(AUTHOR’S NOTE: I made copious notes for this summary on the back of my boyfriend’s business cards, the only paper available when the show started and I realized I better take notes lest I miss some pearl, some reality gem to polish up and serve y'all later, and now I can't find those mini-transcripts. So this will be an impressionistic summary. But face it, “Surreal Life” is hardly “Survivor.” We are not examining the vidcaps the next day, scanning every item of clothing participants wear, or fail to wear, for clues as to the goings-on in next week’s installment. We have not come to exercise our rich deductive facilities, we are just watching fun, crappy TV. So when you speak of this, and you will, be kind.)
Dawn breaks over the Bar None Ranch and Mini Bar informs us (TMI! TMI!) that his little teeny testicals are frozen. The Surreal Bunch rises, sucks down coffee (or, in Chyna’s case, a little “wake me up” shot of vodka) and finishes poking them doggies. I think I had a note about Brat referring to Mini Bar as a Bump on a Log (the surly elf is still AWOL when it comes to the quotidian group activities, like cleaning up after oneself, or simply cleaning oneself) and I could have made a great joke out of that but, like I said, I can’t find the damn notes. I think Mark said something, too. Something about Chyna’s breakfast beverage of choice. But I can’t remember (or perhaps failed to understand) what it was.
Anyway, upon their return to the Phat Celebrity Pad, the Surrealites find it has been transformed! Into a spa! We can tell it’s a spa because weird new agists are hanging around waiting to serve the gang, and there are towels draped all over everything. I’m sure clinic owners in Switzerland are weeping with envy. The group flops around on various tables and receive various treatments. Chyna observes that Mark is “ALL MAN.” Takes one to know one, Doll! Mini Bar is so moved by the whale-like bleatings of his snake oil saleswoman, excuse me, therapist, that he starts leaking little teeny tears. It’s not pretty. Frankly, I think the hostile Lilliputian is just rendered verklempt when ANY female human deigns to stroke him, anywhere. But perhaps I’m being cruel.
Adrienne, on the other hand, probably gets stroked a lot. A healthy, frisky young lass, she’s beginning to notice how perky the Brady abs are looking after Chris Knight’s stint at Celebrity Fit Camp, and the age-old tale begins: Underage girl meets aging child star, underage girl spanks strippers, underage girl gets aging child star. Hard news sources like E! (you know it’s real news when there’s an exclamation point) inform us the unlikely duo is still an item. (On behalf of my demographic, hands off, Adrienne! He’s OURS! And has been since 1972! If you must cross the Brady line, take Barry Williams; he’s available now). Brat decides to hasten Love’s Young (and Old) Dream along by cornering Chris and passing him a note:
Do You Like Any One In the House?
Check One: ___YES ___NO
If You Checked Yes, Would it Be Someone Who Was Close To 30 Years Younger Than You Who Is Not Actually A Man?
Check One: ___YES ___NO
Chris is intrigued. But he has no time to figure things out, because the strip club beckons! It is tragic that WCH is not here to enjoy this. Certainly, Chris and Adrienne, of all the housemates, are the most at home in the snazzy venue. (Actually, Adrienne tells us it is a sleazy type strip joint, as opposed to a, you know, really upscale classy strip joint, but I thought the greasy pole and soiled G-string motif was crisp and clean, and really brought the outdoors in). Relentlessly pursuing Chris (as he insists on pointing out in every interview at every time lest we think his relationship with Adrienne is in any way Humbert Humbertesque as opposed to a meeting of soulmates who have nothing in common except an appearance on a “C” league reality show), Adrienne captures his attention by smacking a little stripper butt. Chris responds, in kind, by extending his multi-coloured tailfeathers and puffing out his throat. No wait, that didn’t happen. He responds by drinking tequila shooters off a stripper’s pudendum. (How many times do you get to use the word “pudendum” in a sentence these days?) Adrienne knows she has met the man of her dreams.
And that’s all I remember, although Jane probably said something at some point.
NEXT WEEK: Adrienne joins a Dominican convent, and Mini Bar is mistaken for a cocktail frank and eaten by Chyna Doll. Don’t miss it!