Dude, why does the subtitle for Greg Gambino still have the "T" on his last name? He's the only Greg there is. Maybe it stands for "teamster." Over in Greg's room, he crams some random sundries in a suitcase, and out rolls...a football? Maybe it's the only vessel in which he can conceal the severed head of Jimmy Hoffa. In the absence of any real personality traits, I had to suddenly make Greg a total mob boss just because he's an "Importer" of some vaguely olive-skinned ethnicity. He tells the camera, "When I woke up this morning and I realized I was still here, I was definitely excited, y'know?" Oh, totally. Since you asked.

Packing montage. Hope you like the sound of zippers. I feel like I'm caught in some hellish "Banned Paula Zahn Promos of 2002" loop, but that's just me. Satan securely zips up his suitcase, sealing inside the plague of slaughtered cattle he got Trista as a sign of his earthly devotion for her as a gift for her birt-tay. He tells us without a whiff of humanity behind those vacant eyes, "If I didn't expect to be in the final four originally when I signed up for this, I probably wouldn't have came [sic] here." Sigh. Anyone else think the word "writer" should have really sarcastic quotes around it? Until he gets himself a really good "editor," I mean.

Rhymin' knows big words! "My whole mindset has changed now. I'm trying to get, actually, to number one." Pipe down, you Machiavellian manipulator, you! Do you want them all to hear your strategy?

Outside the house, "Let Me Go On Like A" Trista "In The" Rehn tells us, "I really didn't think that you could be in love with more than one person at the same time. But I'm thinking that feeling may be changing in me." Man. The distance between "hopeless romantic" and "whore" is a place that you could walk across with five steps down. Good thing Colorado is so close to Utah. Where the polygamy lives.

A private plane that we're supposed to believe is heading to Vail takes off into the blue California sky. Brrrrr. Goodbye forever, warm weather. We cut to a rustic-looking wooden sign reading "Vail," below which is written some Vail distinction beginning "Home of the 1999..." Home of the 1999 what, for crying out loud? Home of the 1999 Snow Place Like Home Shoveling Competition? Home of the 1999 Puffy Coats For Kids Gore-Tex Drive? Home of the 1999 rich brats in my high school who went skiing all the way across the country every Christmas break because their parents forgot there was this one state kind of nearby called "Vermont"? Perhaps we'll never know.