"Fellas, good morning," says reality-show host and perpetual Chess King clothing model "It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like" Chris Harrison from his bully pulpit at the front of the guys' house living room. This week, we learn, there will be "three dates: a special one-on-one date, and then something we've never done before." A new mysterious burnt sienna-colored rose? Elimination by Russian Roulette? The shocking reveal that all ten remaining guys are actually made of candy? Let the almost tangible bounds of suspense release me from their actually decidedly metaphorically iron grip, Chris! "Two men..." -- I like where this is going so faaa-ar -- "...one lady." That's it? Are they that afraid of messing with the formula that that really constitutes "something we've never done before"? Again, y'all, no one's suggesting that you scrap the old recipe entirely and end up marketing New Bachelor and Crystal Bachelor to an audience whose tastes haven't evolved enough to enjoy it. But this right here is nothing more than changing the can design and expecting us to swallow the same flat beverage for years until the audience one day just puts that thing down and retches, "What the hell is this, Tab?" Is that really what you want, you guys? Reality programming in an ugly pink can?
Why yes, thanks, I can frame literally any debate within the parameters of the 1980s cola wars. Ask me sometime about how the Axis Powers of World War II were the collective "Shasta" of the warring 1940s.
Anyway.
Back in the living room, Chris lays out the rest of the week for the guys: "As for the third date, seven of you on one date." Guys throw looks around the living room that would erupt over into the verbal realm of "ruzzah" and "ruzzah" if they were allowed so much as one more second of "It was one of you who poisoned Mr. Body, in the living room, with the group date!" Agatha-Christie-esque suspicious glaring ensues.
Chris (is he still there? He's become so innocuous I tend to forget who he is in between instances of typing his name) continues on, explaining that the dates have been split up: "You guys remember before the show, you all underwent personality tests." And not only do we not get to see them taking the tests, but we also don't get to know anything about the tests or what was on them. Therefore, the activity which basically serves from here forward as the catalyst on which all future action in this episode is based is relegated to the level of the technical awards they hand out before they give the real awards in front of an actual viewing audience. Anyway, we're told, Meredith has taken the exact same test, which in that case apparently consisted of the singular question, "Do you like boys?" And the person who is deemed most compatible with Meredith by a hasty and arbitrary decision from a cabal of producers desperately trying to inject some drama into this dying season (er, sorry. I meant "by a highly regarded and clinically proven personality test") will be revealed by a video invitation. Guaranteed to be there or it's free, Chris fishes the unlabeled VHS tape off the mantel, and throws it at some guy sitting close to Chris, whose position to a potted palm frond makes me continually mistake one for the other. Let's say that the results of his personality are, "He doesn't have one." No, wait, it's Ryan R. Man, if only he would do something memorable to set himself apart from the rest of the contestants. And, hi. Couldn't they fancy up the tapes a bit? It looks like they're going to pop it in the VCR, become mesmerized by a grainy black & white house on a cliff and a girl staring into a well, and then they'll all die in seven days.
Popping the tape in the VCR, we discover Meredith wearing a blue Asian-fusion (that's "Asian" fused with "cliché wardrobe stereotype," that is) shirt-y thing and letting us know that the guy who can rent it tonight and go home happy is...Ian! "A night of good fortune awaits us. We'll ride through the streets in a rickshaw and be entertained by dragons." Wow! Dangerous, non-motorized archaic transportation and monsters! Have you been reading my dream diary again? Ian gives a vague glance around that I'll just take the liberty of translating: "Y'all sure I can't just go to the Mighty Ducks game?" Meredith takes a quick breath and dives back in with the parting shot I'm sure will possess just as much passion and raw sexuality as we've come to expect from her: "And I hope you know how to use chopsticks." The tape fades, and the rest of the guys throw out the perfunctory "Awwww, yeah"s and "Hooo, boy"s they're expected to make with at this point. Yeah! Chopsticks mean sex! But then, I guess from a group of ten gentlemen who are utterly used to ending every fortune cookie they've seen since they were twelve with "in bed," fetishizing even the utensils shouldn't come as that much of a surprise.
In a confessional, Ian cops to feeling "at ease" about the results of the Magic 8-Ball test. Tonight, he'll be looking to see if there's a "connection" between him and Meredith to see "if she's the one." In bed!
Yeah, he'll probably win. Meredith shows up at the house and gives Ian a big hug, telling us simultaneously in a confessional, "I'm very happy I'm going on this date with him." Maybe that's because her confessional glimpsed out the window of the time-space continuum and she watched herself showing up at the house to discover Ryan R. sprawled out shirtless on the living room sofa with a blanket (with what looks like only a blanket) covering his lower half, looking like he's posing for the new version of the International Male catalogue. "Come on," he can almost hear his agent (oh, they've all got one) urging him, "it's just like the Abercrombie catalogue...but for ugly people!"
In the back of stretch rickshaw with a Plexiglas retaining wall between the people enjoying the trip and the person pulling it (as well it should be), Ian kicks off the conversation is a way he knows Meredith would understand best: "My mom is -- was -- Swedish," he ventures, hoping she'll zero in on the confusing tense construction of the sentence rather than the content. And she bites, parsing the "was/is" dichotomy rather than being all, "How interesting! You know the national anthem of Sweden is, of course, 'Du Gamla, Du Fria.'" Then again, it's not like there's anything that inherently interesting about Sweden worth discussing, I suppose. It's not like he tried to capture her interest with "my mother was an axe murderer" or "my mother was a unicorn" or something. That's why, I guess, Meredith is more interested in the fact that Ian's mother only seems to exist somewhere deeeeeep in the recesses of the past tense. "'Was'?" she asks, and Ian admits, "She passed away when I was three years old." The "awwwwwwwww" track is cranked up to Michelle-Tanner- sneezes-for- the-first-time- and-isn't-it- adoooooooorable proportions, as the world's viewing audience who is quickly falling for Ian collective produce an "awwwwwww" with so much breath support that it speeds up the world's jet streams and blows the pink flamingos on my lawn right into each other, causing a terrible tangle. But wait! It gets worse! For the emotional ace known as "vague and unsubstantiated human developmental statistics" has yet to rear its head. Until now! Ian goes on: "What's really sad is that your memory only really develops when you're four years old, so I don't remember anything." Meredith knows just how he feels, except for the "losing your mother" part and the "my formative mind has erased all trace of her existence from my long-term memory" part. But that doesn't stop her from volleying back with that last track on Television Tragedy's Greatest Hits, right after Princess Diana and Zapruder: "My grandmother was Swedish." Uff da! A Nana reference right in the middle of it all? But Ian doesn't mind, and in a confessional tells us that she made him feel totally comfortable as a result of her utter Nana-fying of the conversation. Hey, guys? When I was in fourth grade, I had a guinea pig named "Fuzzy." And, well, I don't think I have to tell you how that worked out. Hey, is there enough champagne for me to have a glass?
Down in a completely empty Chinatown, a few shots of a Meredith and Ian find them at a really tiny parade celebrating the ringing in of The Year Of The Dead Matronly Figure (it's very rare...it's like a Chinese leap year thing). They're then being dragged in a rickshaw by a real live Asian man (way to keep it authentic and vaguely racist at the same time!) and into a fancy restaurant. Once inside, Ian yells for service, "What's the specialty of the house?" But since it looks like Meredith and Ian have fallen into that Twilight Zone episode where they're the only people left on an otherwise desolate landscape, Meredith is forced to banter, "You're sittin' right to her." And since that's just about enough for conversation not including the word "journey," Ian pulls the sheet marked "From The Blood-Stained Quill Of Mike Fleiss" out of his pocket and just resorts to the word-for-word script: "Do you see yourself married by the end of this?" Ian promises "on the record" that he wouldn't propose to someone if he didn't feel absolutely ready to be married. He's here "to find a girlfriend," he stammers, and Meredith agrees in a confessional, "It still is really early," like it's the first time she's thought of the fact that they've known each other the amount of time it takes to heat up a bowl of wonton soup that that they'll never get served because this town is empty of human life and you can stay on that train all you want, but the stop is always going to be Centerville, Centerville, Centerville.
The second date box shows up, and we find Meredith on the tape wearing a dress the exact same color she is, pretending not to die of embarrassment trying to sell these lines: "Todd and Ryan M., all aboard. Let's ride the rail and go see if we have any animal magnetism." Centerville, Centerville, Centerville. In a confessional, Ryan R. starts to develop a bit of a thug-like presence, spinning conspiracy yarns ["hey, that's your job!" -- Wing Chun]: "Maybe some people didn't even answer that psych test honestly." For instance, on question #23, "Would you remove your body mic in a violent, yanking fashion before eating the flesh and brains of human babies," Ryan R. checked off the implicating, "Somewhat likely." I guess this means that Ryan M. and Todd just lied about their answers. You guys? How is Meredith supposed to get to know the real you this way?
The stress level in the house has increased somewhat as we return to what was apparently a house-wide pool game, already in progress. The hair-pulling histrionic drama takes a turn for the unladylike when Sean openly accuses Rick of calling this game show a "game." Which, I, huh? "This isn't a game!" This is a game. "This isn't who's gonna win." This is totally who's gonna win. Sean rants on, promising that he's not intimidated by Rick, which is something we need clarified, simply due to the frequency with which tall men brandishing pool cues wearing backwards baseball caps and mafia-compromised noses are scared of short orange men known around his industry as "The Al Bundy Of The Pink Novelty Slipper." Rick shoots back, "I'm not competing with anybody!" You are. You ARE competing with EVERYBODY.
"Did you have anything to do with me being here today?" Ian asks Meredith, and is disappointed when she tells him no. However, she was "hoping" he would be the one chosen, and they snuggle up on an empty (surprise!) bench. Ian can't believe she has to go on other dates, and wishes the whole thing could just end right now. Well, we've heard that one before and it never manages to come true. They stop by a wishing well -- called, wait for it, "Chinatown Wishing Well" -- and Ian tells us that his wish was "to spend more time with Meredith." Dude, go spend some time with her. She's right behind you. They kiss and are generally nice to each other, and Ian expresses some amount of certainty that he'll still be around at the end of the Rose Ceremony. Ian thinks in this "game," there can never be something to count on. Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown.
A knock on the Men's Room (that's my temporary nonsensical name for the house because I'm almost done with my third recap in three straight days and, quite frankly, my brain is made of jam and I just accidentally spelled "Men's" with a "4") door reveals that it's two-on-one date time with Meredith, Todd, and Ryan M., who we'll just call "Ryan" for the sake of convenience because he's the only Ryan on this date and the only Ryan not tethered to a fire hydrant and frothing at the mouth. That Ryan is the other Ryan. This Ryan is the Ryan who knows all the words in the English language and has to say them all really quickly in a row without stopping as soon as he says even one of those words, like Cartman when he's cued with the first two words of "Come Sail Away" and can't stop until he's finished the entire song. That's right. I've just called Ryan a fat piece of construction paper, and that's just what I'll keep calling him until he...sssssssssssh. Dude. Seriously. Dial it down from pi and don't stop until you've stopped.
The limo takes them to a train which they take to Santa Barbara. An empty, scary, ghost train. Dude. Seriously. I know there's usually a surfeit of people around so that all other life contexts are removed and love can bloom in the disproportionate insularity of it all, but doesn't this season seem even more BachelorSphere II than all of the others combined? No matter, because Ryan knows enough words for an entire missing planet. The two guys are sitting on either side of Meredith on the back of the train, and conversation, no kidding, steers them to this topic: "If you were a food, what kind of food would you be?" What are they doing, helping Todd's daughter fill out the personal statement section of her college application? Three people with ninety-six years of life between them and all they can come up with is "If you were a food, what kind of food would you be?" Oh, my god. From the first-date banter which last week brought us, "Do you like breakfast?" Are these joke questions? Is this just an extended comedy sketch of some kind? Should we stick around for when Ryan R. gets booted and tries to convince Meredith that he's perfectly sane but that everyone else, however, is insane and trying to steal his magic bag? Meredith supposes that Ryan is "a turkey sandwich after Thanksgiving Day." Todd snarks from Meredith's other side, "Because he's too much?" but quickly undoes his own vinegary side with the follow-up that Meredith would be "a s'more. Because you want some more." Now that is some family-friendly humor right there, old man. Meredith laughs like her hair is on fire in this whacked-out universe where Chinatown is empty and burning hair is funny. Man, that champagne really went to her head, right there.
The Santa Barbara Zoo. Todd compares literally every single animal in the zoo-travel-montage to Ryan. You know what, Bachelorette? I liked this new and inventive one-on-one date idea a lot better when is was actually called Dismissed.
A wide shot of Ryan physically trying to pull Meredith off of a walking path and away from Todd closely resembles the opening credits of Three's Company, and my attention is briefly recaptured by this and...nope, it's gone again. Ryan steals Meredith away for some alone time, and we cut to them sitting on a blanket in the middle of a field, Ryan literally dragging out his love poem of AN UNABRIDGED DICTIONARY and reading it to Meredith, out loud, word for word. It's shocking. Here's but one atom of its total behemoth self: "It's definitely a comfort level that we had from the very beginning that is what blew me away we were just so gelling not just with what was being said it was something that you cannot put a finger on...." The word "ellipses" comes leaping out of the dictionary, all "me to the rescue!" allowing someone else to get a word in edgewise. How about you, Todd? "Ryan M. talks too much," he offers in a loitery confessional. "If he has an idea that he wants to express, it might take me three words, it would take him ten words." Don't you mean "s'more words," oh, Pun King?
It's much, much later that night, following the end of Ryan's sentence, when Meredith finally gets a little confessional breathing room. She sounds literally winded from exhaustion, and tells us, "I think Ryan likes to talk all the time...I like, kind of, peace and quiet." Back on the large piece of woven material used as a covering for warmth out on the broad, level, open expanse of land outside at the institution in which living animals are kept and usually exhibited to the public (ten words for every three), Meredith becomes so overwhelmed at Ryan's continuing congressional filibuster that she just starts to giggle. He shifts topics but not gears, absorbing her manic giggling and asking without waiting for an answer, "What did I do right there that that many people in the world could actually think was funny?" Yes, Meredith. In fact, when confronted with the criminally, blabberingly insane, it's best to smile comfortingly but not to switch to "patronizing giggle" mode. Let him figure out how you really feel when he's thousands of miles away, watching this episode at home, long after he's been booted. Until then, just smile. And maybe sing softly. About things that make little baby hush and not say a word.
Dinner among the giraffes. Meredith kicks off conversation by asking Todd and Ryan if marriage is something guys think about, and Todd is all, "B--" before Ryan unleashes a torrent of words that flood the giraffe cage and send those spindly giraffe legs flying. Oh, man. Every time Ryan formulates a thought, a giraffe dies. What a terrible plight to bear. Meredith wonders if there are some guys in the house who aren't there "for the right reasons," and Ryan cuts through the knotty subtext (and the ever-stretching sea of giraffe carcasses) to ask straight out if she's talking about Rick. Ryan overshares that Rick called the game a game, and suggests that Meredith "look him in the eye like this" -- he says while looking at her forehead -- "and you're gonna know by doing what I'm doing now if he's getting a rose at the ceremony." Ryan sits back, smug as hell about his clever secrets of social interaction, while Meredith stares back confusedly wondering what she must have smeared across her forehead that made Ryan's eyes become so engorged with wonder just now. ["I think he's just trying to negotiate a one-on-one date using the Jimmy James technique. He also wants a raise." -- Wing Chun] And the giraffes chew on, their small brains barely comprehending the genocide being inflicted upon their kind. There are many giraffes. But without Ryan, Meredith should be informed, there would probably be s'more.
Okay, look, Fleiss. I know I recap a lot of television that looks a lot like a lot of other television, but that's no reason to invent guys named "Chad" just for this date. I know there's no one named Chad on this show and I know there never has been, so just cut it out and cop to the fact that Ian is the winner and we can all knock off early tonight. Because, Chad? That dog won't hunt. As Lanny would say. Anyway, we're back at the Man-Sion (see, they're getting worse) for the seven-on-one date with Brad, Chad, Lanny, Rick, Sean, Ryan R., and Matthew. They're off on a "party bus," which Meredith says with such familiarity she makes it sound like it's been in the language for as long as other words like "Bible" and "sleep-deprived." They take said party bus to Anaheim, where they are to attend a Mighty Ducks game. Arriving at the venue, a light board outside wages syntax against space restrictions, reading, "Welcome The Bachelorette," and inside the boys and Meredith are welcomed with jerseys featuring their names. They're taken out on the ice and greeted by Guy Hebert -- whose name has at least fourteen more phonetic "ee" sounds that you would expect when first looking at it spelled out -- and Mike Leclerc, both of whom I'm sure are originally from Anaheim and bring the spirit of the home team to the ice with every thrilling victory. There's a challenge for who gets the alone time with Meredith as they square off against Gee HeeBee for who can get the most shots past him. And who of them could? Shouldn't the correct answer be "no one but another professional hockey player"? And since the only self-styled "professional hockey player" is no longer in the running, shouldn't there be a statistical null set for the amount of goals scored? How bad must that goalie be to let a horse breeder who has never been on skates before blow it by him like that? Yeesh. I guess that's what you get for naming a major sports franchise after an Emilio Estevez movie. Just ask the players on the Houston Another Stakeouts the last time they took home hockey gold.
And it's Lanny who takes the prize, and the happy couple is rewarded with a trip to the penalty box as a result, I guess, of their two-minute minor for failing to say the word "journey." Meredith tells us in a confessional that she finds Lanny attractive because he's "a man," which is indeed high praise in this decidedly unmasculine crop of charlatans, giraffe killers, and pink slipper salesmen. She looks deeply into Lanny's eyes and says, "I love staring into Lanny's eyes," which I can't believe isn't followed by him pulling back, clapping four times in rapid succession, and yelling, "deep in the heart of Texas!" Because that's what a good ol' boy does. And, also, Pee-wee Herman. I always get those two groups confused. I always try to drive through Texas just as quickly as I possibly can.
Oh, thank you for making all of the people come back! It's nighttime and we're at the game now, the puck moving quickly around the ice and the BlurryMaker5000 futilely trying to obscure the advertising on the inside of the rink because they haven't paid up like the product-placement folks at Bachelorette-friendly sponsors such as Chess King and the Chamber of Commerce of the State of Texas. Clap clap clap clap! This game must have been a drubbing, because whenever they've gone to sporting events in past seasons, they always make sure to show the good fortune of the contestants who always magically manage to attend a sporting event on a winning night for the team. But then again, the production staff of this show has never hinged their bid for a winning night on a team the caliber of The Toronto Repo Man.
SpongeBobSquareHead is all, "Puck round! Rink oval! Me no find opposite interior angle of puck and rink, round and oval! Me squaaaaaaaare," deciding this game is not for him and asking Meredith if they can share some alone time. Up in a skybox where people called "sports fans" often enjoy THE GAME part of attending the game, the two retire to some couches across the way from the other guys, and SpongeBob dives in: "'A' squared plus 'B' squared equals...you and me squared?" Awwwwww! The Pythagorean Theorem...of love!
"I like controversy," a short-in-height- and-length confessional tells us. Back at a table with all six of the other guys, Rick starts to seal off his small orange coffin by coming up with a game. Another game. He wants to come up with questions about the guys to ask Meredith, and see how much she's learned about them. Now wait just a second here...is he trying to turn the tables? Does he not know that they have already been turned? Trying to turn them back would be against nature for sure! Just how many giraffes does this man think are left? So Meredith draws names from a cup and fails to answer any of the questions. They include the brilliant "What is Lanny's brother's name?" Cletus? Jed? Skeeter Bob Junior? Dubya? Who the hell knows? Certainly not Meredith, who gets a little pouty at having been put on the spot. She tells us that she feels bad, and Rick starts to crack up and as insincerely as possible admits that he came up with the game. Daggers of hate come shooting out of Meredith's otherwise glassy-eyed stare, and her confessional takes over to confirm that he is the downmarket Russ of this season just as Ryan M. was trying to fashion himself the low-rent Bob. And here's what she says: "Rick is annoying. Rick is not here for me. At all. I think that he's here to have a good time. And tonight showed that." And since clearly the dual concepts of "having a good time" and "being there for Meredith" are anathema to one another, Russ asks for one-on-one time and is squarely refused. Ooooh. Russ is in the doghouse. Or, actually, he could use the giraffe house, seeing as it now stands tragically empty.
Meredith tells us she's not feeling "fully confident" about her feelings about all the guys, as they clomp themselves into the house and begin another night of awesome, useless milling. Ryan R. tells us in a confessional -- no, seriously -- that he really wants to get a rose tonight. Outside, he tries to foist some totally natural LOOK AT HOW COMFORTABLE WE ARE TOGETHER vibes onto the deal, holding Meredith's hand in the most awkward, painful-looking way that makes you count all of her fingers just to see if she's still there and take stock in a very "this little piggy is turning blue, this little piggy is cramping, this little piggy's not breathing" kind of way. Slurring and gesturing and threatening and receding like the chief thug in the Rogaine Mafia we so clearly know he is, Ryan R. carps on, "The small amount of time we've spent together, I've gotten to feel we're comfortable around each other." Meredith responds with a strange segue that sooooort of makes it seem like she's not changing the subject ("Nana?"), responding, "Even though I thought that Bob and I had an amazing connection, it's not enough." Huh? "You kind of have to be aggressive a little bit." And speaking of the kind of polarity that makes you wonder if these opposites on the aggressiveness scale belie the existence of a creamy nougat center in between them, Rick takes this moment to put a hand on Ryan R.'s shoulder and request, "My good friend, I have to steal the lady." I would say I don't know which of them scares me more, but that would take a lot of soul-searching insofar as which of them I think knows how to kill a man in the more ghoulish fashion.
In a confessional, Ryan R. expresses some pent-up "he was our neighbor and he was always so quiet so I never would have expected to find her head in the crisper" rage in telling us, "When Rick asked for alone time with Meredith, I was upset about it." But then. Oh, but then. And I know ABC needed to hype up the fact that there was going to be some drama after the Rose Ceremony this week. And I know they had to shoehorn in their limited store of Ryan R. confessionals somewhere. But this shot totally tips it off that he's the one who freaks out, as we catch a breathless Ryan R. shot in close-up KrazyKam, clearly after the Rose Ceremony, raging, "I am not yanking her back and forth. This is not a tug of war of a female woman. It's not my style, man. It's not my style. It never will be." ["Oh, a female woman. Yeah, that kind is tricky." -- Wing Chun] Oh, Christ. Minutes from the most dramatic rose ceremony ever (or so I am told) and we've landed right in the middle of a particularly spirited Quentin Tarantino DVD commentary. Someone please hit the "fast forward X 32" button before he gets into that speech about homosexuality and Top Gun because that glassware isn't just going to pack itself, already, and I'm actually moving tomorrow. You can ride my tail, anytime! We know, Ryan R. We know.
It's before the Rose Ceremony again, where a drunken, raving Ryan R. tries to explain to -- I don't know, let's call them Vlad and Brad, it's totally not important -- that he was "right there, we were gettin' here, we were one-on-one, we were...chatting." Yup. When you're mid-chatting, it might be nearing real love. He then affects a voice we'll call his Drunk Rick, quoting him has having said, "Pardon me!" Dude, if you want Vlad and Brad to turn fully against Rick as you now have, all you need is the very ammunition he provided for you. And I quote: "My good friend, I have to steal the lady." "I have to steal the lady"? Is he auditioning for a Merchant Ivory film? And, if so, how come Ryan R. didn't just volley back with his retort: "My dear boy, the lady is flattered but spoken for" before hitting him across the face with his riding gloves and running to the sitting room to resume arranging some matches?
Shut up, Rick.
Now, level with me, people: Brad really was secretly eliminated last week, right? Because he seems to be back, outside with Meredith now, telling her that he is both "physically attracted" to as well as "mentally stimulated" by her. Chill out, dude. She's the Bachelorette, not a Bertolucci film. You can put away the ten-cent words that mean you want to touch her boobies.
And just like that, it's over. The ting-ting-ting of the hideous champagne glass comes in the nick of time this week, but Meredith expresses some furrowed-brow concern, saying she think it's too early. She walks up to Chris at the base of the stairs and tells him, "I'm not ready to do this." Forgoing the steps, Chris takes his wanton, insubordinate harlot Bachelorette back to the dining room in this house that seems to change its architectural logic more often than the Brady house. Meredith confides in Chris that she hasn't made up her mind yet, but Chris sticks to the script and says that they'll talk about this in the deliberation room. She walks after him reluctantly, kind of rolling her eyes behind him as she walks. Yee-ouch. All he was trying to do was gently steal the lady.
And steal her he does. Up in the Gloom Room, Chris plays the role of chastising older brother when he asks Meredith, "What was all that about downstairs?" She says she wasn't ready and still wanted more time with the guys. She's sure of six guys, and some others she's not sure about. Well, with six roses left to give, I have a great idea, dear. Chris kind of snottily asks what she wants to do, and she says she wants the option to have a seventh rose. Chris tells her that this is up to her, ultimately, and I ultimately argue that it is not. Six roses. SIX ROSES. Play the game. The GAME. Six is six, and don't be messing with it or the universe will fall into chaos. Don't make us stick around for an hour and cut three pieces of chaff we know are gonna end up getting cut anyway. Blah blah, video messages, and everyone wants a rose because they feel like they have a connection and will this box my TiVo came in be big enough to pack my flatware in? Whatever. Ian's gonna win anyway.
And back downstairs she goes, Chris practically throwing down a tray with seven roses. It must be dawn and he is so sleeeeeeepy. Meredith tells the guys, "I'm really confused right now." She knows it's going to be hard to pick, which is why she's chosen to hand out seven roses instead of six. Now one of the guys who was on the bubble won't have to be deep-sevened. Oh, I'm sorry. I must have gotten the expression wrong for some reason. Unfortunately, Meredith's fuzzy math has thrown the universe off its axis and all logic has been eighty-sevened. God DAMMIT!
Fine. Here we go, then:
Ian, will you accept this rose? Oh, just give him the damn ring now, rather than dragging it out in front of an audience who can't take it anymore. You might lose some money on your end, ABC, but you can make up for it airing endless bonus episodes of It's All Relative. When you think about it, it's really seven of one and a half-dozen of the other.
Sean, will you accept this rose? By the time this ends, I'm gonna be seven feet under.
Chad, will you accept this rose? Maybe they'll get married, elope, and get their kicks on Route Seventy-Seven.
Ryan M., will you accept this rose? Maybe the only way she can finally shut him up is if she takes him into her private suite and they keep their mouths busy with a little bit of seventy-nine, if you know what I mean and I think you do.
Brad, will you accept this rose? With her by his side, he's sevenpence, none the richer.
Matt, will you accept this rose? For Christmas this year? Seven geese a-laying!
And, finally, Lanny, will you accept this rose? Although he's dressed up for the nines. At sevens and sevens with you.
Rick looks crestfallen and Ryan R. looks deranged. Rick leaves gracefully and orangely, but the real show is Ryan R., who apologizes to Meredith for not being more aggressive, and then hits the pavement, rips off his body mic, and complains that Meredith gave him "non-verbals that everything was fine." "Non-verbals"? Like, ignoring him, and stuff? He walks past a bunch of tech guys and angrily refuses one more confessional, but then we're back to him, cursing seven ways from Sunday and screaming "beat it" over and over, even when Rick comes over and tries to calm him down. He screams "I need a moment" seven (well, I'm probably exaggerating) times as Rick tells him not to embarrass himself. Too late. He rambles that he spent forty-five total minutes with Meredith and went on two group dates. Which is why he shouldn't be getting all tweaked out, because at the end of the day, he didn't actually KNOW HER. He rants on, "I went on two group dates with six other guys! Hey, let's have a good time with six other guys!" Doesn't he mean seven? Either way, at this point he starts to yell some syllabic dancing music, like, "doo doo doo doo doo" and does a dance called "The Let's Have A Good Time With Six Or Seven Other Guys Shuffle." It's awesome. It's the first thing all season I'm so glad to have on tape. Anyway, I'm gonna pack this tape now.