Meanwhile, downstairs at Bob Guiney Fan Club HQ, Chris "Chris Harrison" Harrison ponders the cost of an extra phone jack and a satellite linkup from his own bedroom so he can complete the literalization of the phrase "phoning it in." He calls the ten remaining women -- Lee-Ann, Krazy-Eyes, Kidneys a Go-Go, Girl People on the Forums Like, and six extraneous others -- to worship at the altar of his prepared introductory material. But upon their arrival in the living room, the girls find that The White Ottoman That Ate Cleveland seems to have grown even larger in size, a full third of the room now taken up with its put-your-feet- on-THIS-muthafuckah swagger. It's also noshed off a chunk of the rug in the room, badly injured the camera crew's A.D., and made no secret of its plans for the town's corrupt dentist, the other plants in the store, or Rick Moranis. Seriously, that thing is sarcastically big.
Chris offers all of the girls a good morning and they dully respond as if they're trying to learn the phrase from a "Let's Go America" foreign language tape. Unfazed -- remember, he can't see their hypnotized-with-boredom expressions from OVER THE PHONE -- he plows on: "This week, there will be two group dates and two very special one-on-one dates. As I've told you, there are some surprises this time around. Here's another one: which two ladies get the one-on-one dates? It's up to you." What? THERE ARE SOME SURPRISES THIS TIME AROUND HERE'S ANOTHER ONE WHICH TWO LADIES GET THE ONE-ON-ONE DATES IT'S UP TO YOU??? You mad geniuses! What's next, Fleiss? Folgers Crystals instead of my brewed coffee? Is this just the introduction to the opposite sketch? Have I actually been buttering my toast with I Can't Believe It's Not Bachelor THIS WHOLE TIME? Where does the madness end, Fleiss? WHERE DOES THE MADNESS END? I'd use the expression "shock and awe" if it hadn't exited the lexicon twenty-four Presidential approval points ago. Meanwhile, the ladies utter words of incredulity and annoyance, and Brooke shows her surprise and displeasure though her eyes, which bulge unreasonably out of her head at...well, never mind.
Chris plays on unheedingly like Ferris Bueller's "I'm sick right now, so..." cassette tape, vamping, "We've set up a private voting booth in the next room." Ew. I haven't heard a less inviting way to begin a thought since it was followed up with, "So I'm going to take some pictures of you in the back room of the bicycle shop, okay, Arnold and Willis?" Anyway, Chris wants more with the talking, already: "You'll get the chance to vote on your fellow Bachelorettes and decide who you think is most compatible with Bob, down to who you think is least compatible." Down to? Does that mean they all ranked each other from best to worst? They look smug. "And no, you cannot vote for yourself." They look crestfallen. "But, it is completely up to you." Up to me? Because that's when the "surprises this time around" really start to kick some ass.