And then they kissed.
It was the customary hugger-mugger of a finale -- this year, largely in Paris and New York -- featuring sky-diving over Omaha Beach, early trains, jacket-fittings, and lots of comebacks and position switches. The outcome remained tough to call throughout, although Tyler and James's somewhat overly melodramatic meltdown towards the beginning of the episode might have foreshadowed the result.
But in the end, it was indeed the non-sexual boyfriends who claimed the million -- Tyler and James finished first, followed by Rob and Kim, then the *lyns. Not the triumph of good over evil we've seen in some previous seasons, but a satisfactory result.
Previously on Phil's Phabulous Pherocious Phelicitous Phun Phunky Phollies: Well, the season. You know, a lot of things happened. We started out with a surprisingly diverse cast, including some Muslims! Who were going to stop to pray! But they lasted half an episode. Seriously. Then there was a really nice Indian couple who seemed incredibly cool and also were going to bring something slightly different to the race! But they lasted one episode. See also: the gay daughter and her dad, who lasted three episodes. Basically, it was a season in which two models and two beauty pageant contestants stomped all over everyone all season long, if we're being straightforward about it. So was the season disappointing? It was not. Why? Because Peter got dumped. Dumped like a load of recyclables at the plastic-melting facility. Dumped like horse poop in a parade. Dumped like Star Jones. Dumped! Also, the beauty queens wound up having to eat their own giant teeth, so we wound up here. We still have the Addicts (And Models!), who are obvious candidates for their spot; the Pointies, who are not obvious candidates but represent a demographic that often winds up here so that someone can claim at the finish line that they love each other no matter what; and the *lyns, who seriously would have received zero votes at the beginning of the season as a potential final-three team. And now, someone is going to win, probably because of something involving taxis, if past experience is any indication.
Credits. I kind of like the ubiquity of camels on this show. You eat them, you ride them... they should have an all-camel team sometime. That would be awesome.
Commercials. I'm here to tell you: don't believe the hype. The movie of The Devil Wears Prada is actually incredibly off-putting, and way worse than the book. It's like mean satire without the mean. Which, as you know, is unacceptable.
Barcelona, Spain. Phil is accompanied by the Spanish guitars he richly merits (it's the Phlamenco!) as he introduces us to a fountain which, as a "majestic landmark," made quite a logical pit stop. I often wonder whether Phil gets tired of having his picture taken next to large and majestic sights. Like, wouldn't you think just once, he'd want to be all, "I am at a swirling cesspool, and the only attractive thing here is me. ME!" Anyway, the teams arrived at this here fountain the end of the last leg. They're now resting all mandatory-like, and they'll soon be leaving for what had damn well better be the last leg on a racearoundtheworld, given that there's a giant crowd of people in a New York bar who think they're going to see an ending and are likely to erupt in an open-bar-fueled riot if anything goes wrong. Don't fuck with the internet people. They'll cut you. With souvenir keychains from their goodie bags. RUH!