We join Trista "Wherefore Art Thou Doing This To Thyself" Rehn standing alone on an upper balcony of the International House Of Guycakes (IHOG), blond hair billowing in the thick Encino smog, thinking about boys boys boys. Doubtlessly taking a break from her volunteer shift at the physical therapy ward of the onsite daycare facility ABC has constructed for its production staff in Guy's basement (psych! Crippled kids are for suckers), Trista takes the time to voice-over in a poorly edited cobble, "Three of my friends are coming today. And I really need their advice. I need some reassurance that the guys that I'm feeling the strong connections for are the right people." Knock knock! Who's there? Shameless opportunists! Shameless opportunists who? Shameless opportunists who are named Shannon from The Bachelor's first season, eager to capitalize on her C-list fame in any public forum available, and it was either this or a background casting gig in some freaky truck-stop sequence on The Surreal Life! Get it? God, I love a good knock-knock joke. Also along for the ride is Trista's friend Missy, about whom Trista lets us know: "Missy I have known since '95, so we've known each other...quite a while." Since all the way back before the advent of subtraction, evidently. Trista, as of the taping of this show, you've known her for seven years. Here's an abacus and a board with some felt duckies on it. Go learn one cohesive fact and let the editors lay off the futile "Make Sound Smart" button on the mixing console for a while. And who's named "Missy"? Also present is "Sara," whom Trista has "known since junior high." You mean "since Trista was in junior high and Sara was the kindly old guidance counselor or lunch lady," perhaps? She doesn't look aged, per se, but I doubt seriously the under-thirty-ness of anyone who would enter their local salon and advise her stylist, "Just give me the Life With Bonnie, thanks." Which Sara evidently has done. A flashback shot of Shannon not getting a rose from the ghoulish Alex Michel reminds us how much these strong women have changed since those simpler, more naïve times. This time around, for instance, Shannon seems to have acquired a clipboard. Woohoo! Sisters are doing paperwork for themselves!
Inside the house, the three imported friends sit shoulder to shoulder on a tiny, tiny couch while Trista luxuriates cross-legged and alone on The Sofa Of Get Your Own Damn Reality Show, Shannon. Trista claps her hands and proclaims herself "so happy" to have her friends along to help her, and Shannon leads the "ruzzah ruzzah" response with the slippery half-agreement that she's happy to be "here." Meaning "here in TV Land, on television, where people can see me and my stripy, stripy shirt. Hi, world!" In what was apparently a preordained plan, they immediately begin discussion of some "questions," and Shannon hands Trista a single sheet of paper, advising her, "Here. Look at the ones that are starred." Trista fills us in: "My friends have come up with questions for the guys based on who I am and what I really think is important in a relationship." Trista regards the "Is Your Future Husband 'Husbandy' Enough For You?" Cosmo quiz the three women have concocted, reading aloud, "Describe your demeanor in the morning." Missy also suggests including a battery of questions concerning "the longest relationship you've ever had. How it ended." Sigh. These are the starred ones? Judging from the comparative maturity level of this group of guys, I don't see how any questionnaire could omit key interrogatives like, "Seriously, how dumb are you really?" or "You're totally cheating on me already, aren't you, Russ?" or the simple yet revealing, "What's that smell?" But Shannon's got an ace in the hole, as she suggests with an overwhelmingly self-serious oh-my-god-you-guys- please-don't-be-scandalized demeanor, "For a funny question...to lighten it up...What size shoe do you wear?" They all giggle girlishly and nervously, flailing their arms aimlessly and not finding any pearls to clutch in the horror of their own yes-but-secretly- I'm-talking-about-his-PENIS subversion. Don't worry, little girls. It will all come out in the slam books.
Y'all, they fixed the typo on "Guy's House"! I am so convinced they saw the skewering they were taking on the forums and made the quickie change before this episode aired. We are so grassroots we should run for President Of ABC on the Green Party ticket. Wait. We rule. The title banner now reads the grammatically correct but no more creative, "Guys' House." And apparently it's fun to stay at the XY-MCA, as we find the remaining bachelors with little to do but hang out by the pool and devise ill-fated plans by which they will install a totally kick-ass beer tap where the -- what's that one pointless appliance called...oh, yes -- "shower head" now resides. Into the living room walks Chris "Hostess With The...Some" Harrison, wearing a completely khaki outfit he ripped off a now-naked mannequin at the entrance to his local Chess King retailer. But even this outfit is half-obscured by a misshapen and poorly fitting black coat he ripped right out of 1985. Silly Chris Harrison...didn't he know that that coat was only meant for members only? Lucky for him he decided to accessorize with three hot chicks, and he introduces the assembled gentlemen to Sara, Missy, and Shannon. The guys' eyes register knowledge -- wasn't knowing who Trista was a prerequisite for being here now? -- as Chris explains that the women are there to decide who gets one-on-one dates with Trista. Mike (who? Exactly), for one, doesn't seem to care whether he gets one or not, shifting his allegiance and interviewizing, "I immediately recognized [Shannon] when she walked in, and I look forward to getting to know her a little bit better." Oh, gross. Is Mike in love with Trista or is Mike in love with love? Considering the fact that his shoe size went up three sizes when he saw Shannon, I'm guessing he'll be fine with whoever deigns to have a conversation with him first.
Yeesh. Clips and clips of guys in rapid-fire Q&A. If the Oxford English Dictionary as of yet lacks an entry for the word "mantage" (noun; a series of rapid-fire interview clips designed specifically to highlight the conversational inadequacies of the average earth-dwelling reality-show-participating male), I'd like to submit this segment as its first official citing. Out by the pool, The Three Wise Women sit across a table from Mike, scorecards in hand, ready to judge him on qualifications less shallow than his so-square-it- can-be-mapped- mathematically-in-geometry- proof-form head and vaguely BaBa-Booey-esque jaw line. For instance, there's his...nah, that's actually all there is to him, isn't it? Sad. And I would mention that his tight ribbed shirt seems to have corporate underwriting by Aeropostale, but so soon off of the Chess King reference, I'm trying to stay in the recap and out of the Short Hills Mall. So off they go, the ladies grilling him first, asking, "When it comes to sex, would you consider yourself a giver, a taker, a pleaser, or a teaser?" Because there's no better way to meet your mate than with an educational reading from Seuss's Sex Tips For Girls. Anyway, Mike is a self-proclaimed "giver." Rob is also "a giver," and you may feel free to tack on "of his own ride to the airport," if you feel the way I do about his rapidly deteriorating chances here. Greg is a "pleaser." Ew. Rhymin' loves the poetic lilt to the question so much that he asks if he can be "a giver, a taker, and a pleaser." We don't get to hear Bob's answer, because I'll bet he kind of makes fun of them a little and is all, "I think I told you. I'm a lover, not a fighter." Because Bob? Kind of rules. And me? I chose "candlestick maker." Or, wait. Was that not one of the choices?
up is Jamie, who concocts as boring an answer as possible to the question, "What do you value most in a relationship?" He crosses the rest of our eyes with numbing stasis (his eyes stay fixed in their sockets, however, since the Raelians who manufactured him have not yet dabbled in the newfangled ocular cloning methods of "googly"), regaling them with a story about how his parents have been married for thirty-five years and commitment is so important la la lee lee loo. Jamie? Friend? This is a game show. And the men who invented this niche genre of game shows lo these many years ago referred to the most intimate act a man and woman can share as "whoopee." Everyone's just kidding, a little. Get in the damn spirit already or you're on the fast bus to Sincerity Station with your other small blond friend over there.
Charlie, meanwhile, is wearing a black tank top that makes him look like he's a can of spinach away from singing in a cartoonish rasp and marrying Shelly Duvall. The Three Wise Women inquire about the possibility of a one-on-one date with Trista, asking him, "What might you do for her to make it romantic?" His answer is that he just wants to "talk to her," which is a refreshingly unbullshitty response, particularly when put to Ryan's I-saw-this-in-a- movie-once-where- they're-all-really- happy-until-everyone-dies- of-cancer-and-stuff clichéd response, "It'd be a calming, sort of peaceful mood. Candlelight, or...some sort of view. Sunset. Something like that. A walk on the beach." You know what's really sexy? Sentence structure.
Greg wrote a song for Trista. Oh, no shit?
Bob notes that there would be dancing on his date, because "there's not enough dancing in this whole thing." What about a shuffle? Would that do? What if it's off to Buffalo? Would that suffice? Bob? I SAY, CAN YOU HEAR ME OVER THE SOUND OF YOUR OWN CLOCK TICKING?
Oh, the "fun one!" The Three Wise Women ask Jamie what size shoe he wears, and he incites cackles with his mock-defensive, "I know where this is going." Rob is a "ten," which means eight and a half. Mike is a "ten and a half or eleven," which means ten. Jamie is a "twenty-two," which is pretty funny but will make for a bear of a time on the one-on-one bowling alley date he's clearly just screwed himself right out of. Bob is a "twelve and a half," which means this shoe-size question just made me inadvertently think tangentially about Bob's naughty bits. Ew. Shut up, show. What's that dog doing there?
Back inside, Shannon (whose official title is, in this insular universe, "Original Bachelor Cast Member," like how some people get to be "a lawyer" and some people get to be "a registered nurse" but some people are always just "our returning champion") tells us that she was excited to meet these guys, because of what they mean to Trista. Missy, meanwhile, foreshadows that she can't believe that Jamie isn't higher on Trista's list. There's full consensus, however, about Russ, about whom Missy tells us, "The first person that she was 100% attracted to is Russ," following up, "When he sat down at our table, we were all kinda like, 'This is Russell?'" Heh. They all dig Ryan, though, noting with sincerity, "He's a firefighter." Y'all, firemen are our nation's heroes. But I tell you what I'm not going to do? I'm not going to make fun of Ryan by writing bad poetry. He's got the market cornered. I simply couldn't do worse. Shannon, Original Bachelor Cast Member, thinks Charlie is "a great-looking guy." Well, I say that Shannon, Original Bachelor Cast Member, cannot be asked to judge normative male beauty when she refuses to cancel her subscription to International Male. So there.
Shannon, Original Bachelor Cast Member, enters the living room holding a VHS tape. In an interview, Charlie -- already dressed for his one-on-one date with Trista -- tells us, "I think that if I can get her alone, that's where I'll be able to shine." We return to the living room to find Russell the beneficiary of the first video date request, as Trista tells him in front of the whole room, "Because this is my first one-on-one date, I wanted to do something that both of us have never done before." Drink the warm blood of an adorable scurrying animal and then hold its still quivering mass of draining life up to the deserted heavens as a foretelling of His Dark Master's impending reign on earth? Oh, wait...I forgot one of the date's participants was Russell. I think that's actually what Russell means when he says that the most important part of any good relationship is "sacrifice."
The following sequence, edited into soup by the fine folks down at The Cobble Hill Editing Lab, begins with Trista arriving at ManDaLay Bay to pick up Russ, the first (and most deadly) of her one-on-one suitors. Tuck in the shirttails, little man. Or, wait. Would that reveal the tail? Trista voices over that this date is so important because "I told him that he needs to lay off the aggression and let it go naturally." Back in the Vaseline-y dream gaze of The Not Too Distant Past, we flashback to last week's episode and again watch Trista telling Russ (in front of a roaring fire that he's controlling with his mind), "The guys that I'm normally attracted to are the guys who aren't really aggressive." She likes guys like Russ when they're not guys like Russ. Trista adds that when they're together, "it feels great" (ew. What does? What is "it"? And again, ew), but that she needs to know he's taken what she said "to heart." Ha! Made you look! Russ doesn't have a heart. Y'all, whose dog is that?
In the back of a black limousine where only they two and the cameraman and sound guy and a couple of fat guys in a sound-booth-rigged van traveling beside them can share their most intimate thoughts, Russ opens up. Sitting Roofie-popping distance away from Trista in a vehicle that could easily seat a circus freak who could swallow baby grand pianos whole, Russ regales Trista with a tale of domestic tranquility: "My mom sent me a card before I left to come down here. I open it up and it's a rose. My mom wrote, 'Y'know, no matter what happens, y'know, I'm, I'm glad you came this far in the process. I love you. And that's it.'" Love, Mrs. Satan. I can't believe we haven't heard of this letter before now. Perhaps this is because the ABC marketing department neglected to remind us that, at the time Russ's mom gave him the card, it was the most! Shocking! Rose! Ceremony! Yet! Trista reaches out a hand and, with a superficial "awwwwwww," grazes Russ's upper forearm with an accompanying I-pity-your-eternally- dark-soullessness cock of the head. Russ, in turn, takes this new sensory information as a sign that he must reach out with his own non-liquor-glass-containing hand and grab Trista's upper thigh for an extended period of time. Trista looks out the window in what I decide is horror. Cock? Blocked. Gack. Good luck dry-cleaning the smarm off of that fabric. And though we all know Trista won't end up with Russ in the end, for now, at this moment, Trista has sold her pants to Satan.
I'm sorry, is that the Goodyear Blimp? Well. At least the producers seem to want Russ dead almost as much as we do. A team of blimp specialists navigate that big-ass thing around an open field as Brussque notes from the back seat, "I've never kissed anybody on a blimp before." Trista asks what makes him think he's going to kiss anyone on a blimp today, a rhetorical question I'd actually like to answer with a line of dialogue from one of the best half-hours of reality television in history, as I feel it also applies to what will come of this situation: "Whore! Whore! Whore! Whore! Whore!" Dude. Trista. Why couldn't you just stay away? Sell the bracelet and buy your perspective out of hock. It's enough already. Russ puts an unreciprocated arm around Trista as they approach the Hindenbachelor, and we cut to the aforementioned blimp specialists literally pushing the damn thing up in the air to get it going. Why would people ever put their faith in a form of transportation that has the same take-off procedure as the airplanes on The Flintstones? Nevertheless, up they go, Russ and Trista each wearing kiss-inhibiting giant headpieces that makes their dialogue sound like it was mixed down by Beck. Russ voices over that "it couldn't have been more romantic," and Trista and Russ intertwine their fingers and stare at the sunset. On the side of the blimp, the words "Russ + Trista" scroll up in giant pink letters. Was that digitally added later? If not, who is there to see it? Why is the blimp talking, anyway? Oh, the humanity!
Back at The Moose Lodge (these nicknames are getting more and esoteric, aren't they? Can I maybe just stick with ManDaLay Bay for a while? It's kind of my favorite), Shannon, Original Bachelor Cast Member, makes a toast: "To screen time, and my having lots of it!" That, or something about getting to know new friends. Or wait, is that Missy? The remainder of the bachelors sit around the table with The Three Wise Women as Shannon, Original Bachelor Cast Member, tells us in an interview, "We're on a mission...It doesn't seem like there's anything wrong with any of them." Back at the table, Charlie treats us to a numbing table reading from The Big Book of Exceedingly Monotone Public Speaking, explaining what a "chiseler" is and how Russ is among their ranks. Charlie explains that Russ was "chiseling" his way in with Trista, being at the top of every staircase and lurking behind every doorway during their group date in Vegas and trying to get as much time with her as possible. And that's all he needed to say. But he talks and talks, all but pulling down a chalkboard with X's and O's all over it to explain how this "X" is Trista and this "Y" is Russ and this "Z" is the first letter of "zzzzzzzzzzz." The girls seem scandalized that Russ is so calculating, which is why they just sold their best friend up the river and are such excellent judges of character.
Over at the Gosford Park gazebo, Russ and Trista's limo pulls up, and they emerge to find a schmancy meal waiting for them. Over smacky meal consumption, Trista again chooses the conversational route of most resistance, filibustering, "Any guy that pushes too hard or tries too hard or is too anything in the beginning is a guy who turns me off." Okay. OKAY, already. We get it. We thought he sucked already. We wouldn't have asked him on the date. You don't have to convince us. Stop selling us your emotional Amway. We already hate him. God. But Russ again volleys what Trista serves up, retorting, "I just want you to know that I was sincere in how I was feeling and that kind of thing." In an interview, Russ tells us that Trista kissed him in Vegas, and that he "took it maybe a little further" than he should have. A flashback of Vegas shows Trista very slowly backing away after a kiss and holding up her hands in a gesture I think we're supposed to believe means "You keep your greasy mitts offa me, nasty nasty bad man," but which in reality was probably Trista noting, "Both of these hands are empty of liquor and I simply do not know what to do about it." Russ seems confused, telling us, "This is our date. This is our last time to be together before the Rose Ceremony" (doubtless the most shocking one yet!), "and if I'm into her I want to let her know that." Here's one way, Russ: "Trista? I'm into you." Here's another way: [stage direction: Russ kicks back his fifth shot of Jäger and tongues Trista down like she's a mud-splashed feral tiger.] Outside of The Gazebo Of Repetitive Honesty, Russ confronts Trista head-on, telling her, "You kissed me out of the blue." She tries to defend herself and retorts that Russ was clearly the aggressor, but Russ does that I'm-such-a- good-guy-that- I-have-to-tell-you- what-a-good-guy-I-am- so-then-you'll-know thing where he'll drop some incendiary comment ("I don't think it's totally romantic sitting on one side of the table") and then discount it with his response to everything she says ("No no no no no") because her words have no value. And then? And then her words have no value: "I was feeling it. That was my way of telling you without being affectionate with you in front of other people." That makes not a lick of sense. Knowing this, Trista kisses him to escape further awkwardness, because when in doubt, physical intimacy. Russ feels better that they had their talk. I wish I were dead.
Everyone seems to have magically assembled in the living room when Shannon, Original Bachelor Cast Member, enters with another videotape. Sara tells us that they "picked Charlie" for a reason that can't be because "he has this fantastic package," which is definitely what I think she said. Blink. BLINK! This videotape reveals Trista falling right out of a purple bathing suit and standing in front of a swimming pool, telling him almost nonsensically, "My friends say you deserve to be treated like royalty. But first we're gonna get a chance to play." Meh? Anyway: "So grab your swimsuit and prepare to get drenched. But don't worry. We'll have lots of time to dry off together later." Various testosterone-fueled whoops ring out in the living room, as we cut to Trista entering the house to find Charlie decked out in his best black wife-beater (actually, this must be his second-best one. Guys who wear clothes like that save their very best tank tops to get married in). And here we are at Wild Rivers USA, where kids pee in the wave pool and reality-show flunkies find love. That's totally what's written in Latin across the top of the Wild Rivers official seal. Trista and Charlie go on various water rides and fall into various pools, as the two of them gallivant in skimpy clothes and break five thousand applicable theme-park zoning edicts by drinking alcohol in public out of open containers made of actual glass while swimming in a pool. Without even waiting an hour after getting loaded to go swimming! Their mothers failed.
Stepping into their Über War Limo, Trista tells us that they are headed from the water park to "Saks Fifth Avenue," and we cut inside the car to hear Charlie pouring his heart out about finding out that a girlfriend had been cheating on him. Trista confesses that the same thing happened to her (a girlfriend cheated on...oh, never mind), and Charlie bowls her over and continues with his story. She voices over, "He's been cheated on. I've been cheated on. We can relate to that." Which means they share one more thing in common: that they clearly both SUCK IN BED! No, I'm totally kidding. Getting cheated on is totally the worst. It ruins lives and makes snow globes into murder weapons. Avoid avoid avoid. Trista thinks that once you're cheated on, it makes you "stay faithful because he knows how bad it hurts to get cheated on." True. Actually, a total falsehood.
Über War Limo pulls up to Saks, where we find a stylist the closed captioning tells me is named "Jose Eber" waiting for Trista. Wearing what I think is a leather cowboy hat that screams, "I am wearing this because I am flamboyant and ironic, as well as being a reminder of how glad you are you sent that creepy Brook guy packing," Jose Eber (I'll just bet he insists on being referred to by both names all the time) and his team style Trista's hair and makeup while Charlie watches. Jose Eber tells us in an exaggerated hodgepodge accent from the ambiguous faraway land of "Foreignia" (I believe Jamie played them in the Fake Basketball Olympics once, in fact), "Gonn-a-ta make-a ee-you preetee and bee-oo-tee-fool fahr grayteh romanteek deenair." Charlie sits patiently, telling us, "She looked amazing after that was done." We cut to Trista in a bathrobe holding (natch) a near-empty (or, for you optimists in the crowd, "nearly refilled") glass of champagne, made-up and wandering around Saks. And who does she bump into? Why, look! It's noted designer Shoshanna Lonstein! Y'all, did I seriously just stumble into the dailies of Born Rich for a second, because I feel very bourgeois all of a sudden and I want to go home and eat a lot of Taco Bell. This is way too glam for me. Shoshanna introduces herself to Trista (yes, dear, we all know who you are), and Trista voices over, "I can't believe she came here just for me." Unless your name is "scads of free press" or "an advertisement of my products for middle-class American women who now mistakenly think they can afford me," I don't think she is. Cut to Trista looking heavily made up and sporting Midwest Prom Hair, emerging from behind a door wearing a red Lonstein dress because this is what all pediatric physical therapists do. And, back at Mann's Caucasian Theater, Trista's boobies tell Ryan that they're all going on a date that will "fit [his] gentle nature." And she hears that "Shamu may be joining us for dinner." Is that a fat joke? Bob: "Is that a fat joke? Am I going?" Heh. He's pretty one-note, people, but you've got to admit that that one note is far more compelling than the whole of Russ's lushly-orchestrated Satan Symphony.
Downstairs at Saks, the surprises keep coming. Trista opens her purse and pulls out a set of keys, telling Charlie, "We have the keys to our own Aston Martin." Charlie fills in the gaps for those of us who lack fully actualized manhood clichés, alerting her, "This is every man's dream -- you know that, don't you?" Julius Caesar? Yes. His dream, too. Suddenly we're steaming, fast and furious, Vin-Diesel-is-my-co-pilot-style, down what I'll guess is La Cienega. We land in front of a fancy fancy restaurant, the inside of which is festooned in candles and rose petals, and empty. Charlie and Trista toast with champagne glasses held high, and Trista takes a swig and visibly relaxes in a way that makes me very, very nervous. Charlie tells us that having one-on-one time with Trista is the best way to "get that one-on-one time that I'd been hoping to get with her." Totally. Totally.
Back at the table, Charlie and Trista are already holding hands, Charlie asking Trista to tell him something about her that nobody else knows. She slurs, "Like, you reaching out and grabbing my hand." Not. Whatever. This is where you bust out and come clean about your third nipple or your jailed pappy or maybe even your fourth nipple or your fifth nipple. You don't swear someone to a vow of secrecy that you "like to be cuddled." That is such a bullshit answer. Charlie almost blows it when he kind of unromantically agrees with me, volleying back, "Yeah, but little things are the easiest to do." Trista thinks they can already finish each other's sentences. Which they can, provided that there is a rapid and dramatic shift in the ideological framework of said sentence: "And they mean the most." Charlie, relieved: "Exactly." Seriously, people, a show of hands from those of you who believe that drunken hand-holding usually means nothing. You can stop drunkenly holding hands for a second to put your hands up. And, kissing, Charlie copping a feel and copping to the fact that "you don't know how long I've been waiting to do this." In the twelve minutes you've known each other? Maybe, I don't know, twelve minutes? Charlie tells us that this romantic setting seemed the perfect opportunity "to try to really get inside Trista." Whoa whoa WHOA! Back at the table, Charlie basically gives Trista an ultimatum that he doesn't want to be involved romantically with Trista if she is "intimate" with another guy on the show. He would consider it an act of "betrayal," which is easy for him to say, since he's not choosing from twenty-five Tristas and doesn't have to worry about testing the merchandise when she's got a monopoly on that which can be -- as Charlie so eloquently puts it -- "gotten inside of." Charlie tells us that he does indeed want a rose from Trista, adding, "To tell you the truth, I'm really excited about trying to get onto the level and having her meet my parents." These poor families. Have you ever been good friends with anyone who spent any real amount of time on a reality show? Because it fucks you up good, America, and these families just don't deserve it.
Back at The GentleManor, Charlie has arrived home and is regaling the rest of the guys with stories of Aston Martins and fancy dinners and oh yes there was a girl there too, I think. Mike (WHO?) notes in an interview the lack of any other characters in Charlie's story besides Charlie, telling us, "I just think his flashy style and the way he carries himself is just my least favorite." Someone on the forums used the word "bland" to describe a certain generic Midwest archetype of guy that Mike represents. I would like to note that the word "bland" offered to change its name to "Mike," so much does Mike have the market cornered on that word. But secretly, Mike's kind of mad: "At the end of his ten- or twenty-minute explanation of the date, I just had no idea where he stood with Trista or where Trista stood with him." Let's help orient you then, Mike. Charlie stands with a rose. And you don't. But for now, while we can delude ourselves that Mike's any more in the running than, say, I am (and I like boys!), let's give him due process and keep him in the narrative for a bit longer. Back in the kitchen from which Charlie has apparently departed, Mike whispers to the remaining bachelors, "He talked a lot about the car and the expensive get-ups and the clothes and everything." Charlie may be creepy in a thousand different ways, but don't deign to quote him verbatim while using the word "get-up." Because he's never said it. "Threads," maybe. "Get-up" is something you buy at a Halloween theme store. Shoshanna Lonstein does not design "get-ups." Bob cuts to it, asking everyone if they think he kissed Trista, and Jamie volunteers that he thinks Charlie did.
Meanwhile, out in the Über War Limo, Trista sits with Huey, Dewey, and Shannon, telling them, "I felt it with Charlie. The conversation was just totally flowing. He lives in L.A. He's financially secure. And it felt so right. And he kissed me. And he's a great kisser." The three women somehow manage to strangle their encroaching cries of, "Yeah, but what's the deal with those sideburns?" Oh, wow. "Ed SideBurns." That's totally his nickname. Wow. I'm up to two nicknames after three weeks on the beat here. Good thing I'm just getting into the groove with the run of this show already half over. Oh, crap. I've just gone ahead and written myself into the recap, haven't I? Oooh, how meta! The feature film based on my artistic struggle to write a linear recap about the show I'm paid to watch will be entitled Recapitulation. Do you think Meryl Streep will play Mike Fleiss?
And now, the most boring date of all of our lives. Collectively. And this includes the time this girl in high school asked me if I wanted to hang out, and I didn't find out that it was a date until five years later. Yup. It's worse than that. But if it serves any purpose for Trista in divining the true essence of Rhymin', at least it will help her decide between "functionally" and "congenitally" as which modifier is more appropriate to precede the word "retarded." We're back at Boystown, where we find Trista entering and giving Rhymin' a big teddy-bear hug and baby-talking, "Are you excited?" He stumbles over the words "so" and "excited," succeeding only in glazed, vertiginous silence. Trista tells us, "The most important thing I'm looking forward to today is seeing Ryan's reaction and seeing how he loves this experience." Is he a terminally ill five-year-old? No, you say? Then he must be treated as an adult. "I think that putting him in a situation that he can really enjoy will bring out the real Ryan."
Okay. I promised I wouldn't write bad mimicking poetry, but I am going to share something with you from the distant past of Djb, something that predates my involvement with this show by several years. In 1999, a very good friend of mine started dating a girl we all just hated. She wasn't mean and she wasn't cruel. She was, in the words of a certain high-school senior in Sixteen Candles, "void." And she was also kind of sickly-looking a lot of the time, and this generally consumptive air gave her skin color an overall look of gray. And she never, ever talked. Ever. And so my mean friend and I nicknamed her "Rock." And then we wrote a "Rock Theme Song" that went a little something like this:
I like rocks
Rocks are gray
When you talk to a rock
They always say...
[Silent, sardonic pause. Because, well, rocks don't talk.]
I know. The meanest. But besides telling you that story so that you can judge harshly my catty, unevolved 1999 self, I offer it to you as a rather adequate description of Ryan. Silent and rock-like is the real Ryan. And it rhymes! And whatever, my friend broke up with her anyway. I'm telling you, she sucked.
In the limo, Ryan just drones. Here's some of it now: "Before. I felt like you needed to know someone before you get married to them." But now? "If you know enough about 'em, if you know that you love 'em, why not make the commitment?" I have no idea what's going on right now. "If this is going to be some sort of fairy-tale ending, like, I came on television and I met this beautiful person and I'm engaged to her, then let's just carry out the fairy tale. Let's just jump on the...well, not -- jump on the horse isn't right -- let's walk into the sunset. Walk out and live happily ever after." Trista is holding her hair in front of her eyes like it has as good a chance of impressing her verbally as the man sitting way way way across from her in the limo. One network over, Simon and the gang have told thirty people that they are "the worst singer I've ever heard, ever" in three completely different cities in the same amount of time it took this scene to unfold. And rocks are gray.
And, we're swimming with the dolphins. Cut to Trista and Rhymin' wearing wetsuits, which is really the very last compelling reason to keep him in the running. We're at Sea World, walking the dolphins and swimming with the dolphins. Trista baby-talks to one, the instructor telling her, "Give her a kiss." Rhymin' thinks his action is being impinged upon, and he argues, "I guess I was a little jealous when Trista kissed the dolphin. But I don't know if there's anything I can do to a six-hundred-pound animal that can swim a lot faster than I can." Oh, please. Two words: tuna net. Who's tough then, dolphins? Trista is happy that she and Rhymin' were able to share this experience, because it was "something he'd never done on a date before." But Trista? Dolphin-swimming date machine.
The rest of the losers finally get invited on a date. Go, losers!
Trista and Rhymin' sit poolside, toasting with gigantic goblets of red wine, Rhymin' suggesting, "To dinner with Shamu." But the dolphin isn't at dinner, and...oh, never mind. For once, it's actually kind of a sentence. I'm not going to go diagramming it. Trista asks Rhymin' if he "has any concerns," and he hems that she's just "so right" for him as even the entirety of the animal kingdom realizes that this poor innocent just does not make for compelling television. Up from the poolside pop two dolphins, distracting us long enough to forget that...oh, wait. Rhymin' has written another poem. Since they give it to us in a huge chunk this time, I'll include the full text of what he reads:
Here I am, not knowing where I stand
Here I am, looking for a place to land
Nah, fuck it. That's it. It doesn't get any better. The refrain is "I'm falling for something about her," because it made Trista cry when Level 42 wrote it twenty years ago, and it still seems to be working like a charm now. God, I love that song. Rhymin' interviewizes that he didn't want to make her cry, and we cut back to Trista leaning in and kissing Ryan chastely. Trista tells us that he makes her heart flutter, and she feels like what they have could "work for a really, really long time." So all three one-on-one dates were perfect then, eh? Think she's the kind of person who falls in love easily or what? Back at the house, Charlie sulks by the pool as Rhymin' monotones that he's the real deal and Rhymin' is gray.
Maison de Men. Bob, Rob, Jamie, Greg (who?), and Mike (WHO?) are going "to the racetrack" and then "to the beach for a clambake." And then to a Brook Impersonator Show and a good ol' fashioned skeet shoot? Seriously, this is the trashiest thing ever. Mike tells us that he's "frustrated that Trista's gonna be forced to make a decision whether to keep me here or nor based on another group date." With an extra emphasis on the "or not" part, I don't think I need to tell you. More montage-y banter in the limo, during which you can practically smell Bob mouthing the words, "What is that, a fat joke?" in response to everything everyone says. Sadly, it probably was.
And, tiny cars. Jamie tells us that this is his final chance to "secure a spot in the final four." So what better way for the remaining scrubs to get a little alone time with Trista than by jamming helmets on their heads and strapping them in to ridiculous little scooters. Oh, that is so very humiliating. Jamie calls from behind his helmet, "Trista, I'm going to win your love by winning this race," which comes out as "Mmmmftrr, jmgtwinlofraafe." Too bad we're so many years removed from the culturally relevant early days of South Park, or my punch line would have been tidily delivered. Trista waves a flag and the cars take off, racing around the track and around and around and around. Mike wins. Wasn't that exciting? Isn't anything that allows them to booze it up in public? Rob pipes in with his one line this week, in which he tells us that they're on their way to the beach.
And to the beach we go, where we find Bob and Trista sharing some alone time. I'm sorry, but Bob rocks. He worries that she might think he's "a joker 24/7," but she assures him that she knows he has "a very sensitive, serious side." She asks him if he plans on staying in Michigan, and Bob intimates that he'll "never move." Done and done.
Trista asks the same question of Greg, who tells her that he's never had a problem relocating. She tells us that his eyes are gorgeous and that he has "a romantic side." And seeing that this is really the first moment they've spent alone in the whole of this series so far, I can't believe he doesn't rush over to the roaring fire, extinguish it by any means necessary, and play the hollowed insides of the fireplace like a giant steel drum. Play the song, already. PLAY THE SONG!
Jamie, meanwhile, stands awkwardly and feeds Trista a line about good times great oldies or whatever, and then veers precipitously into faux pas territory with the line, "You mind if I kiss you goodnight? Is that okay?" Mishandled. Badly. Trista laughs nervously, telling him, "Well, it is the first date." She allows for a kiss on, kind of, her ear. Trista reminds us again that "it does feel forced with Jamie sometimes," and the coffee klatch reconvenes to find Trista telling the ladies that she worries about making a mistake with Jamie. Trista also digs on Bob, but she uses the excuse about him staying in Michigan as the reason she secretly still thinks he's fat. Sara stares and stares, making the good point that location shouldn't be taken into consideration, and that the tactical concerns will work themselves out if Trista really finds her true love. They all hug goodbye as they're leaving early, and the whole flirtation subplot ultimately fails to materialize. Shannon, Original Bachelor Cast Member, puts way too fine a point on it: "To have to pick one of them, especially after you get to know them more and more, is so difficult. I don't know how she's going to do it." Trista sits on her bed, looking forlorn.
As the suited men file in to The Room With The Rorschach Carpet, Trista takes a page from the ABC promo department handbook, voicing over, "Tonight is going to be the most difficult Rose Ceremony yet." Doesn't she mean the most shocking? She's still unsure who she's going to be choosing, and she really feels for them because "I've been the one hurt and I've been the one doing the hurting." Ryan explains that Trista is "in a hard spot," which is the egalitarian talk of the utter shoe-in. Trista still gets to spend "alone time" with each of the guys. Russell tells her that he's "very happy" to be there and says he's psyched for her to meet his parents. Bob tells her that the more he gets to know her, "the more invested" he becomes. He begs her not to make her decision based on geography, because some towns have weather and some towns are L.A. Which is where she's staying. Without Bob. Crap.
Inside, the men booze alone while Rhymin' tells the assemblage, "A favorite thing of mine is to paint." And, for once, I side with Russ entirely when he literally bursts out laughing in Ryan's face. Heh. Russ wants her to paint "this picture: a nice sunset, and Trista and I [sic] sitting on the beach watching it." But even as his doe-ish mouth begins to form the words, "in oil or in water colors, good sir," we're whisked back to Ryan and Trista alone, Rhymin' explaining, "I intentionally didn't write a poem." Oh, man. He thought he was being kept around for the poetry. So he didn't write her a poem on purpose. Oh, fine. I've resisted for almost ninety full TV minutes here. I've finally cracked under pressure:
Ryan is my name, and it is not the name of you
I like your eyes and ears, and also swimming with Shamu
I'd like to have a rose, so I could go out with you again, Trista
Let me count the ways I like you -- nay! -- let me make a list-a
You're kind
You're smart
I like Pop Tart[s]
You're holy
You're moly
You're fancy
And schmancy
If you could only see the me inside of me
You'd know that I have a heart that's inside of me
If you say you'll be with me forev--
--Er, I'll be yours in love and marriage
[Pause for effect]
Once I ate a really sour pickle
[Pause for general bewilderment on the part of all parties]
The end.
Trista tries to end on a light note, aiming to inspire false jealousy in Rhymin' by telling him, "You know, I've been sleeping with Shamu every night." It's a joke! Pick it up! Zing her! Do something! Instead, he pauses for a moment to take a sip of his Dolt Cola, retorting with a lame, "I was going to ask how Shamu is doing." Sigh. Snore. Realizing he missed it, he takes another stab: "Shami is one lucky, um, lucky..." Oh, dear lord. "Shami." And, I mean, I'm not exactly the smoothest talker on dates myself. But I don't think I've once, ever, erred on the side of accidentally referring to a dolphin in the masculine singular form.
Back in the house, Charlie steals Trista away, much to the judging sloping brow of Mike. Outside, Trista is freezing and this is going badly, so Charlie wraps his arms around her and hides her, as he puts it, "behind a wall." That's where most of Russ's girlfriends end up, so why not set the precedent with all the guys? Charlie thanks Trista "from the heart" for everything that's gone on between them, and Trista uses her favorite buzzwords of "natural" and "connection" and "right" to describe where she thinks things are. But a quick cut back into the house finds the party interrupted by Chris, who -- oh, cool, this show has a host now! -- steals Trista away and warns her that they have "work to do." Heh. "Work." How dare Trista just sit around frittering her life away when there are these video messages to attend to? And so upstairs we walk, where Chris gives the usual Q&A spiel: "Are you ready? Do you know exactly who you're choosing tonight?" She confesses that "I'm kind of fightin' the last two roses with three guys right now." And she's still convinced that she will find her true love. And so she tends to the video messages, in which Charlie refers to her as "little one," Bob goes sincere at the 11th hour, Russ stares with dead eyes and keeps the glass of both the video camera's lens and my TV screen from shattering, as is its wont when confronted with evil of such grand design. Jamie apologizes for "the kiss at the end," and Mike (WHO?) talks too! Rob gets one more sound bite in sideways, telling Trista he'd like her to meet his parents. Greg fails to threaten her with song, and Rhymin' tries to talk on the fly. Meanwhile, downstairs, Chris drops off the brass tray that transferred Steve Martin into Lily Tomlin's body in All of Me, this time containing a scant four boutonnieres.
And back down the staircase Trista descends, standing silently for a moment before sympathy begging with the line, "I never know how hard it's going to be until I get here." She thanks all of the bachelors for coming, and tells them all that they're "incredible men." But these four? Slightly more incredible, really:
Charlie, will you accept this rose? It would be his "honor." Wash the hair. WASH IT! Look at it! It's running away from you!
Russ, will you accept this rose? "Oh, definitely." Oh, and also: mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. MWAH HA HA HA HA HA! What's wrong, dear? I'm just laughing because I'm happy. The evil-implying "mwah" at the beginning of each gale? Oh, that's because I am your Dark Lord And Master. But look! A burlap sack with a big dollar sign embroidered across the front of it! I must have just found a bag of money! Want it?
Ryan, will you accept this rose? Trista barrels on, telling him that "it's not just [his] poetry," neglecting to add that he's still around, in fact, "in spite of the poetry." She doesn't even allow him the chance to answer. Well, when you talk to a rock...
And finally, Greg, will you...WHAT? WHAT! Greg's name isn't "Bob"! What's going on. Stamp stamp stamp! This is what my feet are going! Feh. Bob's a hella nice guy, but I probably wouldn't have chosen him either. But let's totally hang out.
Chris steps over and informs the un-rosed gentlemen to say their goodbyes. Bob gives Trista a hug, and she whispers furtively, "If I had five to give, you...hands down." The comfort! It is so cold!
Jamie hugs her and tells her, "It was nice meeting you." Trista apologizes, and he's aggressively "whatever" about it. Rob near tears, notes, "Some of the guys who are in the final four wouldn't have made my final fifteen."
Glasses are clinked and toasts are made, the remaining four celebrating that they lived to see another day.