1-3: "Yes, but in rubles, I'm LOADED!"

Last week, we examined the boy skanks' bathing suit areas. This week, we examine their wallets -- and it actually feels more invasive and exploitative. That said, I'm kinda glad Romance went home last week so we were spared a scene of him gasping plaintively, "Can you put a value on love?"

Oddly, I found myself liking New York this week. (Maybe my fondness for her is going to alternate with the episodes, like the quality of Star Trek films.) But I couldn't not post this picture. You know how it is.

We open with the dudes comparing physiques. They count Bonez' abs, and determine that he does in fact have an 8-pack.

I am really liking Bonez. That never bodes well for someone on a reality show.

Soon, however, the dudes' merriment is cut short, as Whiteboy learns some tragic news. A dear, lifelong friend of his has been killed in a car accident, and Whiteboy never got a chance to say goodbye.

I really hope it wasn't the guy in the tattoo, because the world needs Neil Diamond now more than ever.

Word spreads quickly to the dudes, and many of them come to offer Whiteboy their condolences. Bonez, who's some kind of... deacon? or something, comes to offer a prayer.

Between Whiteboy's grief and regret and the genuine kindness of the dudes, the whole thing is actually rather moving, especially for a ridiculous dating show.

Downstairs, the guys gather to receive their instructions for the day. Chamo, looking pretty damn sharp in a suit, announces that they will have to prepare a financial prospectus and present it to New York and her mom. Rico finds this a daunting prospect.

Understanding (!) that Whiteboy might not be on top of his personal-presentation game at the moment, New York offers him the chance to opt out of the financial doings.

(She's being nice. I don't know what to do with that.) Whiteboy thanks her, but says that he'll participate nonetheless.

Elsewhere, the dudes start preparing for their presentations, using what appears to be a stockpile of generic charts and graphs.

Not generic enough, though, as Pootie totally snakes 12-Pack's chart from him and then writes his name on it, pulling the old grade-school "I didn't see your name on it!" Hoo boy.

Once again, T-Weed fascinates me. Here, he looks like Bootsy Collins. The dudes finish their preparation and head over to a generic conference room, where New York introduces the guest judge: Omarosa. The dudes flinch.

Damn near none of the dudes are able to put together a credible presentation. Most of them look like motivational posters drawn by enthusiastic but not particularly talented seventh-graders.

I like that 12-Pack could take the time to put some detail on the plus sign, but not to fill in New York's face.

Oh, dear. Omarosa made me laugh. I might need to lie down now.

Rico reveals his plan to make lots of money as a model.

New York's mom isn't buying it, either. What fascinates me is the major dip in the graph. What does it mean? Is he planning to hit some kind of trough at some point? And why the heart on his lapel?

Another fascinating chart is that drawn by Heat:

The two little stick figures are Heat's mother and grandmother, or YaYa. He takes care of them and references that he has to feed them both. "Who's gonna eat first?" Mom asks, "Mama, YaYa or New York?" "I eat first!" Heat affirms. This doesn't go over too well.

What does go over pretty well is Mr. Boston's clear plan to make a six-figure income as a CPA.

Also well-received is Onix's education (he has a master's degree and he's on this show?!) and general fineness.

T-Weed raises some eyebrows by claiming to be worth more than $100 million. Dude, there's such a thing as picking a plausible lie. A claim of, say, $1.1 million probably wouldn't have brought on a background check.

Still, that is a damn sharp suit-n-tie combo. I just can't get a read on this guy. He nails this outfit, but then he wore that awful hoodie last week? He's a sartorial mystery.

The one who bombs the worst, though, is easily Pootie. I feel pretty bad for the dude, although I have to admit I cracked up over "I'm broke!"

Omarosa impresses me by thanking Pootie for his honesty in a kind manner. If you'll excuse me, I need to have a short nap and a scotch.

Pootie takes his bombing pretty hard, and storms out of the office. Bonez and Tango are hot on his heels, trying to see what's wrong. They follow him down the hallway, where he kinda loses it.

See, I can understand Bonez's presence there, what with the God-sy-ness and all, but Tango seems to be camera-hogging. (I got that impression from him during the first episode, too.) Pootie seems to hyperventilate, then breaks free of Bonez and Tango and walks down another hall, where he apparently passes out halfway down a flight of stairs. An ambulance is called, and Pootie is apparently offered treatment in the ambulance, because I don't think the dudes ever leave the waiting area for the conference room.

Pootie clearly feels ashamed, and I feel pretty bad for him. He points out that he was trying to get some air, but nobody would let him be by himself. He just needed a moment alone, like Whiteboy had earlier that day. Whiteboy agrees that Pootie should have been given some space, then gets annoyed at Tango for crowding Pootie. When the guys get into the Man Van to head back to the mansion, Whiteboy lets Tango have it with both barrels, adding "And you're the fakest one in here!"

Tango, meanwhile, threatens the camera with a pair of sunglasses. (Note that he's not addressing Whiteboy, but the camera.) Whiteboy gets out of the van and yells at Tango to come outside. Tango pretends to be held back by Chance's slender arm, and the dudes eventually coax Whiteboy back into the van. Eh.

Back at the mansion, New York announces that the guy with the most net worth will win a date with her (congratulations, T-Weed!) while the guy with the least net worth will win a date with her mother (bad luck, Pootie, old man).

The pairs leave, and he dudes attempt to blow off some steam, which means watching and laughing while Mr. Boston practices his lap dance technique. (Tragically, my attempt at making an animation didn't really work.) He also reveals a potential alternate income stream.

Nothing remotely interesting happens with New York or her mom. New York is bored senseless by T-Weed's talk of his branding company (and frankly, I'm right there with her on that one), while Mama NY is concerned for Pootie's state of mind.

When New York returns, she talks with her mom and then Tango (?) about Pootie. All parties agree that Pootie needs to leave and get some kind of help, and it inexplicably falls to Tango to tell him this.

Incredibly, this is not Liberace lying in state. It's Pootie, curled up in bed with only a big-ass fake fur between him and the cold, cruel world.

The next day, the dudes get a kind of reward for the previous day's scrutiny: a backyard barbecue! This is Mr. Boston's chance to work his lap-dance magic:

Well, New York seems to like it, anyway. She and Mr. Boston retire to the living room, where he continues laying on the charm.

And... goal!

I could be wrong, but I think Mr. Boston has logged the most lip contact with New York thus far. Good for him?

But New York also has eyes for Tango... and other parts as well. Classy!

I'm not sure if Whiteboy likes what he sees or not. I can't read this gesture, and frankly I don't want to.

What's pretty easy to read is the chemistry between 12-Pack and Heat... and I'm not just talking about alcohol.

This is, quite possibly, one of the stupidest things I've ever seen. If that bee was alive, it still had its stinger, and that thing might well catch on an internal organ-- nope, I don't want to think about it. I will say this, though: "12-Packing Heat: The Stinger Inside" would make a fantastic title for an all-male adult film.

New York enjoys her time in the hot tub with the dudes, especially Chance. She's clearly having a great time during this barbecue, and since I like her this episode, I say: good for her.

Before we come back for the elimination ceremony, we see this strange little promo.

There was a similar thing last week, only with a bottle of champagne, and I've gotta say, there's something very "last known photograph" about it. Kinda creepy.

Anyway, on to elimination. Since Pootie left already, only two dudes will be eliminated tonight. New York narrows the field down to Heat, Bonez and T-Weed. And then... she reads through T-Weed's credit report. Oh, it ain't pretty. His credit score is abysmal, and his last job was at Munchie's Pizza in 2002. Ouch.

The dudes react with sympathetic winces and muted laughter, but T-Weed denies that that's his credit report. Too late, though; New York sends him packing for lying to her. She also sends Bonez home, but in the nicest way. I had to show this, because I have never seen New York be so kind or sweet.

I know! Who thought she had it in her?

Next week, 12-Pack dons a Speedo and massages New York, while Real spies on them; the dudes build a doghouse for Your Majesty; someone talks smack about Mama NY and... the dudes go to church.

And my love affair with the editors continues.

Comments

[Isis Kali]

Don't tell me Miss NY is becoming...mature?!!?! WTF? NOOOOO! And Omarosa is being...smart and discerning? Guh?

Has the world blown up or something?

[Elan]

I just don't want to corrupt you. awwww.

I think I'm growing a soft spot for NY...like a fungus.

[Cheesemeister]

I knew Bonez was too nice for this show. I really liked him too.
Poor ole Pootie had a real 100% nervous breakdown. Been there done that--thankfully, not on national television, however!