In happier news, Kim and Leslie approach the yellow mat and see Phil. It appears that they know that Phil only shows up to tell you goodbye, because they become very sad upon seeing him. He tells them that, indeed, they have been served up and devoured by fate, like the karmic Spoon-Size Shredded Wheat that they are. "We tried," they shrug. Given the fact that they poached the cab, argued over thirty francs, didn't run, couldn't find the flag at the bottom of the tower for hours, and were nasty creeps along the way, I have no interest in mustering up even a lick of sympathy for them. Leslie post-mortems that perhaps their big mistake was "not teaming up and making friends with other people." This is, of course, easier than saying that their big mistake was being born with brains the size of walnuts, or slacking off like lazy bums when it came time to haul ass. As stated above, I have no idea whether the cabbie-arguing or the failure to run played a role in their elimination, but I hope it did, because that would be justice.
Executive producer? Jerry Bruckheimer.
Next week: Pat and Brenda try to protect the lead. Joe and Bill lord their knowledge of Paris over me. Loud Pushy Frank didn't want to have friends, anyway. Nancy thinks aloud that somebody fails to make it onto a crucial train, and a shot of Davey and Margaretta follows, which is really too sad a circumstance for me to contemplate at the moment. If it does turn out to be true, well, Davey -- we'll always have Paris. (Can you believe that line just walked right up to me and licked my face like that? Un-be-freaking-lievable.)