So I'm starting to think that Charlie O'Connell needs to get a serious clue about women. And not the sort you get from a phone call to one's famous brother... who's dating Rebecca Romijn-ex-Stamos, OK? That's not exactly the real world, Chuckles. Not that most of the women still scrambling for a rose are all that real, either. I mean, what the hell was with Kimberley's Samantha Foxx getup for that art-gallery one-on-one? Hello! Pretty obvious that it's not so much her "down-to-earth" vibe as it is her gravity-defying other parts that are keeping her in the running. Which she really shouldn't do, anyway those bouncy bad boys already threaten to bust loose every time there's a camera within 20 feet. And speaking of busting loose, was anyone else relieved that the O'C. sent Kara home after the Central Park skate date? Love her to death, but she deserves better than to have to convince a C-list celeb that she's worth it. Her daughter should be proud. Krisily's kin, however, may want to consider going underground, since the mouth that bored has once again bullied her way into another week. And nearly took down Sarah W. to get there. "I don't know even what the W stands for... wicked, maybe? Witch?" How about, "Wishing you were run over by a truck? Twice?" Oh, no, that's me. Aside from the single mom of the year, Charlie also gave the boot to Jenny, though I'm sure he wasn't kicking himself over that ouster once her needy side slipped out during the Rose Ceremony. "I feel like I'm being overlooked." Of course you are, sweetie. The poor guy has to keep one eye on Kindle to get proof that she doesn't stand to pee and the other one on the falls he's setting up for Sarah B. and Anitra. Because, mark my words, if the monstrous Krisily and stalker-in-training Sarah W. can last this long, you know they're a lock for the finale. And then, of course, a lifetime of shame. Damian J. Holbrook
There's no resting easy for Jack and CTU. While Marwan didn't escape with our entire nuclear arsenal, he did make off with the codes and locations of several warheads. And we can assume he knows the right people to launch them. And no, this time I won't reveal any spoilers from the coming attractions. I'll be sure to warn you next time. (To those of you who change the channel: You've got great willpower. But I'm into immediate gratification. Sorry!) A few thoughts about 11:00 pm-12:00 am:
1) Isn't the football handcuffed to a Secret Service Agent at all times? Not to be all gross and everything, but shouldn't Jason have found an arm attached to that suitcase?
2) "Hey, Marwan! Can you hear me now?" Jack, you really need to put your cell on vibrate. Especially when you're hiding from terrorists in large, echo-y spaces.
3) And speaking of Jack's cell: Anyone try calling the number he gave to Jason? Yeah, dorky me tried it at the commercial. And about an hour after the show was over. A recording said the mailbox for 24 was full. If you had luck getting through, drop me a note.
4) Is there really such a thing as a playbook with color-coded chapters? One would hope the president wouldn't need something so basic.
5) He's got the scowl of Nixon, the deer-in-the-headlights look of Quayle and the robotic reactions of Gore. Toss in a coupla Bush Sr.'s not gawna do it's and the newly-sworn-in-POTUS is a walking greatest hits of American vice presidents. Just the kind of guy we want protecting us from Marwan! Robin Honig
Kirstie continues to be burdened by weighty woes, but lately I feel like I'm getting the diet version of the show. Like a low-cal dessert, it was tasty at first, all covered in its pretty purple wrapper, but when you get down to the center, there is no cream filling. Feeling unsatisfied, I keep watching more, hoping to feel that initial instant gratification again, but so far all I've been left with is constant hunger pains for the real chock-full-of-entertainment series that I loved before they went and changed the recipe.
Tonight a moody, depressed and champion whiner, Kirstie decided to cheat on her imaginary boyfriend Kid Rock with Merv Griffin's billionaire pal. But her rich widowed lover has some big faults: He not only weeps at the drop of a hat but then has the nerve to dump the plump actress for being too emotional. Well she is, so cry me a river, dude, and get a grip, Kirstie. Hanging around with tiny people to be tiny? Funny. Wallowing in constant self-pity? Annoying. When the self-involved Kevyn and Eddie start to look like the sane ones, you know that something is not quite right. So come on, Kirstie! I'm cheering you on to get it together for the finale next week. Being fat has made you famous again and, trust me, your fans deserve better than being stuffed full with empty laughs and calories. Angel Cohn
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