There's a bumper out to commercial that notes Up Chuck is about to get more than he "gambled" for. Yeah, I'm not kidding. Up Chuck and Carmen enter his big-ass suite, and Up Chuck says some more stuff for the record books. "Young lady, you ever go out with a guy that looks so good?" Which must have sounded good when he was saying it to himself over and over in front of the mirror. Confused, Carmen Sandiego hilariously blurts out a "...no?" He asks her if she's a Scorpio, in such a way that I can't tell if he wants her to be, and she answers that's she's a Pisces. He notes, and not for the sole time, her "deep, sexy voice." This is awful. Unabashedly, inarguably, ridiculously, powerfully, unwatchably terrible. It cannot possibly get any worse than this, and then...it does. He screams from upstairs at her, giving her a tour without actually giving her the tour, and yells about how there's a shower, and how "we'll be in here making love I'm sure...beautiful as you are, and me as big as I am, we'll be making some sparks." Just...ew. He knows there's a camera crew here, and you know what? He knows she's a dude! This is dumb! I wonder if there really is an Up Chuck, or a Carmen Sandiego, or if this is just some Mark Burnett Dogma95 thing where it seems like reality TV when the reality is, it's all made up, a fairy wonderland of sorts. I want to believe that people like Up Chuck do not exist. Tell me this is faked. Sexy hip-hop plays as they start to get down and he kisses her with a great wide open mouth and grabs her ass. God, this man is foul. We cut to…shots of the fountains, shooting up into the air! I am buying a gun, I swear it. This is so vile. Wow. There's another cut to coins shooting out of a slot machine. This is the sickest shit. My blood runs cold. It's grotesque in a way that denies -- that annihilates -- sex altogether. This isn't about sex, it's about something else entirely that I don't have a word for. I've gotten a little older tonight. I've lost something precious that I didn't even know I had. I don't like it.
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.