Meanwhile, out of the first car steps:

Jamie, a drawn-to-scale Ken doll with sculpted blond hair and teeth so gleamingly, whitely present that as he walks toward the camera he accidentally bursts through the fourth wall and eats three jellybeans in a candy dish on my coffee table. And he never. Changes. Expression. Someone must have slapped him on the back when he was a child and his face froze like that forever. He must have appeared to be a very happy child. He shakes Trista's hand and kisses her cheek, and in an interview we learn that he "turned down a contract to play pro basketball." Wow! "In Germany." Oh.

Rob, who, I'm sorry, is kind of cute in a blond, tousled-haired, baby-faced, self-adoring, Jason-from- The Real-World- Boston-esque kind of way. But when you get a second, Rob? Shave. It. Off. It helps to have light hair and all, but we can still see it, even if you clearly missed it. He tells us that Trista is "such a beautiful person" that he's going to have to concentrate on "her head and her heart," rather than becoming infatuated with her looks. Or, as it may well turn out, his own.

Chris, a tall, dark, and thirty-five year-old liar-about-his-age, who tells Trista, a total stranger, "I feel like I've know you forever," and then instinctively moves fifty yards away from her in order to comply with the kinds of laws they make for the kinds of people who say the kinds of things like "I feel like I've known you forever" to a person or people they've never met before. He thinks people are jealous of him because he has "a successful business going" as a VP of an auto-parts company in Sugarloaf, Pennsylvania. He also describes himself as "well-rounded," and I find it an extremely interesting character choice that he is obviously talking as if he's playing the character of his giant, bulbous nose.

Jack, a twenty-seven-year-old African-American metaphor mixer who describes himself as "a firefighter" and Trista as "the fire." Is that an insult? Is someone's ass grass? Who's the lawnmower? What's going on? He won't win.

Brian S., who is clearly just Jamie in a Brian S. mask.

The first limo on its way back to the depot to be sprayed, sanitized, crushed into a cube, and shot into deep space, a new shiny black rental shows up fresh from The Simi Valley Prom Limo Rentals lot, and out pours a crop of five Brians, give or take a Brian:

Eric is a commercial pilot, which means he carries the dual attractions of being nearly unemployed and is probably not allergic to peanuts. Screw the rest of them, Trista! Propose right now! He tells us in an interview, "I sort of have the attention span of a flashbulb when it comes to dating." The entirety of the TV-watching audience born after 1978 quietly asks, "What's a flashbulb?" I'll bet most of his relationships are over before the nickel's done on the Nickelodeon! Before the needle scratches off the long play record! Before the...oh, never mind. Twenty-three skidoo! Oh, and his hairline is receding so quickly that it appears to be occurring in a time elapse.