As the episode began, I again questioned why I had volunteered to cover this show for TVGasm. Oh right, I thought it might actually be GOOD. But alas, there were no Trishes to be found, and Stu the Stalker was dropped hotter than an Andrew Firestone fiance. Well, let's get it over with, shall we? The sooner the better, but first the letter...

The first task was for the men to write a letter to Jen describing why they would be the best husband for her. Most of the guys looked dumbfounded by this tall order. "But we don't write letters! We get by on our looks!" Everyone except Ben, that is. He took to the pen like Cyrano de Bergerac. They had only 20 minutes to concoct their masterpieces, and each letter was to be anonymous.

After Jen had reviewed each submission, she selected two winners. She appeared via video to announce what the first winner would be doing on his date with her. Wearing a FDNY tank top, Jen beamed into the camera and exclaimed that they would be taking a ride on a firetruck and meeting some firemen! Fabrice raised his eyebrows, wishing he had put a little more work into his love note. Firemen! That's hot! Ryan was the winner that Jen got!

The two zoomed through the streets of New York atop a firetruck, which is hardly romantic when you consider that the entire squad is riding along with you down below. Ryan made the acute observation that the sirens were on, "Oh look they turned on the lights." And oh look, they're stopping at this house that's burning to the ground. Oh look, you're sitting on the hose. Oh look, that's actually my hose. Hmm, with all this Ryan and fire department business, I'm having a deja vu. Aren't you?

The conversation Ryan and Trista, er, Jen, had back at her loft consisted of: R: To the letter! (toasting their wine glasses) J: To the letter! R: Thanks for choosing my letter! J: I liked your letter! R: Why did you like my letter? (This segment was brought to you by the letters L, A, M, and E.)

After their mind-stimulating convo, Ryan and Jen hopped into the hot tub, smooched, and yada yada yada. No, not "yada yada yada" in the Seinfeld way, but "yada yada yada" in the who-cares-what-else-they-did-way.