After bringing in special guest star Stephen Hawking to do the math for them, the cast finds out that there are only five beds for six people. Erik immediately puts dibs on the princess room. Ron thought it was wrong of Erik to do, and that this frilly ladies' room should go to Tammy Faye. "Who'd you fuck to get the best room?" Ron asks Erik. Erik responds, "Tammy." I choke on my NyQuil at that mental image. Trishelle and Tammy Faye look in the closet of the princess room, and Tammy Faye says she doesn't mind sleeping on the floor of the closet. Erik says that's fine with him. I say, let Erik have the bed, because he's probably slept on enough floors in the last fifteen years. Meanwhile, Ice has found a bedroom; he says he doesn't want a pimp bed, and that the couch is really starting to look appealing. He then pulls out a switchblade, tears the pimp bed to shreds, and waves it slow and menacingly in front of Tammy Faye's face, growling, "Try something, bitch. Just try something!" Ron and Trishelle decide to share a room with three single beds. Trishelle thought, when she first met Ron, that he'd be a perv, and she has slowly found out that she was right. Ron mentions playing "hide the bacon" or "shoot the sherbet" or "pound the weasel until he gets dizzy and vomits." Trishelle admits that Ron doesn't have ripped abs, and has a great sense of humor, which are two turn-ons for her. We then get a glimpse of Ron shirtless and in sweats, which makes me feel a lot better about my own physique. Plus...hey...I don't have ripped abs and have a wonderful sense of humor, if you're into bathroom humor. I wonder if I could boink Trishelle. I think I could as long as I brought along a bottle of Boone's Farm and a video camera. Ron admits that while he didn't think he'd be shooting the sherbet while in the mansion, he certainly wouldn't turn it down. The guy shoots sherbet for a living and still wants more without getting paid for it. Now -- there, America: there's a man who loves his job.