Here comes Cha-Cha-Cha. Sniff. They walk into the hangar. "There's Phil," Oswald says affectionately. They are Phil-iminated. Oswald says he's gone outside his "comfort zone," and it's given him confidence to do other things. Danny agrees. "Look at me, I would never ruin a glitter shirt!" he says. Hee! What a darling. Oswald grins at him lovingly. Oswald discusses the importance of stopping to enjoy the people in your life and the opportunities you have to enjoy yourself. Danny: "I think that's the reason that we are such good friends, because I lost a lover to AIDS, and since then, we're very aware that you're here today, gone tomorrow, so enjoy the moment." Right on, baby. I have nothing to add.

Last Leg Warm-Up Sequence. Chris, in his "I'm the Top Cock at Rambler's Roost" shirt (tm Mister McGee), explains that everybody's pulling out all the stops, blah blah blah. Paige says that Chris and Alex tend to make mistakes because they go so fast. Oh, really, Ms. Screwed Up More Times Than Anything Texan Since Enron? Chris says they'll be "tackling, biting, and screaming." Wil intends to "pull out all [his] tricks." Blake: "Wil and Tara and Alex and Chris's chance to get us out of this race is done. I think they're in some serious trouble right now." Tara says it's a "free-for-all," Alex says "all ties have been cut," and Chris, proving once again that I should never allow guys to amuse me into liking them, states that "it's Hammer time." Yes, Hammer time. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

Well, it's official. There is no one left in this race that I like. I'll root for Boston, because the other two teams annoy me even more, but honestly, I don't care a whole lot, which is kind of a bummer. It's a good thing it's a good show, because the remaining personalities are not all that compelling.

Executive producer? Jerry Bruckheimer.

Next week: Canoodling. Ice-whacking. Ice-burning. Swimming. Water. Boats. Wil's tongue hanging out. Crashing waves. Diving for clues. Blake, congratulating himself some more. Snowdozers. Exhaustion. Airport bunching. Snowsuits. Hey, those white shoes again! SUVs. Pineapple. Hats. Running. Taraweasel losing their clue. In other news, a bunch of weirdos storm a New York bar, take it over, and act like fools for a few hours. If you're east of the Mississippi and haven't RSVP'd for the TAR2con, jiggle your wiggle to the forums and check out the details. We'd love to have you.