In Corey and Vince's bedroom, Corey's going over the list of invitations for the wedding and is crossing names off the list one after the other. He says that these people Susie's listed aren't his friends; they're people who aren't even relevant to him. Another question: how many of you guys wanna bet that Susie had scrawled "Kory Hame" in a Valium-induced stupor on that list of people to invite to the wedding? Corey asks Susie what she could have possibly been thinking when she came up with this list of Hollywood rejects to invite to their wedding? Susie admits that she wasn't thinking. In a voice-over, Corey says that he and his publicly-humiliated bride don't fight a lot, but that this wedding has caused so much stress in their relationship that he's really beginning to second-guess whether the actual wedding should take place. You know, you really have to feel for Corey at this point. I don't know how many of you are married, but planning a wedding is one of the simplest things in life to do for us peons. You show up at a church with some friends and a decent-looking dress and BOOM! You're hitched. But poor celebrities like Corey -- there's just so much more to plan out when your wedding is going to be on television like Princess Di's. I...I...I weep for poor Corey Feldman.
Gabby pins the tail on the horse's ass when she says that Corey's stress in dealing with the wedding plans is actually a cover to keep him from dealing with the issues that he's caused with the other members of the cast. She goes on to say that Corey lives for trauma and that's how he functions most of the time. Hammer's saying he's not sure there's even going to be a wedding because the preparation for the wedding is not filtering down, which I don't completely comprehend, but then again I understand about a tenth of what Hammer says. Meanwhile, the women have coaxed Manny into taking a swim. Naturally, Manny jumps in wearing a white t-shirt because he doesn't have the balls to show America his handsome little man boobs. What Manny doesn't realize is that a wet t-shirt clings to your skin like dried snot on a two-year-old's upper lip and makes you even more unappealing than your flabby naked man boobs ever could.