Brook could just as well be a farmer way out on the open prairie of Montage-ana, as we cut to the usual clip package. They meet. Nothing happens. Trista's concerned about horses. She's shallow. Out on the porch, she's shallow. Look at him, sticking to his guns, telling Chris, "I wouldn't change it for the world." He tells Chris he stands behind everything he said and gets some rousingly hypocritical audience applause. He adds on that he also finds her behavior "pathetic," saying that you can get "shots and pills for it." Excellent diagnosis, Dr. Billy The Kid! Are you kidding me? Does he want me to go on a date with penicillin? What if penicillin had a mullet? Even less likely, right? And right there is my point. From the lower-left corner, Trista From The Box appears and responds with looks of shock. "Love can conquer anything," Brook waxes. "That's what my dad always said." He's dead now, of course. Trampled by a horse, they say. Chris asks if people have responded well to Brook since he's been on the show, and whether he feels he's garnered some respect for himself. This is his actual, verbatim reply: "Especially the cowboys around that I hang out with. They all pat me on the back and say, 'Way to stand up for the cowboys.'" No one has ever said that, either to him or ever.
And now, this episode's redeeming brilliance that will give some of Mike Fleiss's minions the idea for a reality show called Frat House, which will just be a show about twenty-five dudes getting wasted and falling. Hire me. For the love of god. ["Not a Mike Fleiss production, but close enough." -- Wing Chun] Chris takes it: "You've all heard the saying 'boys will be boys.'" Cut to Chris welcoming the guys to G'u'y's' H'o'u's'e', telling them, "What would a bachelor pad be without a house dog? Goldie will be living with you as well." They totally heard our cry of, "What? With the dog?" and decided to splice that non sequitur in. Not that it explains anything at all. But it's worth it for the montage of Greg having absolute sex with this dog in a variety of poses. Cut to what I would guess is about half of the guys deciding to take part in a Century Club. For those of you wondering, that's one shot of beer every minute for sixty minutes. Every minute, on the minute. It carries with it the same level of elusive ease as the "six saltines, one minute, no water" dare that is virtually impossible to win, and you really think you're going to make it with no problem at all until around the mid-twenties. And then, you're fucked. Or you're Jack, and you pee on your bed. But not before Jamie eats dog food, which we've already seen as well. The guys, fresh out of the pool, walk into Jack's room to find him actually urinating onto his bed. Are they allowed to show this? The guys in the room (Jamie, Charlie, Bob, others) are literally laughing so hard they can barely stand up, and Jamie hails a passing camera to tell it, "It's the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life." Which, in that social milieu, at that time, with that level of inebriation, I have to admit I imagine was pretty funny. They watch as Jack wanders into the bathroom completely unconscious of what's going on around him. They carry his bed outside, and we cut to a late-night scene, hours later, which finds Jack waking up, stumbling around wildly confused, and finding himself in the middle of the production booth before finally finding his way home. This show totally went all Truman Show just to show us how trashed he was. Way to soldier it out for the sake of art, The Bachelorette: The Men Tell All.