Okay, you’re all with me on my position on this here CBS Tuesday night filler, right? Not really amazing. Not really a race. Phil, manmaries, all contestants suck, Bruckheimer not nearly as good at scenery and incorporation of local interest as Burnett, Bruckheimer overly fascinated with trains, planes, automobiles, buses, and that sticking-ugly-Americans-into-places-that-don’t-smell-very-good schtick, and Bruckheimer responsible for lisping syphilitic pirates, the 1978 Iranian hostage crisis, that despicable wreck of a Super Bowl and its failure to produce any interesting commercials, tsunamis, cockroaches and other vermin that aren’t lisping syphilitic pirates, those soft spots on the oranges in my fruit bowl (no, not code for something), Flo and Zach, my increasing dissatisfaction with my day job, Phil’s manmary-enhancing wardrobe, the decline and fall of the Iroquois Federation, election fraud in Florida and Ohio, and the failure of the Maryland Terrapins to field adequate football or basketball teams this season. Among other things.
Sadly for you, even though you understand all of this and support me in my entirety when I expound on such wholly reasonable points of view on these and other matters? I’m still gonna jam about eight or ten thousand words down your throats here. I can’t help it, it’s what I do.
Not first off, but high in the batting order, because I couldn’t possibly start off a summary with a simple thank you but must instead lead in with a few hundred words of more-or-less autotexted jokes that you just can’t quite prove I’ve recycled from previous summaries or derived from other peoples’ work, I must thank the fabulously brilliant, charming, fashionable, gorgeous, selfless, hooterific, and universally beloved Executive Princess Lisapooh for offering me the opportunity to do this summary in her stead while she took a bullet and went off to write summaries of far inferior television filler. All hail the Executive Princess Lisapooh. Do it now. Go on, hail Her.
I mean it. I’m not going on until I hear some hailing.
No, seriously, I’m waiting.
Okay, that’s better. Previously on somewhere between 46 and 193 interminable episodes of The Not Particularly Amazing Not Really A Race:
Think of a number between absolute zero and Phil Keoghan’s bust size. Okay, that’s how many pairs of freakwads left Chicago a similar number of weeks ago for a “race” around the “world.” Now double the number, then divide by two. It’s the same number you started with! Isn’t that amazing?
Okay, okay, back to previousness. Some teams are funny, like Lori and Bolo, and some think they’re funny, like those irrelevant dworks who got eliminated first. Some teams should be exterminated, like the psychopath Jonathan and his former Playmate wife Victoria (who taunts the little freak about his dick size until he implodes, then wails that he’s beating her), or the passive-aggressive skank MaryRebecca and his girlfriend, the passive-aggressive MaryAdam. Some teams are families, like the blondes from…wherever the hell blondes come from, or the fat CIA janitor and his freaky-weird daughter, or the weeping geriatrics Don and Mrs. Don. Some teams are best forgotten, like the obnoxious Queens chicks who no one will ever love. We are treated to the death scenes of seven teams, including the clueless Avi and Joe, the forgettable Queens chicks, the blondes, the Oldfarts, the CIA guy and his unmarriageable daughter, The New Bickersons, and the positively adorable Lori and Bolo.
And we are treated to extended memorifical footage of the four teams that made this final episode: the stinking braless whackjob Hayden and her boyfriend Aaron, who’d be much better off hanging with crackwhores; the relentlessly and cloyingly cheerful Biblethumpers Jon and Kris, who have lucked their way through the entire season with, as a good friend of mine and yours said, “a horseshoe up their a$$”; prettypeople Freddy and Kendra, who broke new ground in ugly Americanism with Kendra’s travelogues on the breeding and bathing habits of poverty-stricken populations; and the domineering MaryRebecca and the cringing, panty-wearing sissy MaryAdam, who are stupid, whining babies who entirely deserve each other. Forever.
By the way, if any of these cretins’ mothers are out there reading this, could you please post in reply to this thread to ask me why I’m being so cruel to your idiot mediawhore children? Thank you.
Phil tells us that, sadly, one of these four pairs of DNA waste receptacles will win the “race” and some giant sh!tpot of green American money, allowing them to take time off to breed. I feel pretty strongly that this sort of thing should be prevented, don’t you? Feel free to chime in here, babymamas of aforementioned cretin mediawhores.