Previously on You Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone (They Paved Paradise And Put Up Arsenio Hall): New York, Johannesburg, Paris, Casablanca, Bangkok, Munich, Rio, Lisbon, Beijing, Hong Kong, Seattle, Singapore, London, Tunis, Aberdeen, San Francisco, Agra, Rome, Sao Paolo, Cape Town, Delhi, Fez, Honolulu, Ho Chi Minh City, Marrakech, Sydney, Auckland, Zurich. Three million bucks. Thirty-four teams. A hundred twenty thousand miles. One deceptively studly Kiwi.
What, you mean you've been watching that thing where they eat rice with bugs in it? Oh, this is a lot better.
We fly in over the empty, soulless, smoggy landscape of Los Angeles, getting a great view of what are presumably the nation's premiere cosmetic dentistry schools and law firms specializing in liposuction malpractice. Finally, we spot teeny tiny Phil "Hop On Eyebrow Pop" Keoghan, who's on top of a very tall building that probably isn't actually called Accordion-Pleated Circle Towers Plaza, even though it should be. We zoom in on him, and he tells us that he is high above the city he calls the "gateway to the western United States." Not to argue with Phil, but having once lived in the Pacific Northwest, I know we didn't consider L.A. to be the gateway to squat. But anyway, Phil calls L.A. "America's city of dreams." It's also, of course, "America's city lousy with former reality show contestants," so if these people wanted to short-circuit the process, they could skip the race and go directly to Belly. Evil Doctor Will has a great story about the time he said that really funny thing and everyone laughed. Phil and his black turtleneck tell us that twelve teams of two people will race around the world, and the winner will get a million dollars. And, most importantly, the right to cleanse the memory of Flo from our wounded public consciousness.
As usual, a very special method of transportation takes the teams to the starting point. This time, they're are traveling in a pair of what Phil calls "stretch Hummers." (And if you want one, fellas, remember to always date the limber.) These monstrosities, which look like white Lego limos, are lumbering down one of L.A.'s notorious freeways. If they go below fifty, they'll explode, you know. And they're taking the teams to...Dodger Stadium! Can you believe that? I am psychic. Dodger Stadium is still soulless, but at least it's the National League, so there will be no "designated racer" who, like, flies on the airplanes but doesn't have to run. Phil tells us that each team is made up of two people with an existing relationship, and it's time to meet them.