Credits. Didn't I used to like all the gym-rat boys, even when they were basically affable dullards? Why has my shallowness deserted me in the case of Eric and Jeremy? I look at them in those beach shots and just want to tell them to put their damn clothes on. I can't tell if I'm feeling prudish or just bored. Is this what it feels like to be a person of substance? I don't really like it.
Commercials. I don't think you want people to feel like they have to take out a restraining order against the gnome, Travelocity, so you might stop making ads where it floats outside people's windows like a stalker. If it becomes the Bad Touch Gnome, it's not going to do great things for your PR situation.
Music returns us to the Brazilian countryside, where several cows stare at the camera in a way that seems very condemning. We're pissing off the international cows, people. The situation is serious. Phil tells us that we are in a farming community, and -- hey, Phil looks great! He looks normal! The pants fit! I have waited a very long time for Phil's pants to stop looking like he got them out of the costume trunk at a college theater department, so whoever is responsible, I want to thank you personally for proving that Phil has a perfectly normal waist, as long as you don't put him in girl pants. Properly Phitted Phil tells us that this was the second pit stop, and we learn that in addition to the mandatory resting, there was mingling.