And from one Pornapalooza to another. Jason wants volunteers to play a game that "you guys will love" where you have to get a lime up somebody's pant leg, across the top, and down the other. That's it, that's the whole game. I think there's another level at play here, perhaps. An ulterior motive. The weird dissonance between this innocent, stupid, misguided, "body shots," "seven minutes in heaven" kind of sexuality and that...back room, snuff film, Very Bad Things, Anne Rice stuff going on upstairs is actually kind of intense. Jason spazzes that the winner gets a "really cool treat." God only knows what that is, probably like a month's supply of Pringles, but on the other hand you know it's rigged so Rob will win. I hope, for his sake, that it is a year's subscription to City of Heroes, since you and I both know that's all he wants anyway. While Rob is "winning" this "game," Jason is in the other room covering some sweet healthy self-approving young lady in whipped cream. She lies down on the floor for him, and Rob begins to stutter. He "reveals" to us that he "didn't want to do it, honestly," and I just want to give him a hug and the benefit of a spotless mind so that he can forget this horrible trip ever happened. Protestations to the wind, however, the terrified, normalizing, performative nature of the Frat Pack's masculinity prove too much for Rob's latency, and suddenly he is significantly less clothed.

Tim and Tom stand outside a different door, in a different hallway, in another time zone, in another hotel on another planet, and pretend to listen to Pornapalooza. "I don't want to know," murmurs one of them, but I think it's just a subliminal suggestion to us viewers that we forget the editing of this episode, and forget that to this day the shadow of Janet Jackson's right tit still hangs over Rupert Murdoch.

Rob's face appears, somewhat energized, and covered in whipped cream. Ringleader Jason, who is kind of monstrous now that he's wasted, is screaming, "She wants more! Let wild, Robert!" I throw up a little, in my mouth, because I knew boys could get like this in groups but I've never actually seen it. This is how all bad things happen, what we're seeing here. This is why to be male in America is to be broken. Poor Rob, overstimulated and maybe even actually horny, begs the young lady for "the real thing," complaining that he's "very shy." "How precious is that?" giggles the paragon of Victorian virtues, and laughs, yelling, "I don't want to corrupt you!" Things end badly for old Rob, but maybe it's best. Or as Jason, poet and gang rapist, puts it, "Whether or not he lost his virginity...it was a small step for Rob, but a giant step for Rob-kind." Okay, even though that makes literally no sense at all, and even though I'm really scared of all other men now and might not leave my house from now on, that still somehow makes me want to punch Jason so fucking hard, because it's everything sucky about him in one sentence: brainless, drunken, horny, weird idiot. He's a sexual bully, and he gets off on niggling Rob about his less developed sexuality. So many bad choices result from this stuff. Or maybe Jason's fears are right, and Rob really is gay -- I mean, that's the point, isn't it? That Jason's scared to death Rob doesn't like girls? -- but is this really the way to address it? I think I was wrong up there, that the Pornapalooza stuff was so much less creepy than the Up Chuck/Carmen Sandiego thing. Don't get me wrong, that shit was wicked sick. I think they are in fact exactly the same amount of creepy, and Mark Burnett is the King of Creepy, and the FOX network is the Kingdom of Creepy, and Tim and Tom are the Regents, or the Undertakers, of Creepy, and I'm getting creepier from watching it.