Previously: Bret connected with Amber, because he has a heretofore-unknown octogenarian fetish. An old-skool dance contest resulted in VIP passes for Roxy, Destiney, and Daisy. The "I" stands for "infected." And Sara got the boot, which is good because she's really too pretty and disease-free to succeed in this competition.
It is morning, and a lot of makeup is being applied. Truly, this show keeps Wet N' Wild in business. Roxy tells us that she's feeling a little nervous because she doesn't know what Bret's looking for. Sadly for Roxy, I don't think Bret really wants to keep his cocoa handy. But good for her for having hope and thinking that it's personality that he's looking for. If "personality" is a euphemism for "big, chocolate-mousse-covered knockers," I think she's onto something. Roxy notes that she does have a VIP pass, which means she can steal Bret away for one-on-one time at any point. She intends to use it.
Big John delivers some Bret Mail. Megan reads it. Hey! How delightful that she's literate. It says, "Good morning my sexy sirens / I know you're all sweet and classy / But I need a girl that's tough and sassy / One who's willing to push and shove / Roll with the punches and protect our love. Love, Bret." Megan hopes that the competition doesn't have anything to do with athleticness. She doesn't have any of that. If, however, it is somehow related to boobfulness and chesticular ability, she might have a shot.
The girls head into a big warehouse, where they find a roller derby rink. Oh, shit. Some fake parts are going to be flying. Bret tells us that if there's one thing he's good at in life, it's being a father. And I mean, this must be true, as he wrote this song about his daughter. Okay, I really didn't link that as proof of Bret's parental skills. I just wanted to remind you all about THE WIG. But I guess any man dedicated enough to wear a cheap wig and Cleopatra eyeliner in the name of funding his daughter's college education is a pretty selfless parent. Bret is looking for a girl who has a mother-bear instinct. But not, like, the kind that will lead an animal occasionally eat her own young like my hamster Spike did when I was eight, thus traumatizing me for life. Poor Spike. She accidentally took a tumble down the stairs in her little hamster exercise ball and I think it induced premature labor, so I can't judge. And plus, we all thought she was a male, so it was pretty surprising when 14 babies popped out. I imagine the story of Angelique's origins follows a similar path.