“Why are these men crying? Because they want to be friends with me.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself, Master Brody. You’d be crying too if your life’s goal was reduced to wanting to be somebody’s friend. Someone you don’t even know! That’s not just sad, it’s pathetic. But just so you know that I’m not going soft on these guys, let’s begin.
“I’m a lion! I’m a tiger! I’m a predator!! Grrrrrrrrr!!”
I’m a pussy.
This episode is chock-full of dumb contests involving Lazy-Boy loungers, dirt bikes and blow-up dolls. The producers really thought long and hard about this one, and it shows. And for a change, it’s not homoerotic at all! We get to see all kinds of macho stuff; boys hugging boys, Brody and his hangers-on playing with balls at the gym, and man to man deep and meaningful conversations by candlelight.
Nope, nothing gay about this, folks.
We learn that Gary didn’t grow up around a lot of guys (shocking!), Verne Troyer could probably drink Chris P. under the table and that Neuter Boy tells a mean 1st grade knock-knock joke. Oh, and his wiener is one foot and three inches long.
Minus one foot.
Let’s skip past the Special Olympics and get to our romantic evening with Brody. He has decided that he wants to get to know the boys better so he has set up this totally straight fire-lit tete-a-tete with each of them.
Are you looking at my crotch? You better not be looking at my crotch.
Are they dumping estrogen into the water in L.A. because I haven’t seen this many men (and I use that word lightly) cry this much since the invention of this product:
C’mon, Neuter Boy. I dare you.
Brody has to sit through seven painful conversations, which he totally deserves, and deals with it by getting drunker and drunker, slurring his words and probably tuning out most of what he hears. The only time his eyes light up is when the conversation turns to him. Well done, Brody. Now you’re being the asshat that I knew you had in you all along. Never give up folks, if you are patient, you too will not be disappointed. Unless you were counting on seeing any of these guys get laid. Seriously, if no one gets any on this show, I’m going to throw up my hands and start passing out the gay cards.
I think you know where I’m going with this.
Poor fratboy Chris P. just keeps getting more and more wasted because he hasn’t “connected” with Brody. I hope this isn’t the last we see of can-fessional hi-jinks, but I’m not holding my breath because there are no experienced drinkers. I mean, not even the frat guy can hold his liquour. One girl from the cast of Rock of Love could out-drink all of these guys with her hands tied behind her back and leave without a single guy hitting on her. Lame.
Where’s Mini-Me? He was just down here a minute ago.
The next day all the tools get together for burgers with their Alpha Dog and rehash all the cry baby drama of the night before. I spared you the screen cap of fratboy puking his guts out because it was starting to make my lunch come up and I am not in the mood to clean vomit off of my laptop. I’m saving that for next week when Neuter Boy does his stand-up.
Words of advice. You shouldn’t wear that shirt when you are surrounded by guys.
After the puke-a-thon in the van, the guys head off to join Brody on his yacht. A yacht he won in a poker game with the Sultan of Brunei. Mmmm Hmmm. Way to make the guys feel like your equals, turdface.
It’s time for another water themed elimination, with crying (did you doubt it for one second?), finger pointing and more bitchiness than an entire season of Gossip Girl. Fratboy Chris gets the heave-ho, literally, as they put him in a little dinghy and send him back to Kentucky.
Louisville has never looked better. Or more like southern California.
Was this as painful for you to watch as it was for me? Wow. Love and Kisses, Twunty