Gerry's breathing machine, you say? I'm so glad you asked. When we return from commercials, Gerry explains that he has sleep apnea, and he snores badly if he doesn't wear this thing that fits over his face and shoves air up his nose. (Wow, it's like sleeping in the same room with your twelve-year-old brother, forever.) It looks a bit like the mask you put on at the dentist's office if you get the happy gas. Everybody comments that the machine makes a little bit of noise, but honestly, it doesn't sound like anything too overwhelming in a house where we know there are camera and sound people wandering around at all hours. Unfortunately, it appears that for all of its aesthetic benefits in making Gerry look radiator-hot, the machine is not perfectly effective, in that they show night-vision Gerry, fully geared up and snoring away anyway. I hope Gerry didn't buy that thing from an infomercial. I don't trust infomercials ever since I noticed that you can buy both juicers and food dehydrators. One of those has to be a huge scam.
Anyway, the bored houseguests decide that they're going to have what Tonya calls a "bikini contest," which Amy transforms into a "pageant." (If this is the result of these people lacking for leisure activities, I desperately hope the next luxury competition will allow them to win a game or something. Ker-plunk would be good. Or Hungry, Hungry Hippos.) Anyway, it's sort of a combination pageant and fashion slam, because you aren't allowed to wear any actual clothes -- you have to bikini yourself up using unconventional materials. Wow, it's like the arts and crafts class at Porn Camp! ("After the bonfire this evening, we will be conducting a class called 'You Can Make More Than Fire By Rubbing Two Sticks Together,' so bring your massage oil and a lanyard.") Marcellas comments that he really wasn't too interested in the whole deal, but then "cute little Jason" asked him to help design a bikini for him, and Marcellas thought he could possibly get motivated for that. Heh. The women participating (Chiara, Tonya, and Lisa) work on their bikinis, originally trying to work something up entirely made of flowers. When this doesn't work, though -- and I'm sorry if you have delicate eyes or are currently eating, especially if you happen to be eating lunch -- they run a row of flowers around their middles and down the back, but up front, they cover up their most not-ready-for-prime-time areas with peanut butter. Peanut. Butter. So we get to see Chiara, Tonya, and Lisa standing around with silverware, smearing each other up. You know, I think the live-feed-watchers thought you might not see the hot girl-on-girl peanut butter action during the family hour. Oh, how perilous it is indeed to underestimate the pure, unadulterated, bottom-feeding, scum-sucking, nauseating, oozing shamelessness of this show. ["Not for nothing is CBS known as the Tiffany Network." -- Wing Chun]