Welcome to December! Only one more week and we’ll know who wins the million. I was kind of hoping to have won a bunch of millions myself this week, but with my typical luck, I couldn’t even win 4 bucks by getting the Powerball. I must say, it’s been ages since I’ve played. You know, I really can’t do much with just one or two million, so the jackpot’s got to be up to $500 million for me to bother to play. Makes sense, right? So I go into the store like an idiot and offer a $5 bill to the clerk. She’s like, “Um, it’s $2 per play.” Shows how long it’s been since I’ve played. Then I’m faced with the impossible decision to just get two tickets or to go back to my car to get another dollar. Here, I’m going in there thinking I’ll get five tickets out of $5. All the while, I’ve got the baby in her heavy-*ss carrier with me. So I go back to the car, retrieve another $5 and come back into the store, now behind two Asian guys. Of course, they are also buying Powerball tickets. As I stand behind them, I immediately picture them on the news, holding one of those enormous checks for $500 million or whatever. You know, they buy the winning ticket that could’ve been mine had I had my sh*t together on this Powerball thing. Anyway, I just felt all kinds of dirty dragging my *ss into a liquor store, with my baby in her carrier, to basically wipe my ass with $10 for useless Powerball tickets. Of course, at the time, I felt like goofy Charlie and his freaking Chocolate Factory, like that golden ticket was burning a hole in my pocket. Not so much. Luckily, the winning tickets could not have been sold further away from where I live, so I didn’t have to feel bad. But I do wonder whether those guys won a measly $100,000 or something.
Let me get on to the show. We are brought back to Amsterdam, where the teams are starting this leg. The clue says they are to fly to Barcelona and take a boat to Mallorca. Very interesting pronunciations of Mallorca, by the way. I figured everyone pretty much has a tiny bit of knowledge of Spanish in America at this point, but apparently not. Natalie says MA-LOR-CA and Trey says MAL – LA – CORA. Ouch. I get where Natalie’s pronunciation came from, but Trey’s was really out there. He’s apparently one of those dummies that trips over words longer than 5 letters and adds three extra syllables over it like a four year old. Anyway, here’s the only Spanish lesson I can give you: (1) Two L’s = a Y sound and (2) Hello = Hola. You’re welcome on that one.
As usual, Brent and Josh are at the back of the pack. That these two are still around is seriously amazing. Josh starts whining like one of my kids over his hurt ankle. I love my kids and I can’t stand the whining: with Josh, I just want Brent to b*tch slap him and tell him to get over it already. Brent then goes into some weird Lamaze breathing sequence, trying to calm Josh down. This IS a sprained ankle, right? I was thinking he was racing with a severed head or something for a second there. Come on, Josh. Gays everywhere are cringing at how p*ssified you are right now. You’re not seven years old and there’s a million dollars on the line. Try to pull it together, okay guy? Most people would be happily running on a bloody stump for a million bucks.
Well, in typical fashion, looks like the show decided to get all the teams on equal footing. Three of the teams arrive in Spain in the morning, but their boat to Mallorca doesn’t leave for 12 hours or so. They hang out at the beach for the day while Brent and Josh make their way over. Seemed like no one had a clue that Brent and Josh were still in the Race instead of Abbie and Ryan, with all the cheering and fanfare when they all saw Josh and Brent at the airport. They were all doing back flips when they saw those two. No doubt they were so excited it was Josh and Brent because they think they stink. James says, “Glad the U-turn worked so that we sent a strong team home and the Beekman’s stayed in.” Really nice, James. Translation: The gays suck; therefore, we’d rather race against them.
This crap sequence with weirdos in these Satan costumes? Useless. It wasn’t like there was a challenge in there somewhere. The teams just chased them around and got annoyed by them until one finally gives up the clue. Stupid filler crap. And again, who the hell are these people in the costumes? Is this just stuff set up for the Race or are these people actually doing this stuff over there every day? Grow up, losers. Halloween’s over.
The teams get to the Roadblock next. Apparently, this is Rafael Nadal’s hometown. I actually found that pretty cool because Nadal has grown on me over the years. In my opinion, he and Roger Federer’s Championship matches have been some of the best in recent years. Anyway, the Roadblock is choosing a Tennis Pro and a basket of balls and returning twenty balls in bounds (is that even the right phrase?) using only one basket of balls. I was totally not sure what the relevance was of choosing one Pro over another. The Pro was the one that counted to twenty, basically. Really necessary stuff.