Gold Team throws and catches a second chicken and then a third. The Green Team finally finishes their catapult. 12 Pack narrates the action: "We got to keep catching chicken. We got to catch chickens!" Man, if catching chickens is the only thing you're worried about, you haven't been paying enough attention to the health records of your fellow cast members. In rapid succession, the Green Team pitches and catches several chickens. The Gold Team starts to get a bit nervous. Then tragedy strikes: Gold Chicken Number Four arcs gracefully through the air and smacks into Rodeo's face. It probably thought it was his mommy. Rodeo informs us that it felt like three hundred pounds, but her skin is so tough that the 300-pound chicken carcass bounced off of it like a toddler on a moon bounce.
After the chicken incident, Rodeo gets a bit gun -- er, make that chicken-shy, and when the next chicken is catapulted through the air she gets a bit squirrelly and they lose the bird. Luckily for her teammates, she cowboys up and catches the next chicken, runs it to the table, and the Gold Team wins! Five chickens to Green's three. 12 Pack is so thrilled at his team and his plan's success that he throws Heather down on the raw chicken covered table and makes out. So romantic! I thought they broke up last week over Heather's trust issues? Oh well, nothing a little salmonella can't fix. Obviously the Green Team is upset by the loss. Or at least the Stallionaires are. I really hate typing that word. It's not even a word. It's not even an approximation of a word. It's just aggravating, and I can't believe it is now in my vocabulary. Stupid Stallionaires. 12 Pack is now the Paymaster (there's another one) and he can't wait for the chance to kick Whiteboy out. I'm not sure why he's so convinced that Whiteboy will be nominated by his teammates, but he seems pretty sure of it.
After their tough day of tossing chickens, everyone heads back to La Casa to skank, sulk, or drink until they pass out in their own vomit. Everyone, that is, except for Chance and Whiteboy, who decide to go torture Mr. Boston. They barge into Boston's bedroom, whip the blankets off of his naked body, dump water on him, put a used wee pad on him, a sombrero on his head, stilettos on his feet, and kibble next to his mouth. Mr. Boston pretends to be asleep or sick and just seems to go to his safe place in order to deal with this assault of juvenile thuggish stupidity. While I agree that Boston is a simpering douche who I would not like to ride the bus with, let alone sleep in the same house as, Whiteboy and Chance are despicable human beings. I have absolutely no doubt that they reached their peak as junior-high goons and never bothered evolving past that. I hate them.