Basically, Bret's out on the road a lot, and for a relationship to work, his lady has to be able to get him off the Alexander Graham Bell way. He'll be sequestered, and each woman will have to talk dirty to him over the phone. The three who do the best will get to go on a date with him. How will they tell who does best? A not actual doctor named Dr. Roy is hooking up a device to Bret's penis that will measure the blood flow. The device will be attached to a Commodore 64, and there will be charts and graphs. It's all very scientific. Bret won't be able to tell who he's talking to, and thinks that's what makes this great.
The girls pick numbers to determine their order. Brandi C. is up first, and talks about a dream she had where Bret ate food off her. Heather has apparently fashioned a poem that goes, "I'm gonna make this short and sweet/Cause then I got a lot of hoochies to delete/I'm not gonna be a whore/I'm just gonna adore." It's like the rebirth of Emily Dickinson. She certainly spent a lot of time on the pole, in only her petticoats. Brandi M. growls like a tiger, and all I can say is, OMG BRET'S HAIR!! His little wispy bangs are stuck to his sweaty forehead in desire. Okay, sorry. We then have Tamara who, like, gives an account of her day. Too dumb for phone sex. That's very sad. Bret hangs up on her and tells Dr. Roy that if you got a reading on the machine, it was purely by accident and he jumped a cord or something. It's then time for Magdalena, who some of the other girls call "Magdeanderthal." Because she's so tall. Uh...well, don't think about it too much. And if they're going to go that route, why not try "Cro-Magdalenon"? Magdalena sings a little song that she wrote about God hearing her prayer, and Bret hangs up before he has the opportunity to hear her rhyme "Bret-tay" with "sweat-tay." Sweetness. Heather asks if this is 1-900-DRAG-QUEEN. It is true that Magdalena has the dulcet speaking voice of Ed Asner. Bret does not have a boner. Just in time to save the day is Erin, who puts on a British accent and tells Bret she's going to be his dirty nanny. Boner revived. And then fucking cheeseball Lacey gets on the phone and says, "When you're not here with me, it's like the wind has been removed from my sails." The other girls crack up. Lacey says she'll treat Bret like a king, and he replies, "I like being a king." He thinks that Lacey was pure poetry. It's like the back of a Celestial Seasonings box. Hot. We then have Tiffany, who is a blubbering mess and mentions something about ring around the bedpost and boxing lessons. Bret says, "Wassagoinon," but not in a good way. Bret implores her to get him hot. Tiffany's response? "Don't threaten me with a good time." Brooke is a little tentative, and the boner reading flatlines. On the opposite end of the spectrum is Rodeo. She is literally wearing a pearl necklace, okay? She breathes heavily and tells Bret that she wants to press him up against her and have him, well, you know. The bad news is that if the writers' strike keeps going, the dialogue in The Rock Of Love Story will have to be this, verbatim. Holly Hunter is crossing her fingers for a speedy resolution.
Bret, still bandana-less, gives the girls their critiques. Tiffany, Faith, and Tamara made his member flatline. The girls who gave him permaboner were Erin, Rodeo, and Lacey. Bret tells them they'll go on a triple date with him tomorrow, and heads off to take his fourth cold shower of the night. Meanwhile, Brandi C. is mad that Erin won a date. She tells Erin she wants to kick her. When Erin gets offended, Brandi says she was just trying to say that she's jealous, and that Erin was too fucking stupid to realize it. Erin says that if Brandi C. wants to see stupid, she should look in the mirror, and then proceeds to do a kind of sucky Brandi C impersonation. Brandi says that Erin's jealous because she's beautiful and Erin isn't, and Erin replies that Brandi is beautiful in the meth world and nicknames her "trailer park hooker dog." I didn't know there were hooker dogs, even in trailer parks! The hooker pimps are all totally Chihuahuas in little sparkly purple hats. Brandi points out that Erin has clown tits, which, point, and Erin insults Brandi's lower intelligence and says she doesn't want to look at her meth-scratched face any longer. And, oooooh. Turns out the scratches on Brandi's face are from a car accident. Kristia thinks this is a low blow, and notes that the comment really hurt Brandi C. And really, it's the age-old debate. Is making fun of the scars on someone's face worse than making fun of their clown tits? Kind of, it is. Is anyone else besides me surprised that this scuffle wasn't taken to fruition in a kiddie pool full of chocolate pudding?