Trista tells us in an interview, "Tonight, I've enjoyed everyone's company but..." But who? But Brook? But that other weird guy with the face and the hair and the return ticket home with the non-negotiable date stamp, "The moment tonight's credits roll"? But the makers of bras and other undergarment finery? Let's hear it according to Brook: "She picked the guys she wanted to have time with. There might have been something that she liked about them that I didn't have." And, after all, Cowboy, who but you offers the extra incentive of leprechauns searching for the pot of gold at the far ends of your perfectly bell-curve-shaped hair? No one. What did they have that you didn't? Nothing. You, sir, are perfect.
Back at The Scansion Mansion (Ryan gets a double-word score for naming it that because it not only rhymes but it is also about poetry), there's a-hootin' and a-hollerin' coming from the inside, and Bob brings us up to speed: "We decided to basically just live it up, y'know." And you've gotta give all parties credit for leaving this footage in, because this scene is hilarious in such a cliché frat-party way I'm expecting Belushi to wander into the room in a toga and incite someone to naughty behavior with his scandalous mid-'70s use of the word "tits." That Keanu-ish guy who once sang really loudly with his car window open as he drove on the Interstate loop around the outskirts of Nashville finally treats us to a bit of the old pickin' and strummin'. Jamie jams behind him in an exaggerated air guitar so incorrectly postured that he may have accidentally lapsed into jamming on the air lute. Jack, meanwhile, is a stumbling mess, his wasted ramblings far more innocent than others whose alcohol consumption habits, say, make them prone to hooking up with Russ. The scene culminates with the rest of the guys carrying his bed out on the front lawn while he's completely passed out, and Brian H. observes from the couch, "I really hope Jack gets offered a rose at the next ceremony. But his chances don't look good, considering he's on the front lawn" before giggling helplessly and practically pitching himself off the couch and onto the floor. Oh, just make out already, all of you. But still. Brilliant telelvision. And, Trista who?
L.A. montage! Walk of Fame! The Whiskey! The tony Hollywood Hills! Meanwhile, forty miles away and separated from L.A. by a mountain, several congressional voting districts, and an area code, Guy's House (I guess "Mann's Chinese" was already taken, forty miles away and separated from where they are by a mountain, several congressional voting districts, and an area code) is graced by a little womanly gentility. The jiggling, hungover mess of a prize stumbles out of a giant coach bus and through the front door, Bob noting in an interview, "I thought it was Journey pulling up, so I was fired up." Heh. "But then I was obviously even more fired up when it was Trista." Boo hoo, Bob. You had me again and then you lost me. Again. And you know who doesn't need any more kicks while they're down? Journey. On the bus now, Trista reminds us where we're going and who we're going with, as Bob interviews, "I don't think Trista needs to know what went on last night. Y'know, I'm not gonna bring it up unless Jack gives me the go-ahead. That's his story to tell." Cleverly edited back onto the bus, however, Bob does justice to the verb infinitive "to sell one up the river" when he casually asks Trista, "Did you hear about what happened with Jack last night?" Wanting to hear more, Trista pulls the string on the "Frat Party Talking Ken Doll" she brought with her on the trip, and Jamie stands at the front of the bus announcing, "We pick up his bed, put it outside, and..." before the string runs out and Jamie collapses into two, returning to his resting state. Gyp! Trista momentarily wishes she had instead gone with the Commemorative Basketball Jamie Bobble-Head Doll, but remembers that the shipping costs from the Eastern Bloc nation called "Disputed Zone" in which Jamie made his professional basketball career would be prohibitively expensive, and she just didn't have that kind of devalued litai lying around. So the current Jamie 1.0 model will have to do. Anyway, Trista responds in an overly-edited manner, tut-tutting such boyish hijinks with a roll of the eyes and a judgmental cluck of the very tongue that spent the identical period of time last night so far down a perfect stranger's throat she accidentally fished out an old boot. Jamie notes in an interview that he thinks Jack's antics "put the nail in the coffin with Trista." And it was kind of the producers to hastily splice together a shred of evidence that Trista's riddance of the token minority was entirely racially blind, but you just can just see the conflict in her eyes that leads her to quietly ask herself, "I don't want to give Jack a whole rose. Can I maybe compromise and give him three-fifths of one?"