Vipul and Arti are a married couple. Arti says that they follow a lot of traditions from Indian culture, and we watch as she lights a candle. She adds that if they go on the race, they can get all of their desire to have fun "out of [their] system before [they] have kids." Seriously, my friends who have kids? All dead inside. No more fun for them. They're basically empty shells, hollowed out where the fun used to be. (Dear My Friends: I'm still invited over, right?)
Kellie and Jamie are cheerleaders. Yay! They're also best pals. Yay! They have matching bandannas. Yay! "You could put us in a cardboard box and we'd find a way to have fun," Kellie says. "We both have the personality that we could have a conversation with a doorknob," Jamie adds. These two lines both brought to you by the God Of Setting The Ball So That The Entire Internet Can Spike It In Unison. It's the kind of setup that actually makes me choke, because what am I going to say about a cheerleader who talks about her own communication skills and uses the word "doorknob"?
Tyler and James are, as Phil says, "recovering drug addicts -- and models!" Hey, there's no point in bothering with regular drug addicts when you can have drug addicts and models. Soon: "Mother and daughter -- and models!" "Plaintiff and defendant -- and models!" "Santa and elf -- and models!" Apparently, these guys met during their recovery and became friends, and then they decided that the logical next step after rehab was modeling. This is where Kim would say: "As you do." Tyler says that they've learned through their addiction and recovery that they have this inner strength and so forth. It's safe to say I know people who've been through recovery who would agree with that, and some who probably wouldn't.
Lyn and Karlyn are "lifelong friends and single mothers," and they're from Alabama. They're not models, though. Karlyn says that they're both "very independent," and they don't need help from anyone and so forth. She does say that she occasionally wishes she had someone to kill spiders. Man, with me, it's jars. I have an unopened jar of salsa in my apartment that is waiting for either (1) and especially enormously-built boyfriend; or (2) the day I become mighty. It will not be opened until one of those things arrives. I'll probably eventually just smash it on the balcony, pick out the big pieces of glass, and scoop it up with tortilla chips.