We FINALLY see Jerri in a limo on her way to the mansion. Jerri promises that this time won't be like "the last time," referencing her stint on Survivor 2: The One With That Bitch Jerri, in which she was typecast as an insufferable bitch with little regard for human life. You know, like Martha Stewart. Nay, this time Jerri's going to be "nice," even though she takes a certain amount of pride in her stint as a primetime bitch. Inside the house, Brande's whining that she had heard Robin Givens was going to be the seventh cast member, but now it's some girl she's never heard of. ["That's funny; in our house, Brande fills the slot of 'some girl we've never heard of.'" -- Wing Chun] Brande only wanted to be on the show because she thought Robin was doing it, but now it's someone who doesn't belong on the show -- a judgment Brande bases on the fact that she's never heard of Jerri Manthey. Never mind the fact that Jerri's been more prominently featured on television in the last two years than the rest of these losers combined; Brande's never heard of her, and that's all there is to that. So they're all sitting around the table with Hammer saying Grace while Jerri knocks at the door. Jerri says through clenched teeth that if this is a sign of things to come and she gets treated with disrespect, they can expect retaliation. Basically, if you don't answer the door as soon as she starts knocking, you can expect her to set your personals on fire and toss them into your bed as you sleep. After all, she's got a reputation to uphold.
As we go to commercial, we see Corey furiously brushing his teeth. I guess it's to get the taste of shit out of his mouth after all the ass-kissing he had to do to get on this show.
Oooooo...they're showing that new "Marijuana can impair your judgment" commercial where the two teens are at a party smoking weed and the girl starts to pass out as the guy begins to cram his hand in her bra and she's moaning "noooo." That commercial always reminds me of the good times I had in college. Ahhhhh, the good ol' days, when we'd latch on to a bong like it was a life preserver in the choppy Atlantic ocean and then tweaked our friends' nipples until they passed out from the blood loss to their brain. Tell ya what, memories don't get much better than that right there, my friend.