| Aired on 11.25.2003
In fairness, my four-year-old niece also loves pink, and all of her clothes are pink, and everything she colors she will color only in pink crayon, including the face of Dora the Explorer, which, actually, undoes a lot of the underlying cultural background being laid by the visionaries who created this diverse character. But man, does my four-year-old niece love pink. Then again, my four-year-old niece is also four years old.
The curlicued script of the words "Trista and Ryan's Wedding" write themselves on the screen in the Microsoft Word font "Shameful Opportunism Sans Serif and Sans Dignity Bold." We fade in on the montage Trista has forced her life with Ryan to become lo these last seven months, cutting from the two of them posing with "friends" to skiing in Vail to feeding each other cake to tattooing the words "Nothing is real until it is recorded" on each others' backs and making them believe that they understand the collected works of Virginia Woolf. It's true that she said it, you guys, but I don't think this is what she meant. "It's been seven months since the show ended," we find out, finally landing on Trista "Opportunism Knocks But Thrice" Rehn, sitting in a makeshift confessional space (though I get that feeling that Trista's whole existence is one makeshift confessional space after another. In fact, I get the feeling that Makeshift Confessional Space is going to be the name of Trista's hand-biting tell-all of the reality show industry that she's going to write as soon as the final flashbulb pops and the divorce papers have been finalized. I'm guessing I'll be recapping that just after its publication date of, say, Thanksgiving? Cool. See you all back here) wearing her Smart Glasses and adding, "In that time, it has been absolute craziness." Yeah, those vipers in the press just don't know how to leave a self-respecting private citizen alone, do they? We cut to another montage of Trista's successful press outreach: Trista and Ryan on the cover of Us Weekly. Trista and Ryan on the cover of TV Guide. Trista, her meta-cap on, on The Bachelor hosting a photo shoot for Extra for the cover of Modern Bride magazine. Trista finding numerous other methods of generally sucking at the teat of the Bonnie Fuller empire.
"We really can't walk down the street without getting recognized, or somebody taking a picture, or wishing us congratulations," Trista continues, obviously meaning "we" in the royal grammatical sense, seeing as I don't envision that there's actually a man involved anywhere in this process. More paparazzi. More cameras. More flashbulbs, leading to this recapper experiencing a hearing-the-voice- of-Mary-Hart-esque seizure of the first order from all this useless stimuli. A totally spontaneous moment (from the Latin root meaning "a carefully orchestrated press opportunity") ensues as another bride approaches Trista and wishes her good luck with her wedding, perhaps hoping that wandering into Trista's orbit will net her a fraction of the dowry being supplied to the couple by Papa Eisner and the rest of the ABC Family. Don't hold your breath, though, because I think all of the aspects of the typical dowry have already been allocated: the money, the land, the sheep. Or least the one poor, single lamb, being led blindly to the slaughter.
| Aired on 11.25.2003
Oh, here he is now. Ryan "Baaaaaaaaaah" Sutter sits in his own makeshift confessional space, reminding us immediately why the producers of The Bachelorette were able to pull his shorn wool over our eyes and actually surprise us with the big surprise ending of that captivating season: he just doesn't do it front of the camera. He comes off as stilted and uncomfortable and impatient and afraid, a simple country fireman given to rare piques of fancy in which "Shamu" is a viable rhyming couplet for anything. He sits alone, looking tired but somehow more attractive than he did when he was first being introduced to America. He tells us that his life has been "a crazy whirlwind" (an expression that no self-respecting fireman should ever be forced to say, but one which a similarly non-self-respecting poet could rhyme with "but I sure do love my girlfriend," should the situation call for a quick verse) since the end of the series, what with the balancing of "the fire job" with "everything that comes up in Los Angeles." As he says this, the screen splits itself into four boxes, each of Ryan in another of his life's capacities: one of the Vail firehouse, another of what looks like Trista at a photo shoot, a third of Trista and Ryan canoodling (that's a tabloid word I would never ordinarily use, but is this whole thing really any more than a tabloid?), and a fourth that looks like family and friends just chillin', all together in some whacked-out Brady Bunch Opening Credits Of The Damned sequence that would make me reference Time Code if I hadn't already done so in every recap I've ever written. So, again: Figgis? You're welcome.
Finally! Some quiet moments alone for the happy couple, with merely one camera crew in attendance, and they're just there to shoot b-roll. Almost just like real solitude, except for the part where it's nationally televised. As Trista and Ryan walk along some kind of oceanfront property, Trista voices over, "I've found my dream man." Sure she has, but should she really be talking about her unholy alliance with Mike Fleiss right in front of her fiancé? She continues on: "We're having this amazing, dream-come-true wedding, and getting to meet all these people that I have dreamt about meeting." Suddenly Ted Casablanca is someone people "dream about meeting"? Trista wraps up her cobbled-from-fourteen- different-confessionals confessional, telling us that she feels "extremely, extremely blessed." The couple kisses in silhouette at sundown and all is right with the whole wide universe.
| Aired on 11.25.2003
The end.
Yeah. RIGHT.
Ooooh, Beverly Hills. Where the streets are paved with pavement. We learn that this banner day finds Trista meeting with her "wedding planner," a woman named Mindy Weiss. Through a door and into some opulent office space we go, where Trista gives a familiar hug to a cross between Melissa Rivers and the earthbound manifestation of how human beings throughout history have depicted the theoretical concept of "Death." I mean, except for the snappy sweater set. Gaunt of cheeks. Bony fingers. Scythe. The whole nine. Well, not the scythe. The scythe is silent. In a confessional, Mindy tells us, "The moment Ryan proposed to [Trista], I said, 'Oh, I would love to do that wedding!'" Truly such a coincidence could have been orchestrated only by the Dark Queen Of The Underworld herself. Trista sits down and baby-voices (I can't believe it's taken even this long), "I love your flowers!" and then tells us that she trusts Mindy's expertise, having seen the work she's done on other weddings, "like Adam Sandler's wedding," and Gwen Stefani's wedding. Seriously, people? I already spend half of my day with a cabal of namedropping starfuckers who try to impress each other with their tales of who was valet-ing behind whom at The Ivy. You can Gwen and Adam and Jen and Ben me all you want, and this I promise you in return: I am jaded and mean and 1000% not impressed. Except if I get to meet Trista. Because she's the real deal and I get so weak-kneed in the presence of fame.
"I actually have my book," Trista segues to Mindy. And if my two best friends weren't marrying each other year, I would be literally appalled by what Trista removes from her bag just then. But I have it on good authority from a totally normal couple that a lot of brides do this and that it's not that scary. Because what Trista unearths is, essentially, a giant Trapper Keeper with the word "Bridezilla" calligraphied on the "This Trapper Keeper Belongs To" line. It's a book of cut-outs from numerous bride magazines, split up into sections such as "flowers" and "dresses," all encased inside of those plastic page protectors and slid into a three-ring binder. Mindy expresses gratitude that Trista has guided things in such a helpful direction, and they dive right in. On the matter of flowers, Trista guides the discussion toward her favorite color: "I loved the peenk." Ah, the peenk. Is that one of those made-up colors in the newfangled box of Crayola 64's, where you send in your submission and they print your name and age on the crayon, like, "Purple Mountain's Majesty, Ted Shmippy, Age 64" or "Gramma's Mashed Potatoes, Johnny Smith, Age 8"? Because I may have mentioned earlier that I've been spending some time with a four-year-old girl who likes to color, and not once have I seen any evidence of the color "Peenk, Trista Rehn, who actually expects us to believe she's Age 30" anywhere in that box. ["Shut up, Trista's officially thirty? Because I'm turning twenty-nine very soon and...no." -- Wing Chun] Nevertheless, on we plow, pink, pink, pink. Peenk. Trista tells us how much she loves Mindy, and that she can't wait for Ryan to meet her. And Ryan is, again...?
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Oh, that Ryan. You mean Sideshow Bob. For some reason, I thought Trista chose that one guy, Johnny Anyman, and that's who she decided to marry. We're in what I'll guess is Trista and Ryan's Los Angeles domicile, a cluttered (well, all those cameras, in and out, all the time) apartment that looks like it's east of Hollywood and north of everything, allowing them to lie their way into saying they live in the Hills when they're talking to people who have never been to California. Entirely in baby voice, Trista and Ryan banter about a peanut butter sandwich, culminating in Trista's asking if Ryan's ready to meet Mindy. Ryan retorts, "I will be after I eat this sandwich." Right. Johnny Anyman will be ready in a Jif.
"There's a lot of irony in the whole wedding thing," Ryan tells us. Let's continue on and see exactly what Ryan's perception of "irony" is: "It's this great union, but at the same time, planning it all is a real test of each other's compatibility." Hey, that's not bad! Here boy, have some peanut butter. Put some on his nose and watch him lick it off. Awwww, cute! Good boy.
Some extremely indeterminate time later in an ambiguous locale we'll just call "Wedding Plans Heaven," Trista and Ryan meet with Mindy. She's wearing a peenk top, which she wore on purpose, I'll bet (I'm sure we'll learn for sure during the four-part special, The Making of Trista & Ryan's Wedding, coming to ABC in exactly three weeks), and Trista takes the bait and notes that Mindy is wearing Trista's "favorite color." Ryan gives her an overly familiar "SAVE ME, PLEASE" hug, and we cut to Mindy in a confessional, telling us that she's set up "this incredible team of designers" to guide the couple through the whole process. Mindy tells them, "Everything you've heard about wedding planning..." before discarding the finalizing clause and going with the more egalitarian, "We're going to have so much fun." I've never heard anything about professional wedding planning, so I'm not sure what she was going to say. And I'm sure it's true that planning a wedding is hard. Unless you have unfettered access to exactly one trillion dollars of Disney's corporate coffers. Then? It's as easy as making a peanut-butter sandwich, though the producers are still going out of their way to convince us that it's as hard as correctly pronouncing the word "pink." Soft "I." Not hard "E." Look to the schwa, Trista. Look to the schwa.
We're at a place the awnings tell us is called "Mark's Garden." Trista tells us that she's expecting to be "blown away" by the arrangements, and indeed they are rather fetching, in a peenk kind of way. We meet the Mark, and Mindy confessionalizes that Mark has been part of some lavish celebrity weddings, from (please don't please don't please don't) Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards to Adam Sandler. Good god, man. When did the name "Adam Sandler" become synonymous with the apex of celebrity elegance? I would stop to ponder this question further, but just then there's a massive earthquake in Los Angeles as a result of the fault lines buckling under the pressure of all these names dropping from such an extreme height.
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Trista critiques some of the arrangements, and Mark notes, "I think you like the stuff that's really romantic." Trista knee-jerks, "I do," before grabbing Ryan's arm and correcting herself, "We do." Ryan snarks, "I'm here too, Mark," and Mark endears himself to just about nobody, responding, "I forgot." Way to give everyone a voice, Mark. ["Dude, they're looking at flower arrangements. Straight men don't care. I don't even care." -- Wing Chun] Over at another table completely bedecked in pink flowers, Mark notes, "This is the pink table." See, this is why we leave it to the professionals, people. Mark asks if it's "too pink," and Ryan pipes up to note that probably not every table should be that pink. In a confessional, Ryan reminds us of Trista's love for peenk, but adds that he won't "allow this pink, flowery, girly, Strawberry Shortcake wedding." Why, did Mindy do the Shortcake wedding also? The, um, Sandler-Shortcake wedding?
Oh, man, Ryan's so miserable it could just about kill you. In another confessional at a wholly other time with exactly the same sentiment, Ryan reiterates that he's excited about the day that they're heading for, but "getting to that day is a real effort, a real process, and a real challenge." Sitting between Mindy and Trista in the back of a limo, Ryan practically looks into the camera and begs us to take him anywhere but here. From an enormous bag, Mindy takes out a bag that she tells him is "Ryan's Wedding Survival Kit." He deadpans, "What is this, a whole bunch of morphine?" No, it's Superman, and he's going to fly really fast around the world backwards to take us back in time to Ryan misspelling his name on his Bachelorette application and making none of this ever have happened. Thank you, Superman! Actually, it's a Game Boy of some kind. And also a piece of paper on which is hilariously written, "Suggested Answers to Trista's Wedding Questions," which I wouldn't recap if you...oh, fine. Honestly, I must live for you people:
1. Oh, that looks terrific.
2. Whatever you think, Trista.
3. Do you think that might be just a little too much pink?
4. I can't wait!
5. To Die For!
6. Let me think about that one for a minute...
Oh, the man-hating, castrating hilarity!
Below that is another list entitled "Acceptable 'one word' answers," but on the basis of the words "one word" being quoted for emphasis (an egregious error) and the completely unnecessary capitalization of the words "To Die For," I'm calling a two-minute grammatical penalty and skipping ahead.
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Or, we can just make up our own:
1. Shut
2. Up
3. Trista
4. This
5. Is
6. Such
7. A
8. Waste
9. Of
10. Our
11. Nation's
12. Time
13. And
14. Limited
15. Resources
16. Please
17. Please
18. Please
19. Stop
20. The
21. Lambs
22. From
23. Screaming
24. Love
25. Djb
Flatware! Flatware! Flatware! Wait, they're DESIGINING their own wedding china? Like. Wow. I mean, y'all know I swim in the shallow end of the pool and I'm not typically one to be all tithe for the poor! tithe for the poor! but I do find this opulence to be kind of embarrassing. Mindy doesn't agree, and she's damn near simulating the energy level of an actual animated, alive person when she tells us, "They get to design china from the same place that designs for the White House and Royal Families." Sitting with a china designer (I didn't even know such people existed) at Lenox, the couple claims total ignorance on the matter of designing china. But I'll give you a hint. Ryan doesn't want pink china. Trista wouldn't mind pink china. And the word "leitmotif" leaps out of the dictionary to its untimely death, leaving in its place an ugly black ink scar, below which is hastily scrawled the words "Pink at Trista and Ryan's Wedding: see instead 'heavy motif.'"
North of Olympic and several thousand miles from any reason or sanity, we're at "Lehr & Black Invitationers." Dear Lehr. And Black: "invitationers" is not a word. Please reprint. Love, those squiggly red lines that appear underneath misspelled words on my word-processing program. That's a pretty cute sign, though.
Shaquille O'Neal. Jessica Simpson. Shut up, Mindy. Though she does end this latest list of clientele with kind of a barbed sentiment, telling us, "I knew they'd be able to create something at least Trista would like." Lehr or Black shows Ryan and Trista invitations that confuse me. Deep in the mix, it sounds like Lehr or Black is saying that the invitations are "for the shower," but I think that was a weirdly-edited cut, because I think they're seeing the actual wedding invitations. It's a giant pink tutu with Trista's name printed in a different shade of pink across the bottom, and then, for some reason, a black tuxedo on a hanger. What's going on? Trista loves it and says "Oh, my god" a thousand times. Ryan tells Trista that he'll just invite his friends to the wedding over the phone. HATES her.
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Hoo boy, is it hard to skip over the fluff where there ain't nothing on but the fluff.
Cakes. We meet a "very good friend" of Mindy's from a place called "Perfect Endings." They do a tasting of delicious cakes, Trista telling us, "Ryan and I are dessert lovers." They both like soup. Made for each other. But alas, Ryan tells us that Trista does solicit his advice, but may not really be that interested in incorporating it into the wedding plans. Back at Perfect Endings, Trista tells Mindy's good friend Michael how good the cakes were. Things we've learned this very special season on The Bachelor: cakes are tasty. week on Trista and Ryan's Wedding: air is breathe-y.
Harry Winston isn't even good enough, so we're off to Tacori to kick it with some rings. Trista tiptoes through the diamonds, including one ring that we're told has "over two hundred stones on it." Just to put the math of this in perspective: I'll bet that the cumulative prices of the entire weddings of all of the married people reading this, when averaged together, cost as much total as the ring Trista has on her finger. Mad yet? Want to help me hurt them yet? Good. Because they say that a pure diamond cuts glass, so I'd be interested in finding out what else it cuts. Trista tells us that seeing a ring on Ryan's finger makes things "a lot more real." A quick montage recaps all of the visits they've made in what we're supposed to believe all happened in one day, I guess.
"This wedding is not about me," Trista says, a set of parentheses automatically settling themselves around that sentiment and a squiggly "not" line positioning itself in front of the open parentheses to indicate that whatever Trista just said, she in fact means the opposite. Here, like this:
~ (This wedding is not about me)
Trista's disingenuousness can now be proven mathematically. Trista? Why do you insist on turning this wedding into a Theorem Of Lies?
Trista is on the phone with her father, whom we'll remember from his appearances on this show by his Native-American name, "He Runs With Enormous Glasses." I would like to be the first to point out that, since this christening, those glasses have gotten A LOT smaller. Trista tells us that her dad is feeling "disconnected" from the wedding planning. In a confessional, HRWEG tells us that he's missing out on everything from invitations to flowers, all of which are things that "close families share during the wedding process." That is true. Close families do often have input into matters such as these. But that is because it is often those close families who PAY for the wedding, and said families can therefore chime in however and whenever they want on what the arrangements are or are not. But with Daddy Eisner signing the checks, HRWEG can fall in line and prance around in his wedding invitation tutu, for all I care. And if, the day before the ceremony, Trista and Ryan decide to get married in the Rehn's back yard and get the whole thing catered by White Castle, they'll be sure to let you know first, m'kay? Trista, magically, turns things right around on HRWEG, telling him that if he wants to know something, all he has to do is ask. "Yeah, we're busy," she reminds us all, but HRWEG can always call her or, even more personally, "shoot [them] an email" if he's that curious about what's going on. Trista tells us that, since the wedding is being planned by "someone else" -- NAME THE CORPORATE DEMIGODS WHO ENSLAVE YOU INSIDE A PINK PRISON OF YOUR OWN MAKING, TRISTA! NAAAAAAME THEM!!! -- her parents feel like their "thunder" (not to mention their enormous glasses) is being stolen.
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Time to location-scout. Trista tells us that the place she's looking for is somewhere she (oops..."they") can have the ceremony outside, and then go inside and have a big party. Mindy, wearing a screaming red dress from her ironic "Death, I Mock You" label ("You should have seen the wedding between Death and, um, Mrs. Death, dah-link!") walks them around a poolside locale with an adjacent gazebo. Trista repeats again that being at a real location where the wedding "might" take place (don't kid yourselves...this is where it's going to be) makes this whole thing "more real." Inside a chandelier-ific ballroom, the three sit down, and Trista tells Mindy to try to make sure the families stay involved in the process: "In my family, we haven't planned a wedding. Neither has his." She adds that a phone call would suffice, continuing, "or even an email." Ouch. Or a smoke signal from base camp. Or Trista, Ryan, Mindy, and good friend Michael can stand outside the Rehn's St. Louis home spelling out "Help!" in semaphore flags. Well, it wouldn't be the first time it happened.
Trista loves the gazebo. Ryan stands by it and Trista almost accidentally marries Mindy when the two of them walk down the long expanse of grass toward him. Again, she mentions how "real" it was at that moment, when she pictured him in his tuxedo. Ryan, meanwhile, tells us that he was standing and watching her, and then it did "sink in" a little. What stops him from running like hell involves a camera crew and a fear of the literally very close icy hand of death.
A plane we're supposed to believe they're on touches down in big, bad New York City, where the streets are paved with discarded pages of my old recaps. I know that this is madly off-topic, but can I just say that I freakin' hate when every show now insists on leading their NYC packages with the establishing shot of the southern skyline? I know it was once a kick-ass shot, and so much the better if you could get the Brooklyn Bridge in on it. But as much as it may be a testament to a city on the ever-continuing rebound, it's just the crappy Financial District and it really looks like downtown Hartford, so cut it out and go get a tight shot on the top of the Empire State Building at night. I grant you license. I won't be offended. Thank you. I'm glad we had this talk.
Ryan and Trista check into "The Time Hotel," (I have no idea where that is), and tell us that they're going to call their friends in the wedding party and give them "a little surprise." They use Trista's phone to take a picture of themselves -- Trista in the foreground and Ryan so far back that the editor of this scene had to look up tips for deep focus cinematography not used since Orson Wells made his first film -- and send it along with a text message reading something like, "If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere." With that, they invite all of their friends to New York with what seems like a continuity-challenged eleven minutes of notice.
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Trista's mom pops into midtown (33rd and 7th, though I suspect they only shot that intersection because there's a sign below it that reads "Fashion Avenue," which it really isn't, unless "fashion" and "Midtown's dirtiest Taco Bell" are the same thing which, to me, they are) to go dress shopping with Trista. We meet two designers whose names Mindy says once and I can't understand and you can't afford anyway, but we find out that they designed Jennifer Lopez's wedding dress ["which one?" -- Wing Chun], and that's gotta be good enough for us. Trista and Mom sip champagne as they watch models try on a series of gowns, until Trista emerges from the dressing room and gives her crying mom a hug. What's up with that dress? It's fine at the bottom, but right at the cleavage point there's this weird shape that looks like a pentagram. How adorably charming. In a Buffy Halloween episode sort of way.
Stewart Weitzman designs a shoe. Please. No more.
A bridesmaid named Angela from Louisville, Kentucky seems, frankly, only marginally excited as she tells us, "We got this call yesterday. It was a picture, [which] came through from Trista and Ryan, saying surprise[,] can you meet me in New York, which was exciting." It was? It wasn't rude, completely ignorant of the hectic lives other people are trying to lead, or brazenly arrogant to think a girl from Louisville could just drop everything and (losing an hour, no less) turn up in formalwear for dinner in New York the night? Wow. My aforementioned friends are getting married across the country August, so they sent out Save The Date cards to everyone. In November. And you GAIN three hours going that way.
Everyone's in the hotel, Ryan telling us that he's so happy everyone was able to "put their lives on hold." At least he understands the magnitude of how much he's inconveniencing them all. Her, not so much. And from here, it basically turns into the first night in the new house of a Bachelor season, the only difference being that this time everyone's getting tanked on champagne due to misery rather than nerves. A groomsman named Pete stirs the gumbo a bit, telling us in a confessional, "You wonder, you question, whether they're really in love." Wow. Tough love from the wedding party. (P.S. We agree.) (P.P.S. Don't call us, Pete. We're afraid of you.) The girly side of the party, though, is in love with love, and a girl named Missy poses the X-chromosome counterpoint that Trista and Ryan make each other very happy. And if they can continue to live the fifty to seventy-five years in a world of trick editing, the happy couple may just believe it as well.
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Ryan should not have been allowed to make the very special announcement that brought them all to New York, because it sounds like just another thank-you toast. Then again, the surprise isn't really that surprising, is it? Basically, Ryan wants to let them know that everyone there is in the wedding party, and that his brother Chris is his best man. And Trista's friend Sara is going to be her maid of honor. Everyone toasts, which would ordinarily connote the end of an episode, and this time it doesn't.
Because they all spent a lot of time traveling underground while they were in New York ("You mean the mutant mole people have their own transport medium?" you can practically hear Trista asking), we montage through the downtown F train and come up...exactly where we were last night. The girls make their way out of the hotel and into a limo and head down to see their bridesmaids' dresses, while the boys jet down to Kenneth Cole to do some designing of their own. For some reason, there's a kind of Reservoir Dogs slo-mo intro for the guys, who horse around and mess around and joke around like boys do. Meanwhile, Trista watches the ladies try on dresses, mentally telegraphing the message "Make them uglier than me" as her only fashion note. And boys? Well, they will be boys, now won't they? Wait until they get those taffeta invitations in the mail and kick their boy's ass right back to Queersville.
Dinner around a big, camera-facing U. Trista tells us that this dinner is important because it's a reminder that their lives will be filled with "friends and fun," because their wedding may be Kenneth Cole and Tacori, but their marriage is purely a fast food tagline. Best Man Chris, the DeVito inferior to his older brother's Schwarzenegger alpha male, tells us in a confessional, "My brother is not a really good poet." We flash back to Ryan reading Trista a poem in the Bachelorette house, and then back to the dinner, where people giggle helplessly and quote Ryan's poem "I'm Falling For Something About Her." Okay, awesome. More of same, please.
Also, more of Evil Pete. He tells us that this is a "pretty important" decision Ryan and Trista are making, and that he wants to make sure they're both in it for the right reasons. He's sitting to one of Trista's girls at the dinner table, in front of numerous camera crews, at a table that's one big-ass glorified Golden Girls dinner table because no one can ever be facing away from the CAMERAS, and he decides to tell her how he feels about the happy couple. Because he's Evil Pete and he's trying to get laid. I love the subtitles, because subtitles when someone is speaking English are very, very Fire Walk With Me. First, he tells someone in Trista's wedding party that he thinks Trista is "high-maintenance," which means that this would have gotten back to her even without the cameras. up, he continues, "I worry for my boy Ryan. I think we're all this way. In that...uh...when we fall in love...we'll do whatever the women we're in love with wants." In a confessional, Angela (for that is her name) tells us that she worries about what's going to happen when Trista and Ryan come down off this high. Three subsequent confessionals agree, until Evil Pete gets up for the big confrontation in which he...wishes Ryan and Trista all the best and tells them he thinks the couple is quite in love. Something about child-bearing hips and great teeth. "Ryan, you done good, boy. Here's to the bride and groom. Thank you so much for involving us all." You tell 'em! I, uh. Oh, never mind.
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Off to the bachelor (Bachelor?) party and the girly party we go, kicking it St. Martin-style. Shots of pretty white sand fade into a meet-and-greet of the wedding party and a few additional guests, who...oh, crap! It's Russ! He found us! I don't know how, but he found us! Run for it, Marty!
Seriously, what's that dude doing there? Let him tell us for himself, okay? "Ryan and I were really good friends on the show." In the fantasy world cartoon book based on The Bachelorette entitled Greasy Satan and Frankenstein: The Engineered Adventures of Russ and Ryan. AND BOB! SHUT UP, BOB! La la la la la la la lee lee loo!!! I can't see Bob anymore! The only saving grace of recapping this miniseries is that it wasn't about Bob.
AND SHANNON!
Am I dying? Because my life is flashing before my eyes. And from the looks of this, my life sucked.