Note: Some parts of this summary may seem stretched and drawn-out, as if they are actually just filler. This is because they are, in fact, just filler. Since half of tonightís content is going to need to be **censored** in order to adhere to this website's PG-13 policy, and since I wanted you all to have a nice, long summary to waste your time reading, I have prolonged many of the scenes... mainly for my own warped amusement. I hope they ďamuseĒ you as much as they do me. Which is unlikely.
The **uncensored** version of tonightís events will be included in the Special Edition, Unrated, ďToo Hot for the WebsiteĒ Special-Release Episode Summary, with never-before-seen recrap, and more sarcastic commentary than youíve ever dreamed of reading. Just $199.95, plus $14.17 shipping & handling (release date pending). Send credit card number, check or money order to the address I am telepathetically transmitting to you right now. Must be 18 to order.
Now... Itís Schmo Time! Like youíve never heard that joke before.
Director: Okay, people! Thanks for coming to this morningís super-fun-fantastic trailer orgy, where we all sit around and pretend like we know what weíre doing. So, um... yeah. Everyoneís doing great as usual, even though it seems you dimwits werenít good enough actors to keep Ingrid fooled... no problem, though, because sheís in on the joke now, and as it turns out... sheís as good an actress as any of you clowns. So... no harm done. Plus, we found a new dupe whoís slightly less... whatís the word Iím looking for? Astute? Yes (thank you, Frank). Someone slightly less astute to replace her. So... itís all good people, itís all good. Just keep doing... whatever it is youíve been doing. Okay! Take five, everybody.
The first activity of the day, Ralph -aka, over-the-top host with horrible facial hair (I liked him better in the bumblebee suit)- tells us as the show opens, will be to stab their new friends squarely in the back.
Ralph: Women, you are going to write down the name of the person you think is least compatible with the Bachelor (whatís that, Frank? Oh, his name is Austin? Thank you. I knew he must be an important enough character to have a name; itís just that I really havenít cared enough to pay attention)... Austin. Men, you do the same with the person you think is the most gay I mean, least compatible with the Bachelorette (Piper? Thanks. Itís so hard to remember the names of these unimportant characters that never do anything)... Piper. Okay... GO!
While Ralph is off tallying the votes (there are only seven of them; you wouldnít think it would take all that long, but you have to make sure these things are done properly. I mean, we canít have any ďhanging chadĒ controversies happening here), Tim has a bit of fun figuring out which reality show stereotype Eleanor is supposed to be. Oh wait, did I say fun? I meant excruciating pain. Seriously, though, she reminds me of that pigeon on "Animaniacs" who takes offense to everything the other pigeon says. You know, the Goodfeathers. Sheís actually pretty good at it.
Tim (aka Joe Schmo): Hey Eleanor! You know whose voice yours sounds like? That band camp girl... you know, from the American Pie movies. Isnít that funny?
Eleanor: <NYC crime-family accent> Whatíre you sayiní? Are you saying that Iím like, a band geek or somethiní? Is that what youíre sayiní? You think Iím some kind of red-headed, flute-playing dork? Is that what youíre sayiní? </accent>
Tim: Oh, crap. No! Thatís not what Iím saying. I donít think youíre a dork! I just meant... no, please donít... Eleanor, please donít start crying again. I didnít mean it. Please... no, that was a compliment, dammit! Itís like saying you sound like my Aunt Eileen. I didnít mean anything by it. Eleanor, please... I always thought Michelle was funny in the movies! Hey, at least I didnít compare you to Stifler... Oh no, Eleanor... please...(Oh god, kill me now)... I mean, please stop crying ...dammit. *hands her a tissue*
Eleanor: <NYC-CF accent> Wait, what was that? So now, what? I sound like your freakiní Aunt Edna? Whatíre you sayiní? That I remind you of your fat, old-maid, trailer-trash aunt? Huh? You sayiní I live alone with fifty-seven cats, and have orange, crushed-velvet furniture and avocado green shag carpet? Is that what youíre sayiní? </accent>
Tim: No! I... maybe I should just staple my mouth shut.
Eleanor: Thatís it. Iíll kick your ass! *lunges for Tim in a cloud of fury*
The Godpigeon (scratching his chin feathers): Boys, boys! I ...oh never mind. This analogy was getting kinda old anyway.