And here come Colin and Christie, having completed The 22 Stages Of Breaking Down Because Of An Ox, arriving last on the mat. Colin and Christie, you are the last...team...to...arrive. "I'm pleased to tell you, however," Phil says, and then I don't hear the rest, because I am screaming at the television. But I'm pretty sure the upshot was that they weren't Philiminated. Because they've put the non-elimination round a leg early this season, so four teams will go into the finale, but one will be bounced halfway through. They hug a lot, even though they both are wearing the same mud they were when he said he hated her. And he's all, "I love you, baby, give me a kiss," and it's really, really, deeply creepy. I can't stand either of them, and if they win, it's going to bug me even more than Flo did, because at least my unhappiness with Flo's victory was balanced by my happiness with Zach's victory. There will be no upside to a Colin and Christie win. Neither of them deserves a dime. I think they'll win, but it will be nightmarish and unpleasant and even worse than "Are you fucking kidding me with that?" I'm not even getting into it, because it's going to be so upsetting if it happens.
Executive producer: Jerry Bruckheimer.
Next week: The finale. The finish line. The crying. The jumping up and down. The drinking. The party. The having paid in advance. The remembering to bring your receipt. The not giving the party organizers any crap. I can hardly wait to see you.