Speaking of sucking, here come Pratt and Chen, frisky and repellent. He has apparently prescribed forty lashings with his tongue as salve for her wounded spirit. There's slurping. The audio guy should be strapped to a chair and forced to listen to the wet noises coming from those lip microphones; it's not human. They sound like two creatures of the sea engaging in some watery mating ceremony of the deep. With moaning. Oh, the moaning. I feel like Westley from The Princess Bride just fought me to the pain -- my eyes have dissolved in a fit of acidic rebellion, but the sounds of Chen and Pratt dry humping and groping each other will forever echo in my perfect ears. Chen rolls onto his lap and rips off her shirt. Pratt goes for the bra clasp when his roommate, Leon, bolts into the room screaming that he won the lottery. When Chen rolls off Pratt and hides, and my television sex peril is finally over, I feel that I, too, won the lottery. Oh, but never mind, because Pratt had to get up and PULL UP HIS PANTS in order to deal with Leon. Pratt should never not have pants on. "Who are you?" Leon calls out to Chen. "I'm a winner!" Outside in the hall, it sounds like Leon reveals that he only gets three of the numbers, but whatever. He's happy and Pratt isn't, especially when Chen appears behind him, dressed and hurrying out the door. "You gonna be okay?" he asks. "Yeah, I'm fine," she says, failing to mask her discomfort. She rattles off an excuse about work and flees. Leon follows Pratt inside. "She was hot," he observes.