The Amazing Race: The Partridge Family Edition Episode 5: The one where they finally leave the country

By: Beannie

(Disclaimer: I am not very good at paying attention to detail. Like first names (which I omit with few exceptions), and like whether or not I am consistent, which I am not, in my team descriptors. Plus I don't really care. If you can't tell who I am talking about, look for context. If you still can't tell, well that's really not MY problem, now, is it? And I may have repeated the comments and observations, only not as funny, of the prior summarizers, because recall is also not my forte. And this show blew. I tried. I did. I really, really did. I even put in the word “race” several times to make it wound exciting. And sorry, no pictures either. I wanted to, but this thing is so late as it is and me being a fucking moron about all things internetty, eh, it just wasn't happening. But I am not going to get worked up over whether or not you like this summary. Ok, well maybe a little worked up, but I won't let it show. So there. You can't touch this.)

So, all of the good jokes are taken and hilarious, yet appropriate, nicknames bestowed. What else would one expect after four suburb summaries by the loquacious landru, decidedly reasonable dweeze, titilating TJ and the gorgeous gothmog? Good times, fun times.

Alas, that all now come to a screeching halt. If you are looking for entertainment, go HERE. Or HERE. Or watch The Colbert Report. Best new show of the year. But don't expect it here and for heck's sake, you should know by now not to expect it from that steaming pile of garbage that is now a mere shell of its Emmy-winning self.

But in case you missed the show, or were curious what a summary hatchet job looked like, you are in the right place.

Last week, on the Amazing Race – SUV Trip Down the East Coast Edition:
The Paolos fight, the Weavers are afraid to ride a bike, Carissa Gaghan's legs are too short, a Godlewski cries, a Linz farts (whether it was shown or not, we know it happened), a Bransen bears booty and the Schroeders crumble into a heap of tears and snot as they are eliminated in their hometown. And goth had dinner with Landru. (You might wish to go there now and read that one again instead. Seriously.)

We ended in New Orleans, before New Orleans ended. But now we’re leaving and I’m glad. Because it’s just a little creepy. And there are some things even I don’t think are funny. Ok, well maybe there are some jokes to be had, but I won’t go there. And no, regardless of how tempting it is, this is not the proper place for a corpse-fucking reference. That would be the easy way out – way too obvious. So,

6 teams remain.

Shit. Commercials already? And What’s this? A major corporation being honest about the current American class structure? GMC says “Some will get the dirty jobs, others a more luxurious life, still others get to save lives.” Or take them, or risk them or whatever. Heather Locklear wants your hair to look like hers did in the 90s and mine did throughout the 80s. And in case its every frame wasn’t already permanently seared into your memory, A Special “Platinum” Titanic DVD is in stores today. The platinum addition? Oh, maybe in this one, Leo dies earlier and Kate dies too. I love happy endings. Did you know that Tom is an AOL member, plantain-adverse and has overactive sweatglands, among other issues? Something about cold heat. Induction cooking? Cool top? Bullshit. I like my food hot, tyvm. And none of you mothers is taking away my fucking microwave. What is this? Fucking Gilead? Someone needs to be indicted over this. Prince Charles is coming to America and it’s 60 Minutes’ turn to pretend to care. When do we get to stop humoring those people anyway? Oh, and finally, Lucy Lawless is in a world premiere movie “Vampire Bats,” just in time for Halloween no less. Sadly, not recommended. As big a Lawless fan as I am (and I’m not), this feature appears to lack in cleavage value. You will likely be sorely disappointed.

Departing first at 12:40 a.m., having won the last leg of the race, is the Bransen family. Fly to Panama City, Panama! And finally, this clusterfuck goes international.

Berenstein Dad is proud his girls are carrying him and not the other way around. Proud, and really, really fortunate if you ask me. You know you can thank them for your free gas. (Much like Megan Linz can thank genetics for hers.)

The Paolos leave second. (Second? 2^nd? How on earth did they manage that? Oh, yeah, they are competing against the team who god-loves-best-but-not-so-much-really, a pair of button-cute kids and their disgustingly encouraging parents and, of course, those yabbering sister people.) Mama is very excited they are leaving the country. I’m not sure she understands DJ gets to come too. Moms need to take their punches and she’s getting used to it, them hating each other. 24 years of being unappreciated and shat upon by your spawn can do that to you. Or so I hear. Every Tuesday night from 9-10 EDT. (Don’t forget – this weekend we “fall back.” Don’t say I never did nothing for you.) Mom just wants to be loved, but DJ’s not playing.

Meg Linz Blintz (mmm...Blintzes, because I'm hungry), spokesperson for her tribe team of men who speak in methane-producing resonance only, says she knows she is not as strong as her teammates. But she’s smarter, waaaay smarter. She knows when to play weak and get her brothers to carry her pack. The Frat Pack squeezes into a sedan sized taxi as Megan and the nation hold their collective breath. Tom, Dick or Harry, I’m not sure who is who yet or that is really matters, is excited about the possibility of committing statutory rape until informed that that’s the wrong Panama City and he is, in fact, a fucking idiot.

The God,looseskin Sisters, or the G-menopausals, or Pinkies without The Brain, Yes, that’s the one. Anyway, they’re the 4th team to depart. And Christine, she’s one of the blonde ones, is only bossy because her ideas are the best. That would perhaps explain why they are behind the Paolos, perhaps the most dysfunctional team ever to “race.”

The Weavers, aka the Flanderes, aka the God Squad, are 5^th and think alliances are stupid. Yeah, it’s stupid no one wants to join one with them. It’s all good. They have an alliance with God, who loves them 5^th best right now.

Last to depart are the Gag'ems, who have a unique strategy of trying to come in second to last. It’s working well for them so far. Spunky little Carissa, who needs a good beat down in life because it’s a capital crime for anyone to be so hopeful and cheerful (even at 9, nay, especially at nine), says it’s better to be the almost-loser that the loser-loser. Damn, these people make me sick.

Teams. Make way. Airport. 2 Flights. 6:40 or 9:10 am. Counters closed. Wait in line.

The Paolos, (who don’t need a nickname - because I’ve been around enough Italian Americans in my day (being part one and all) that having a quintessential Italian name like Paolo is as good as Corelone, or Gotti, or Gambini. It says it all.) Anyway, the Paolos wait for a van because a trip around the world eastern hemisphere doesn’t mean they have to share a seat. Unfortunately, that causes Mama Paolo to crane her neck to the third row, exposing her third chin, when chiding her 24 year old son to make sure he zips his backpack and if he loses his lunch money the clue it’s coming out of his allowance. (My 8 year old already cringes when I do this to him. Granted, he still needs it. But if I’m still doing it when he’s 24, I hereby give him permission to slay me. But only in a dignified Italian mafia way. For the good of the family.)

The Blintz family arrives at the airport first and waits for the Bransens to get there and tell them what to do. The Paolos arrive third and get in line. Every other fucking team shows up and gets in line. The Pinkies without the Brain think they’re not getting on the flight. (Gee, ya think?) The Gag’ems, ever resourceful, decide that if the first flight fills up, they’ll need to get in the other line. They clue little Carissa in on their devious plan. Ok, maybe these people aren’t perfect after all. Strong, beautiful and kind, but kinda dumb.

As DJ prepares to buy the tickets, Mama swings into high martyrdom and an argument, of all things, ensues. DJ claims to not be retarded, although his choosing to go on this race with his mother would seem to indicate otherwise, and displays his mensa-like vocabulary by telling his mother to STFU. Pinky Sharon (I think – couldn’t one of them have left the peroxide at home? It would make identifying them easier.) comes to Mama’s aid, scolding little DJ for talking back to his mommy. She tells him he is cruel. He squirms. Papa squirms more, afraid the lady’s words will further anger the beast.

And to prove the Weavers point that God is watching over this race, the Paolos get the last seats on the 1^st flight. God apparently has a sense of humor.

All six teams. Now headed. Panama City, Panama.

First flight – Blintz, Berenstein, Paolo.

Second flight (and destined to never catch up!) – Gag'ems, Pinkies without The Brain and the God Squad.

The first group gets cabs to the Smith Tropical Research Institute to discovery it is closed until 7 am, much to their chagrin. The second group is still on the airplane, but are about the get in cabs to the Smith Tropical Research Institute to discovery it is closed until 7 am, much to their delight. Some even think it was god’s will. You get to guess who.

En route, the teams attempt to impress their cabbies with their vast knowledge of the Spanish language. A Brother Blintz can speak speak the language, much to his sister’s delight. Too bad he can’t understand it. He definitely has his head wrapped around “si” which I am sure was of great help getting them to the “instituto.”, The Flanderes are particularly good ambassadors, playing a nice friendly game of password with the cabbie. “Burrito,” “Conquistador,” “el speedo.” Ah ha! I have it, Wink! The Password is “Ugly American!” And I’m sure it was quite comforting for this gentleman to have a Aryan looking American come into his country, and his cab, announcing “Conquistador.” Good thing the teams aren’t in Venezuela or someone might have taken him seriously.

Dawn breaks and seeing as there are still six teams left, and there are impressionable children about, the racers decide as a group to get in boats in the order they arrived the night before. (Holy hell, what I wouldn’t give for a Jonathan , Colin or Rob right now.)

The teams that heretofore were holding back on their Spanish ability, encourage your boat drivers with such diddies as Vamanos! Rapido, porfavor! Endele! Speedy Gonzales would be proud.

The Flanderes get a push from God and whiz past the Gag’ems. A mortified Carissa exclaims ‘That’s not fair!” (Not fair? You want not fair, little girl? Not fair is torture of detainees. Not fair is working minimum wage 50 hours a week and not being able to take your child to the doctor when she gets sick. Not fair is the fact that I am coming down with a sinus infection and also suddenly have a bad case of mid-30s acne. Not fair is me subjecting my dear readers to these bullshit tangents and wasting their precious time. You don’t know from unfair). Oops. wait. I spoke too soon. Your driver wants to make a pitstop before taking you to the island? THAT? Unfair. (Next thing you know people will be re-opening plane doors to make for a tighter race and then where would we be as a people?) And, damn, we have to wait until after the commercial to see the Gag’ems fate. If they are making us wait, it better be good. (Like they end up on the wrong island and Billy Jr. gets taken by the Others.)

And now a few wise words from our sponsors. BP wants you to fill up before you run out of gas or they run out of reasons to keep the fucking prices so high. The Legend of Zorro hits theaters soon. Recommended. Catherine Zeta Jones and a significant amount of cleavage. Duracell cures hearing problems, herpes and world famine. Eat at Subway – they have Verizon cell phone service there. And there is no safe cigarette.

Crap. The driver fell under the Gag’ems spell and they are back in the race. Upon arrival at the island, all the teams race en masse in individual boats to an island to perform the traditional local custom of finding a scientist dude named Ricardo in a hammock at the Smith Tropical Research Institute. Unfortunately, there are several lazy Panamanians on the grounds and the right lazy Panamanian must be found before the teams can receive a clue. (Man. Why don’t they just give them sombreros and ponchos, name then all Juan and be done with it, already?)

The Paolos arrive first and promptly lose themselves among the Juans scientists, cursing all the way, allowing the Pink Ladies, the Bransens and the Linz clan to catch up and also meander aimlessless for a while.

The teams find the scientist with a clue (obviously not a NASA employee), in rapid succession and in some order beginning with the Pinkies, who abruptly rip the clue from Dr. Ricardo’s hand before he finishes greeting them. That must have been one of Christine’s “better ideas.” Because it sure was impressive. Classy even.

DETOUR. Choice. 2 Tasks. Pros and Cons. Rhythym or Coos.
(Alternate names Blow job and Peckerwoods rejected by the network censor).

Again, both highly researched traditional Panamanian activities.

Travel by Partridge Family Bus to several locations to collect four musical instruments – trumpet, trombone, saxophone and conga drum. After collecting all four musical instruments, the family must play "Baboloo" until they make the ghost of Lucille Ball smile and give them their next clue. (Credit landru one joke; total jokes in summary now equal to one) Or take them on foot to the Take Five Jazz and Wine Club. Something like that.

Coos: Pimp Bus to Parque Metro somethingorother and find 5 fake local birds with binoculars. Do they have to be redundant? Of course these birds are local. Their wooden! Where they hell do you think they emigrated from?

Did anybody else notice Phil omitted the pros and cons? I mean, he told us there were some, but not what they are? Is this new? We get to guess? Audience participation or he just doesn’t give a great goddamn anymore?

The Paolos find Scientist Ricardo next and decided to go for the fast forward, as do the Gaghans, because Mom and dad are all about positive reinforcement and Carissa wants to do the fast forward real bad. Why is this child even cute when she whines? She needs to go now. Preferably the way of Heather O'Rourke. ( Mmm, sepsis of the bowels).

The Pinkies trump the Weavers for most embarrassing geographical moment in the history of TAR when they have to have a group meeting to determine if being surrounded on all sides by water means the locals aren’t lying when they say no buses. “Better ideas” Christine declares, because somebody has to, that yes, this is an island and we knew that. And then it was so.

As they all “race” back to the docks, Pinkies try bribing their driver with $2, which at most gets them an impolite grunt as the guy lets up on the gas. The Weavers ask the Linz driver god to slow down the Linz’ boat. But god loves the Linz more because they pull ahead, either in spite of or because Linz brother B called Mom Weaver a bitch. It’s not my place to question the wisdom of god. So obsessed with each other they are, though, that god smites them and the Weavers, Blintzes and Pinkies pass right by the dock, letting the Bransens, who god loves most of all, get back into first place.

Fast Forward – Tandem Bungee Jump

The Paolos get there first in a foot race, because Tammy Gag’em, marathon runner, is apparently bad a short distances, especially when there is a stationary obstacle in her most direct path. But the Shiny Happy People don’t believe for a second that there is chance in hell these grumpy frumpy people are going to jump.

DJ doesn’t disagree. DJ is afraid. Mama taunts him. Way to work the love and affection angle. Then she threatens physical violence if he pusses passes out.

Papa and Brian go first. Lots of happy squealing and a kiss on the head only a totally masculine Italian Papa can give his grown son. The Gag'ems decide to wait some more, confident in only the way a team of cyborgs can be, that the Brooklyn Bickersons will chicken out.

DJ and Mama are up. DJ can’t do it. Never in a million years, he says. How ‘bout after a commercial break? (Ya think he can do it then? Huh? Huh? Ya think?) Stay tuned.

BP wants to know what makes you like a gas station. Well lit? Clean? Pay at Pump? Delicious array of snacks and goodies? Hell, I’d like it if they started accepting firstborn sons as payment on a tank. Shit, the way he is growing out of his clothes recently, I’m getting the better end of the bargain. Glade wants us to believe a small scented pouch, when plug into an electrical outlet, will kill the scent of a sweaty teenager. Yeah, and I’ve got a bunch of Nigerian uranium to sell to Iraq. GMC taunts me with cars I can’t afford and Phil Keogan sells out to the local tv station and does a promo for CBS 4’s “amazing” news team. Yeah, I threw up a little too. Well, a verp anyway.

Ah, after the commercial break and the passage of a something like a million years (give or take), DJ says he’ll do it. As they fall, they disappoint us in failing to locate each other’s release cords and instead DJ pulls a Poppy and kisses Mama on the head. Tearfully, Mama declares the kiss proves he loves her. (Thank you Mama Paolo! I no longer rue the day I set eyes and ears on you. Your insight has finally given me a rebuttal for the Mister, who seems to think “love” involves much more exertion and significant rug burns. Next time he begs asks, I’ll just plant one on his forehead and call it a day.) DJ, much like I suspect the Mister will react when I lay this one on him, simply rolls his eyes.

Having completed the Fast Forward, the Paolos can proceed directly to Miraflores Locks, the Pacific entrance of the Panama Canal (see, I paid attention at least a little!), the pit stop for this leg of the race, thus assuring us yet another week of positive family interaction on prime time tv.

Once the Paolos safely reach the ground (*sigh*), the Gag’ems finally decide they aren't going to chicken out and are off to make some beautiful music together as only the Gag'ems can.

Meanwhile, back at the detour:

Desperately seeking woody:

The Weavers have God send them down a man to drive them to the Sure-Wood Forest.

The Bransens pick up a local girl who says she can show them away. Language barrier or resourceful thinking, the young woman shows them the way to her job. I like her style.

The GodSquad arrives first and proceeds to scan the skies for Jesus (though Rolly looks inward first), to make sure he didn’t do the instrument detour with the other teams. Mom always wanted to be a bird watcher. Especially when they birds don’t mind if you squeal. The Weavers rush through and have to do it twice, but get done first.

Papa Berenstein and his eminently more capable daughters set straight to work and get it on the first try, just behind.

Doing Blow:

The Pinkies show they are not quite the dumbest team on the race, as they whore their youngest member to the Brothers Blintz to convince them to work as a team and carry their instruments. Meg has found some disciples. The boys finish in lightning speed.

And when they finally get to their task, the ever confident Gag’ems refuse to give up or panic and in fact, Billy finds running down the streets of Panama having sax is quite fun.

After completing the Detour, Teams must travel by Magic School Bus to Estandio Juan The Mostest (or that’s what it sounded like anyway) and ROADBLOCK. Task. Only one person. Perform.
Get a hit off a Championship Little League Player. Only three pitches or you have to go to the end of the line. (Wow. This? is a challenge I am glad I am not a part of. It took me 3 years to get a hit in little league. Let’s just hope these guys don’t suck like I do.)

Holy Rolly up first, embarrassed he is going to strike out with a 12 year old. He does.

The Bransens and Blintzes show up and all take turns striking out. The Blintzes, in the baseball spirit, holler “heybatterbatter” when Rolly’s tat the plate and get chastised by Mom Weaver because everyone is supposed to only be encouraging. How quickly she forgot her boat hex. Or does the nice to your competition rule only apply on land?

Rolly connects and God makes the pitcher pull a Bill Buckner so the kid can reach base. Come to think of it, do you think God caused Buckner to pull the original Buckner? Cuz if he/she/it did, he/she/it really hates Bill Buckner. Then Beth Bransen and Nick Linz (more paying attention! aren't you proud?) both score for their team and I’m beginning to think these players are trying out for Bad News Bears, the sequel of the remake.

Sharon Godlewski, the scrawniest of the Pinkies, is their teams obvious choice of hitters. (I suppose I have been giving them the short shrift. After all, doing the race without brains must make for light traveling.)

The Gag’ems finally finish the roadblock and thanks to Carissa’s great eyes, they are able to find the giant stadium as they are passing by. (This team would be nothing without her, I tell ya.) Billy Gag’em is all a-gush about how good a ballplayer Dad is and how he can maybe get a home run. Had this been Survivor, this would guarantee that not only would Dad NOT get a hit, let alone a home run, but instead would be swallowed whole by the native spirits for defiling their estadio. But, alas, this is TAR Family vaules edition, and yep, first pitch out of the park. Where is the suffering? The misery? The irony? Cuz dammit, I wanna see Carissa cry.

Sharon Pink is exhausted and defeated. Her sisters cheer her on and curse at the same time, blaming the native spirits for the foul language. What do you expect from baseball spirits? Crackerjacks? Pfft.

The Travelocity Gnome reappears to start off the commercial sequence in which I identified exactly one product I can afford – Stoffer’s frozen meals – and one show I can stomach watching, Survivor, although I could do without the seeping shoulder sores, thank you very much.

The Pinkies finally finish the roadblock with a hit by Sharon and a throwing error that can only be described as a. intentional,b. an homage to the Chicago Cubs, or c. both.

While the Gag’ems get stuck in traffic behind an obstinate Pepsi machine, creating some much needed, but completely produced and nonexistent suspense, the Pinkies begin layering on their clothes in the hopes of a non-elimination round. (Gee, ya think?) With heavy concentration of undergarments, because they know they could get hit by a car at any given moment and it’s most important to have clean undies. Of course, they could end up in a cold climate and succumb to the elements, but at least when their frozen dead corpses are found, there will be no skid marks.

The GodSquad arrives as Team number 2. I am sure 2 feels good, but what does it say about God’s love for them when he/she/it let the Paolos win the leg. Well, at least they beat the greedy Bransens (3^rd) (who have won just about enough, thank you) and the gluttonous (an gaseous) Blintzes, who are 4th.

Ok, so the Pinkies add more layers as they approach the pit stop. I was about to applaud their forethought when I noticed a Pink wearing 16 or 17 g-strings. G-strings? G-Strings? In a race around the world eastern hemisphere, where you know you will be sitting, and running, and climbing, and, well, racing, you pack g-strings??? The zero credit I have given this team so far? Too much credit.

The Gag’ems arrive next to last, right according to plan, leaving the Pinkies last to arrive and victim to the dreaded, but not so much, non-elimination penalties of losing their money and backpacks. No tears, here with these ladies. They are going to get through the next leg by relying on the extremely positive image of Americans in Panama and throughout the world. These ladies have, in their own estimation anyway, wits, charm, beauty and all the requisite positive characteristics. And, of course, g-strings.

In case you hadn’t heard by now, TAR is sponsored by BP and Verizon.

Next week on the Amazing Race: Teams walk across a long bridge and God abandons the Weavers in a mud puddle.

A Happy Fitzmas to all and to all a good night. **This is not to be construed as legal advice. Please seek competent legal representation from a licensed attorney in your own home state.** (Sorry, habit.)

  ¶ 8:44 PM