As the suited men file in to The Room With The Rorschach Carpet, Trista takes a page from the ABC promo department handbook, voicing over, "Tonight is going to be the most difficult Rose Ceremony yet." Doesn't she mean the most shocking? She's still unsure who she's going to be choosing, and she really feels for them because "I've been the one hurt and I've been the one doing the hurting." Ryan explains that Trista is "in a hard spot," which is the egalitarian talk of the utter shoe-in. Trista still gets to spend "alone time" with each of the guys. Russell tells her that he's "very happy" to be there and says he's psyched for her to meet his parents. Bob tells her that the more he gets to know her, "the more invested" he becomes. He begs her not to make her decision based on geography, because some towns have weather and some towns are L.A. Which is where she's staying. Without Bob. Crap.
Inside, the men booze alone while Rhymin' tells the assemblage, "A favorite thing of mine is to paint." And, for once, I side with Russ entirely when he literally bursts out laughing in Ryan's face. Heh. Russ wants her to paint "this picture: a nice sunset, and Trista and I [sic] sitting on the beach watching it." But even as his doe-ish mouth begins to form the words, "in oil or in water colors, good sir," we're whisked back to Ryan and Trista alone, Rhymin' explaining, "I intentionally didn't write a poem." Oh, man. He thought he was being kept around for the poetry. So he didn't write her a poem on purpose. Oh, fine. I've resisted for almost ninety full TV minutes here. I've finally cracked under pressure:
Ryan is my name, and it is not the name of you
I like your eyes and ears, and also swimming with Shamu
I'd like to have a rose, so I could go out with you again, Trista
Let me count the ways I like you -- nay! -- let me make a list-a
I like Pop Tart[s]
If you could only see the me inside of me
You'd know that I have a heart that's inside of me
If you say you'll be with me forev--
--Er, I'll be yours in love and marriage
[Pause for effect]
Once I ate a really sour pickle
[Pause for general bewilderment on the part of all parties]
Trista tries to end on a light note, aiming to inspire false jealousy in Rhymin' by telling him, "You know, I've been sleeping with Shamu every night." It's a joke! Pick it up! Zing her! Do something! Instead, he pauses for a moment to take a sip of his Dolt Cola, retorting with a lame, "I was going to ask how Shamu is doing." Sigh. Snore. Realizing he missed it, he takes another stab: "Shami is one lucky, um, lucky..." Oh, dear lord. "Shami." And, I mean, I'm not exactly the smoothest talker on dates myself. But I don't think I've once, ever, erred on the side of accidentally referring to a dolphin in the masculine singular form.