In a world where reality-show contestants can't pronounce the word "Zathura" Jon Favreau's new sci-fi family flick may as well be named

Juman-gigli, for all the success our teams are having with those three little syllables. But while the men recover from their early title snafu using a healthy dose of overkill (the secret to any good marketing campaign even one involving parade floats), the women-plus-Randall just sort of roll around in the awfulness of it all for a good 36 hours. Here's my impression of project manager Jennifer M's thought process right before her bungled presentation: "Hmm, I clearly can't say the word correctly, so I'm just gonna mention it like half a dozen more times and see if that helps." Somehow, loud-mouthed Kristi takes the fall, while Jen survives "by the skin of her teeth" according to not-George, or Bill Rancic as I hear he prefers to be called. Guess what, Bill? Until you are George, I don't want to hear it.

Is it a bad sign when the reward sequence is the best part of an episode? In homage to one of my all-time favorite Huxtable outings, the men of Excel are off to a recording session but instead of Rudy making merry with Stevie Wonder, we're treated to Markus gettin' funky with Wyclef Jean. For a second there I thought maybe I'd drifted off into some sort of leftover pasta-induced hallucination, bongos and all. Extra kudos to the NBC advertising department for giving us an Eminem iTunes commercial immediately beforehand just to prove that while yes, some white men can rap most of them probably shouldn't. I can only hope "The Rubbleman" sweeps the nation as the biggest, baddest dance-club craze we've had since the oh-so-glorious Macarena.

Next week: Carolyn's in charge! Bring. It. On.