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I Love Money: The World’s Smallest Smoke-Filled Room

The contestants on I Love Money are getting stir crazy. The problem at this point is that there are only a couple of people left who are intelligent enough to put complete sentences together, so everyone else is left to fight over who should be Captain of the Margarita Patrol. With each week’s elimination it’s more and more clear that absolutely anyone could win this, because there’s no such thing as a competitive advantage in a crowded field of semi-literate alcoholics with ADD and advanced Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

This week’s elimination game involves throwing knives into the backs of papier-mache effigies of the remaining contestants. The first person to get three knives in his or her back is up for elimination, and whoever goes the longest without getting three knives in his or her back will be the Paymaster. Setting aside that this show has done more creative papier-mache work than any other reality show in history–with the possible exception of the now defunct Jason Jones-helmed project, Craft Corner Deathmatch–this is the best elimination game since the one where they had to make each other cry. White Boy is the first to get three knives, so he’s at risk, and after 27 rounds, because it’s hard to throw knives into dolls when you’ve had so many strawberry mojitos, Toastee is the Paymaster.

This begins the game of alliances. Everyone on this show fucking hates each other, so it can be a difficult thing to navigate the troubled waters of all the people you threatened to kill. Megan, who’s clearly become the ringmaster of this Cirque De So Sad, convinces Real and White Boy that they have to apologize to Pumkin, who they hate because she eliminated Chance, so that she will try and convince Toastee not to eliminate White Boy. Then Megan tries to convince Brandi C. and Pumkin that eliminating 12 Pack is the smarter move, even though Toastee gave 12 Pack her word that she would keep him around. Then everyone has to try and convince Toastee that they know what’s best, even though Toastee lacks the cognitive reasoning skills to tell the difference between her fingers and food. I’m not trying to bore you with such intricate details, I’m just trying to paint a picture of what it’s like when confused idiots are handed a shot glass of false pride and tricked into thinking they have control over something.

During the Power Outing where Toastee is charged with gathering information on who to eliminate, a Mexican medicine woman does what I think many Americans might wish they could do.

But don’t be jealous. Better her than us, as our spit is not imbued with magical powers. Perhaps she put on them a curse of irrelevance. Just kidding. There’s no such thing as a double curse of irrelevance.

At the elimination ceremony, White Boy, the Entertainer, and 12 Pack all put on their best outfits?

I’m not letting Entertainer off the hook for wearing all that make up, or White Boy for his touching RIP t-shirt, which is how everyone should be remembered, but OH NO, 12 Pack. You’re going to be late for the Disaster Convention at the Gay Clown Hotel. Anyway, despite all his confidence, well-placed negotiations, and dressing for successing, 12 Pack is eliminated. Is it just me, or does it seem like this show has been on since VH1 actually stood for Video Hits One, i.e. forever?