If one word could sum up Episode 3 it would be "lackluster." Lackluster drama, lackluster dates, lackluster bodily injuries, and so on. What was promised as Juan Pablo levels of insanity--Jordan may have shanked David! Tia and Colton are going to have an epic confrontation after their torrid romance! Football is happening!--ended up becoming Arie levels of disappointment.

The episode started on a high note with more of the Jordan/David Forbidden Bromance Feud of 2018 (TM) in which, without an ounce of irony, David cooked scrambled eggs and Jordan complained about him being a "dry chicken." Look, I know Jordan's dumb as a box of rocks, but for the love of god, the man is endlessly entertaining. (Chicken Count: 3)

But alas, the bliss couldn't last, and as we kicked off the episode's first group date we once again found ourselves knee-deep in manufactured Tia/Colton pedantry. Becca endlessly fretted over whether or not to send Colton home due to his (if the foreboding levels were to be believed) deep love of Tia, while Bachelor Nation rolled their collective eyes and downed another glass of rosé.

In a totally unplanned twist, guess who was coming to dinner? No, of course it wasn't a poignant take on race relations in today's society, it was Tia and the gaggle 'o girls from Arie's season!

Things get awkward fast, but not for the reason you think. First, Becca pulls Tia aside to discuss #Tolton and it feels very forced and fake and blah blah blah, although Tia lets slip with one delicious line before it's over...

Becca: "Do you think Colton came on the show thinking you were The Bachelorette?

Tia: "Proba- possibly. Yeah, possibly."

(Preach it, girl.)

...and then Becca goes to introduce the men, and promptly forgets Jason's name. Which is fitting because I literally had no idea who the fuck he was.

The date finally, blissfully ends, and we find our suitors squabbling per usual at the cocktail after party. David and Jason are at it again, arguing over Jordan's 4,000 weekly Tinder matches (psh, bitch, try being a woman--we get 4,000 matches in a day) and generally acting like dramatic, bratty little girls, because god, does this show shine a light on how painfully hypocritical men are when it comes to claiming who does and doesn't love the dramz.

David tattles on Jordan's titillating Tinder numbers then brags, "[Becca] sees the inner chicken in me, not the facade Jordan puts on," (Chicken count: 4) before Jordan one-ups him and once and for all proves he's truly the Shakespeare of our time.

Jordan: It's funny you think I'm a joke. I'm a Wilhemlmina model, I don't think you know what that means. So if you're trying to do that, you're failing, because guess what. Attached to me is professionality. It's my face. It's everything I do. It's the way I talk, the way I walk.”

jshdfjgfjgdf. My god, the beauty of it brings me to tears.

And it doesn't end there. He ends with the stunningly effective "Hey, cheers to you being a bitch," before sashaying away--off screen but into our hearts.

However, Becca quickly dampens the mood by fretting once again about Colton, still endlessly waffling between sending him home and keeping him around. She pulls him aside for a quick discussion, during which literally nothing happens--yet it's apparently enough to convince her that Colton should stay, as she insists on giving him the group date rose right then and there. Alrightly then.

None of the men seem overly pleased by this, but never mind that--it's time for the 1:1 date! This episode it's with Eddie, Chandler Bing's crazy roommate. Wait, no, it was Chris, sorry.

Becca and Chris are whisked off to a private music lesson and awkward pseudo-jam session with famed '80s crooner Richard Marx, who does a bland job of convincing us he and Becca go way back. Neither man seems particularly enthused, but Becca excitedly screeches out a song, making ears bleed and dogs howl for miles.

Now I know what you're thinking--this date can't get any worse--but hooo boy, were you wrong. Not only do we have to spend time watching Becca and Chris, but we have to spend time listening to them read the horrifying lyrics that they wrote for each other. Chris accordingly freaks, Becca frets about him not being all confident or whatever, they share a super awkward dance while Richard Marx sings, and we all waste 10 minutes of our lives that we'll never get back.

Then we fast forward to an unexpected Rose Ceremony.

That's right, our regularly scheduled broadcasting was interrupted for sham diplomacy, in which our president praised, acquiesced to, and oddly rested his hand against the small of a mass-murdering dictator's back to guide him into a room.

(Still a better Rose Ceremony than last week. And maybe the last we'll ever have, because they'll kill us all. Moving on.)

Okay we're back, and Chris and Becca are at dinner pretending to eat, and he gets a date rose, and then WHOA WAS THAT DAVID BEING CARRIED OUT ON A STRETCHER???

Blood! Paramedics! Mostly naked men on stretchers! Oh, the humanity!

Lincoln makes an appearance to comment on and on about the horror. "None of us know if David's going to make it!" he squeals at one point, and then we cut to commercial.

So.

Want to know what happened?

Were the fan theories true that Jordan is secretly a trained assassin and tried to take David out? Was there a brawl in the name of true love? Did Connor snap and hurl another glass-filled picture frame?

No.

David fell out of bed.

Let that sink in for a moment.

David fell out of bed.

They've been hyping this moment for 3+ weeks now, painting it as a blood-splashed fight between David and Jordan, when in reality DAVID FELL OUT OF BED. THIS BITCH FELL OUT OF BED AND KICKED HIS OWN ASS. THIS IS THE DRAMA WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR. HIS LAME ASS KICKED HIS OWN LAME ASS.

I really wanted to just turn the TV off, Bachelor Nation. I really did. At least Jordan swooped in once more to save the day, slyly getting in a "Chickens can't fly, and I think we all learned that lesson" to the camera. (Chicken Count: 5)

Sensing that our collective blood thirst wasn't satisfied, ABC tried to make up for it by taking a new group of suitors on the episode's second group date, where they discovered they were going to play full-contact football! In hockey helmets! Sure!

Fat lot of good it did Clay, however, as he ended up seriously injuring his wrist during the game. (I don't know how football, or hockey, or bodies work.) There's something deliciously entertaining about the actual pro-NFL player on the show hurting himself during the lamest fake football game I've ever seen, but I have to say, Clay had been growing on me. 

After he becomes the second contestant carted off to the hospital in one episode, Becca seems to think so, too. She's delighted when he's able to join them at the post-date cocktail party, and she promptly gives him the group date rose, warbling on and on about how closer they're getting and how happy she is that they're progressing in their relationship.

So of course Clay then decides to go home, because having his money maker in disarray is a terrible idea, second only to trying to stay on The Bachelorette and win Becca's heart. Becca is overly upset.

Clay: *leaves*

Becca: "Honestly, I have nothing left. I'm just done."

24 Other Men: "Um wow, yeah."

A few other things happened during the cocktail party, including:

• ABC finally testing the waters to see if Garrett can make a quick appearance. (Survey says: No, he's still a racist, misogynistic, bigoted asshat.)

• Speaking of asshats, Connor and his too-close-together eyes make an appearance

• Becca gets all giddy because Blake calls her his girlfriend, before she leaves him to go join the other 24 men she's dating

• Man Bun!Mike reappears

• Everyone is still cranky that they didn't have a booboo like Clay for Becca to fawn over

Yawn.

And speaking of yawns, we had to suffer through all of that--fake fights, overblown injury reports, faux love triangles, the very real threat of dictators overthrowing our democracy and launching WWIII--and weren't even treated to a real Rose Ceremony. We'll just have to wait until next week, when hopefully, finally, one of the contestants will shank one of their brethren.

Until next time, Bachelor Nation.