Oh, you devastated Frankfurter; you wimpy little Weather Elf; you douche bag Wrassler. I'm afraid since Craig Walken-drunk is no more, and its waaaayyyy too early to show much actual romance, that it's time for some heartbreak, jealousy, douchebaggery, and pussy-like sniveling. In other words: You're on boys! Sharing the spotlight is Groucho Roberto, and a cameo appearance by Chris L...but just a glimpse, so don't get overexcited. All eyes, and lips, will be focused on the Ali Cat, who is looking more feral by the minute. The episode opens, like seemingly all the others, with the weekly meeting of the Hangover Club, as Chris Wingman Harrison slithers into the mansion and orders the bedheads to rise and try and smile through the pain and meet him in the living room. Oh what will they talk about? Dates, of course. This week its one group date and 2 individual rose-or-get-lost dates.The wingman, since once again not everyone gets a magic date, takes a moment to coach the boys up: "You don't want to get left out, do you? You need to fight, bitch, and act like jerks! As a matter of fact, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if one of you took matters into your own hands and crutched your way three miles on asphalt in Malibu sunshine and managed not to sweat a drop. TV is just magical, isn't it?" The necessary foreshadowing delivered, we're under way.
A Marx Brother on a Highwire
Ali's first individual date this week is with that notorious Latin hottie, Groucho Roberto. Ali drives over to Nerd Nirvana to greet him, and Roberto, showing some extra macho with his plaid shirt and beer crammed into his fist twirls her about for the other ding dongs to see. The producers, trying to wrest the car keys from Ali's control-issue hands, send in the first helicopter of the season so they can bang on about her flying phobia again, and get the Frankfurter started on his jealous meltdown of how Ali is alone with someone other than his own self. They helicopter away, but she can't let go of the steering wheel issues as she squeals with fear and tries to backseat drive the chopper pilot, "Not so close to the power lines!" Fortunately, he misses them by about a quarter of a mile--like always--and manages to land safely like the other 3 and a half million helicopters around the country on that day. But it does give Roberto a chance to cuddle her--like 12 other guys will do this episode--as the chopper sets down on a building roof. Ali assures us she feels "safe" with the Funny One. The producers attempt to remedy this by having them go highwire walking to get their dinner. I was expecting them to be securely attached by cables or wires for their heart stopping walk; I was not expecting them to be nailed down with chains Superman couldn't break. They engage in some cheesy banter about falling for each other and Roberto--in a very manly fashion--leads her out on some high tension cables you could drive a Greyhound Bus over and only stops midway to smooch her and does it so wildly he proves they couldn't be knocked off those wires by a low flying 747. Oh, the drama. The Flying Wallenda act concluded, they actually sit and try and talk like regular people. What has been obvious since the second she saw the oldest Marx Brother is still obvious: She digs him. Ali informs him he's so handsome he's almost out of her league. Roberto peers sheepishly from behind his caterpillar eyebrows, but doesn't argue. He does lets her know he can speak five different languages and his brother plays the harp and only speaks with a horn. No, not really, but he should have. She then asks him to do something to her she heard from a rap video. Whoa! Pretty nasty for a first date. Oh, it was just to kiss her in Spanish. Roberto waggles his caterpillars at her, tells the waiter to stick her with the check, and mauls her. Rose? No doubt!
While Roberto is sneaking a 1 cent cigar, the group date-card arrives and we hear the 9 lucky fellas who will go on a Rock n' Roll date on some sort. Participants: Frankfurter, Jonathan the Weather Elf, R-Rated Wrassler-dick, Chris L., the mute Chris N., Palooka Craig, Butt-ugly John C., Captain Kirk, and Steve-O! His name missing, KaseyMushmouth lets us know that he wants to be a singer in only the way he, and Boomhauer of King of the Hill can: "Mmmmmababaurh.ssinging, man!" Hey, dude, lets work on talking first, shall we? Anyway, Ali and the boys all get dropped off in some back alley and they hear the bass chords of the BareNaked Ladies strumming away. The Ladies have apparently sunken so low as to need Ali and her geek squad to help them out making a video. The Ladies lip-synch a tune about some women who gets around a lot, just like Ali, so I guess it makes sense. Our favorite Bachelor Palooka Stagehand comes out and has somehow been promoted to video clapper and semi-director and rounds the boys up for the first scene--a beatdown of the Frankfurter. Ali vamps and smacks him about 12 or 14 times while Frank slobbers on her back and the other boys all cheer. Intercuts show us that Frank is in fine form as long as he is the only one Ali is whipping up on. They segue to the embarrassment of the moment, as the Weather Elf finds out he's supposed to kiss Ali and nearly faints with nerves. They try to film the scene a few times and the Elf looks like a boy pinned in by his mom at a Junior High sockhop. The other dudes all howl with laughter. The Elf tears up as they laugh. The female audience either swoons "Awwwww!" if they're idiots, or scream "You dickless wimp!" if they're not. Finally, in an act of pity, Ali does the kissing for him and the delusional cookie baker swears there is a "connection." How much do they pay these people? The Pity-kissing over, Ali now stumbles into bed with the mute Chris N. and then stalks away. But then Kirk makes like Captain Kirk, and he and Ali tumble around kissing like they are making a porno. The Frankfurter promptly pisses down his own leg. A brief scene shows Ali kissing the naked back of Chris L. and Frank nearly passes out. We see a guy every season who has jealousy issues, but this was different. Frank looks utterly crushed, like his bubble of how special he and Ali had it exploded right in his face. He will spend the rest of the episode mewling away in private interviews about how he now doubts their connection. Foreshadowing indeed. Frank may be a naive putz for thinking Ali wasn't going to be driving her tongue down about a hundred throats besides his, but I'm actually tempted to believe the guy. You could almost hear him thinking, "Damn, I'm just another body to this gal. Maybe that one back home who was dedicated to me was onto something?" It's not like Fleiss-monster to give someone an escape hatch from the crowds of angry women who will call for his scalp one day soon, but I'm starting to wonder. I am certain Frank would need a defibrillator if he watched Ali heading into a Fantasy Hotel Suite with any of these guys. Finished driving Frank to the point of insanity by acting, Ali goes for the real thing and gets herself corralled by Captain Kirk in a hot tub. He says he's checking to see if what he felt was real. She confirms but he spends the rest of the episode sounding like he wants to win a competition and couldn't care less about her. Chris L. makes a brief appearance, and drops the dead mom bomb, but then defers anymore talk of it for later. Frank and the boys break up the smooching with some cannonballs and they all watch the end of the Barenaked Ladies career on the videotron. Shockingly, Kirk gets the date rose.
Bad Wrassler Acting and the Cannon Fodder Part of our Show
The second individual date card arrives and after all the roses coming on automatic, Ali picks a guy she wants to dump just to change things up. Ukulele Hunter gets his chance to strike out in technicolor, but before he can, the producers send designated douche, Justin, the Wrassler off on a mission of absurdity. We're supposed to believe that a guy dressed in black, with a broken ankle, suddenly gets the wise-ass idea to crutch his way along a Malibu highway in midday heat a few miles so he can pop in on Ali. Helpful security guards, who normally have orders to shoot on sight any potential mansion escapee, happily point Justin to where Ali lives and the director shoots about thirty seconds of footage of him crutching along...before they pick him up in a production van and drive him to her rental. Justin is seen crutching into her driveway just as Ali happens to be filming a private interview. He crutches up behind her looking like they drove him there in a make-up truck, and when she goes to him, he squeals, "Aww, I'm so sweaty!" Are you now? Just where are you keeping this sweat, Mr. Wrassler? Ali is so off put by his pungent stench, she buries her head into his bone dry chest for the next hour or three so he can BS her about his rotten childhood. She then drives him back to Nerd Nirvana and he slips in unnoticed. Yeah, right. Nothing staged about this one, folks. Oh, yeah, the date with UkuleleHunter; let me summarize: BOOM! You're dead. Enjoy your cab ride home.
Crocodile Tears at the Crocktail Party
The nights nonsense starts off with a weird moment. Ali wanders in and offers a toast to the guy she just dumped. "Lets hear it for Hunter!" Yeah, here's to you Hunter, you ugly bag of cement. Thanks for leaving. Damn, girl, that's cold. Anyway, what starts weird gets stupid in a hurry. The whispering committee meets out by the pool to dis the Wrassler for being there for the wrong reasons while Frankfurter, enjoying way too much deck-side lounging and sporting a face like someone who feel asleep next to a nuclear reactor, leads a jealousy support group by the pool. Ali has a sit down with Groucho Roberto and she rats Justin out for cruthcing over to her place. Roberto marches away and informs the guys of what Justin did. Tennessee Ty-xedo and Palooka Craig charge off to the Wrassler and hammer him for it. Kasey Mushmouth gives him an earful too, I just wish I knew what. "Mmmmblewimble...guarderheart, man!" Justin tried some lame excuses and Craig snorts and stomps off. "Man, I'm a bullshit detector; its what I do for a living!" Sorry, Craig; you're a lawyer, which means your a bullshit generator, not a detector, but whatever. We're supposed to believe that Justin now goes and bawls all by his lonesome. ZZZZZZZ. Mercifully, the wingman steps in tinging the glass.
Already safe: Groucho Roberto and Captain Kirk
Ali gives a quick preamble: "Thanks for coming here and let me drive you guys around and tongue suck most of you. By the way; Cheers to Hunter!"
1) Chris L.
2) Jesse the Contractor--practically silent this week
3) Chris N.--totally silent as always
4) Tennessee Ty-xedo--Well, at least he's stopped singing.
5) Kasey Mushmouth--Please stop him from singing!
6) Palooka Craig--Mr. Bullshit Detection and Generation, inc.
7) Frankfurter, the Depressed Human Cartoon.
8) Jonathan the Pathetic Weather Elf--rapidly earning his doctorate in masturbation after this.
9) Douche bag Wrassler
Cut: Steve-O! Tried to have a picnic with her in the driveway. That should cover it. And Jonathan C., whom she refused to get within five feet of.
Ok, next week: I have no idea. The Wench Queen cut the recording off. Well, whatever it is, you know where I'll be...and cheers to you Hunter, wherever you are!