrilled with the man-apes’ amateur champagne opening party tricks. Hope you’ll stick with me!

Full time housewife, mom, and grandma with more opinions than my family can handle, so I share them with the internet instead.

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