Ten pissed-off football lovers stand forlornly at the doorway of The Dude Ranch watching Jeff, Brian H., Charlie, Mike, and Greg trying to tell each other apart as they leave with Trista for San Diego. This time we're in a southbound Winnebago of some kind, Gnarly Charlie telling us as an aside, "She's a beautiful girl. Very petite figure. Once she showed up, I think everybody's energy level spiked." And, for those of you with access to our site's forums, I concur that it was impossible to distinguish whether he said "showed up" or "shut up." Something tells me at this early stage that a physical presence and a verbal absence are of equal import to Charlie when it comes to dating, so let's just call it a push and move on, okay? But what I will say, in his defense, is that the all-important "location location location" strategy that the Vegas guys insisted gave Russ the edge has absolutely no bearing here, as Charlie sits at Trista's opposite exterior angle and co-opts the conversation entirely. Meanwhile, the plum spot next to Trista is occupied by Jeff, who sits silently several inches outside the valence of her personal space, staring longingly and unceasingly into a drink featuring an emasculating stalk of celery and thinking, "Trista won't look at me, so I'm cheating on her with this roughage." You show her, big guy. Charlie regales Trista with a story beginning "My dad shot me with a twelve-gauge," and I wonder briefly if he's recounting a personal anecdote or assuming the first-person voice to act out a short play he's written about the life and death of Marvin Gaye, 'cause you know how much Trista likes those artsy types. They laugh about the possibility that Charlie could set off an airport metal detector because of a spike or plate or something in his arm, and Jeff attempts to hitch onto the back end of the laugh by making a beeping, metal detector-y sound because...well, look what a chick magnet that funny sound-effects guy in Police Academy IV was. That's totally Jeff's favorite movie of all time. Though I hear from the gossip rags that Roughage prefers the follow-up Citizens on Patrol effort. But really, what relationship is perfect? Hey, onomatopoeia dude? What's the sound of one Jeff losing?
Or, not! Suddenly, a box of nails just coincidentally purchased at The Mike Fleiss Conveniently Plot-Enhancing Hardware Emporium spills itself all over I-405, right in front of the Winnebago! The vehicle shudders and stops, and the guys are informed that they have a flat. Trista responds calmly because of the part where she knew all along that this was coming. Charlie muses that one of them had to be "the chivalrous one" and "save the day." But an old war injury that ended his "What's Going On" days will preclude him from playing hero, and in seconds Jeff looks at the shredded tire and reenters the Man Van, his shirt uncontextually off ("Oh, look. Matthew's naked in the office again") and his pecs glinting, asking, "Is the jack in here?" That Keanu Nashville guy (y'all, "Keanu Nashville" is totally my porn name) turns to him and "jokes," "Let's see, I've got Beam, I'm got vodka, I'm outta Jack." Trista howls with laughter, and Keanu Nashville leans in toward her, all, "We are currently sharing in a moment of my endless hilarity." Keanu Nashville is clearly up to Step Nine in his alcohol-abuse recovery program, where he apologizes to everyone he knows for how that joke has hurt them individually. Trista, for her part, didn't even hear him, and we discover that the source of her amusement is naked Jeff, the sight of whom causes her to burst out laughing and howl, "You have your shirt off! I didn't even realize that." She didn't? Is this a visual affliction Keanu Nashville would term, in his pun-filled hilarity, "Pecs-Ray Vision"? I hope so. Because it certainly would keep me from having to make that joke myself. Anyway, Jeff fixes the tire and notes, "Chop chop, guys, we gotta get to the game." Someone should have told him he was two mere "chops" away from a rose-free night at Guy's House.