Our first stop on the hotness trail is Dallas, Texas. Cue the country guitars. JD says the competition got "hotter than a chili cook-off." Christ. Fast-motion montage of hundreds of hopefuls conga-lining it into a room. People are eliminated. Randolph says people didn't realize how brutal it was going to be. Hey, it's ABC. I say expect to be beaten with a hose, and be glad if you're not. One chick, Melody, cries after she was cut. Aww. But sixteen people get picked from Dallas, none of them as annoying and arrogant as the Cali people. Except for the guy that pretends to take a call on his cell phone from the producers after he's been picked.
Ew -- after the blazing orange graphics, one guy makes his pecs dance. I can't get the Simpsons bit out of my mind. Dah, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah, dah, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah...you get the idea. JD tells us, again, about the thirty-two "hottabes" (ew!) who will be competing in front of the judges. A few snide comments fly by. Lorenzo shoots down a guy who asks if he can ask a question. He just says "no," instead of the better retort of "you just did." Randy says a girl's breasts are not high enough. Another has "a poochy butt." Is she "doing that on purpose?" No, she's standing up straight. Rachel says one girl is dressed "costume-y," like Betty Boop. The girl says that wasn't the look she was going for. Indeed: Betty Boop wore a black dress, not a stripey top with red heels. Jamal, the Dallas guy who pretended to take a call on his call phone, runs in hollering, "Are you reeeady!" He's in a blue shirt with those French cuffs I hate, a tie, a knit cap, and baggy jeans. The judges look taken aback. Lorenzo asks if Jamal can remove his shirt, since "it looks like [he's] hiding something." Yeah, he's smuggling ice cream. Under his skin. Jamal is not slim, or muscular, or, you know, in shape in any way. He says he's going to get to the gym, but for now, "this is what America gets." And this is what America is: overweight. Lorenzo says Jamal "has it not in the looks department, but in the personality department." And the show is not called Do You Have A Good Personality? Will he have what it takes, wonders JD? Of course not.
We're onto the Southeast. Go map go! Light up on Louisiana! Florida, not so much! You're America's wang, and most of us still don't trust you after the 2000 elections! Arkansas, you're cool! Mississippi, don't outshine Tennessee, okay? Of course, they go to Miami. Cue the ersatz Miami Sound Machine theme music. The round of cuts takes place in a nightclub, which "turns into an impromptu rave." Oh, that is so 1996. Raves. They don't even have raves on the WB anymore, and they said it on ABC? Oh, ABC. God, how I loathe you. A few foreign contestants get their accented moments in the sun (a French guy says flatly, "Je suis chaud."), and then some rejects cry. Lorenzo says that "silicone and collagen is a problem if it doesn't look natural." And only in those instances, Sir Lamas? One guy with a weak-looking chest insists that "the mirror tells [him] every day that [he's] hot, and [he's] a fantastic lover." Then his boxer briefs burst into flames. Did I mention that he was sitting on a telephone wire? Rachel says what everyone is thinking, namely that "arrogance is a turnoff." Duh. Then we get a montage of the popular technique of smacking one's own ass to better show it off. "The posterior patting knew no bounds," says JD. Oh, JD. I hope you got paid a lot for this.