Previously, on Top Design: You're the One That I Want: Carisa and Michael fought like cats having to share the same burlap sack. Goil wept because nobody listened to him. Except for us. Over and over again. Oh, and somewhere along the way, dueling party tents were designed, and judgments were made, and Erik was sent home for some reason or another. Gotta kick off someone, I guess. That leaves just five -- five! -- Top Designers to compete for a the public acclaim, funky-looking automobile, cold, hard cash, and the sense of relief that you didn't waste 10 weeks of your life just to lose to Carisa. Let's meet the gang!
Top Designers, roll call! Whacked! Goil! Carisa! Whacked! Whacked! Matt! Andrea! Whacked! Whacked! Michael! Whacked! Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacked! Any designer don't want to get later'd better clear on out the back.
Currently, on Top Design: Carisa beings the proceedings by telling us that only five designers remain -- someone wasn't paying attention during the Top Designer Roll Call -- and feels confident of her ability to outlast the other four: "Regardless of the result, it's been a phenomenal experience." Well, for one of us, at any rate. Andrea pours some coffee into a cup. ("This cup provided by Seattle's Best Coffee. The next time you're trapped in an L.A. loft with other designers on some poorly conceived reality project, poor yourself a nice cup of Seattle's Best Coffee, and sob the morning away. Seattle's Best Coffee -- ask for it by name!") and expresses that she sure doesn't want to get eliminated, no sir. I guess I'm not expecting any significant insight into the human condition ("Last week, when I was putting together the Bacardi Limon party tent, I finally for the first time began to understand the complex nature of my relationship with my parents!"), but I'd like something more than bland assertions that would be spectacularly obvious to anyone just surfing by the show for the first time. You don't want to get eliminated this week? Really? Because I was expecting you to say something like, "Well, it's been a good run, but I think I'll pack it in. I'll see you assholes later."
Over in the boys' loft, they're doing something far less irritating -- teasing Goil about last week's Jan Brady meltdown, in which the unspooling architect compared himself to the Brady clan's put-upon middle sister. "I'm the oldest, and [Michael's] the youngest, and he's the middle, Jan," Matt tells his roommates. "Shut it, Jan," says Goil, who seems to be playing along, but you can sense his crippling inner rage. "I'm really Cousin Oliver," Michael observes; the editors surreptitiously add a rimshot to the generic background music. Let's leave the classic TV shout-outs to the professionals, okay, Mike?