"Please welcome...our bachelors!"

And through history we go, through two rows of broken-hearted (er, I meant "ego-shattered") suitors on taupe couches. Also, one dork in the first row on the left is trying to make himself look really big because he's occupying not only his own seat, but also the seat that was supposed to be filled by Greg. Isn't Hollywood the land of dreams? Can't someone dream up a new couch to account for the missing personnel? Anyway, the camera pans past each ousted bachelor in a gauzy, nostalgic way quite reminiscent of The Hall of Presidents, the only real difference being that in most cases the Disney animatronic characters have far more believable hair than most of these guys. Let's travel back! Down the rows we go, past Brian C. (meh), Jeff (hut!), Peter (duh), Eric (who?), Wayne (old!), Billy (snore), Brian H. (ooooh), Jack (ew), Brian K. (who?), Duane (gack!), Gregg H. (who?), Paul (who?), Matt (who?), Josh (gay), Chris (who?), Brook (yee-haw!), Mike (ew), Russ (spawn), Bob (yay!), Brian S. (who?), Rob (awwwww), and Jamie (AWWW!). The audience -- equipped with TRL-type lung capacity but without the added inhibition that Carson Daly might show up and touch them a little weird -- screams with glee after each name read. Clearly they've been implored to do so, or I'm guessing, say, Wayne (for example) wouldn't be getting such an overwhelming outpouring of "squeeeeee!" But they give it up in particular for Bob and Jamie, as well they should. With each scream, the prideless ninnies sound more and more like steam in a heater cracked up to ninety trying to escape through a closed vent. Pipe down, ladies. Upon further reflection of that horrific noise, I think it's possible that the vent is also filled with kittens. Squeeeeee!