Patti and millionaire bachelor Justin Levine.(Bravo TV)

Every Wednesday (except this week!), Senior Writer Allison Hoffman recaps the previous night’s episode of the glory that is Millionaire Matchmaker. For previous Matchmaker coverage, click here.

When The Scroll embarked on the project of recapping every week’s Millionaire Matchmaker, it wasn’t just because the lady herself, Patti Stanger, is a bona fide yenta who reliably dispenses wisdom in the Yiddish she learned from her grandmother in New Jersey. Since the show mostly involves rich young men in Los Angeles, it regularly features rich Jewish bachelors, from that Israeli real-estate developer who wanted a “spinner”—it’s a bedroom move, folks—to Jason Davis, the oil heir who introduced his date, and all of us, to his pet monkey (not a euphemism!). Lately we’ve had a bit of a dry run on that front, but this week, appropriately enough, brings deliverance from that desert into the land of milk and outrage. Or, as Patti groans: “Ugh, God, the Jews are back.”

And how! Ladies, his name is Justin Levine, and he’s “four-zero.” (Or “30 plus 10.”) He comes from Toronto, where his family owns lots of real estate, and where he spends part of the year shooting the movies he underwrites with their money. What kinds of movies, you ask? Well, movies like Boy Toy, and Natural Born Komics, and Wing Man. Pauly Shore appears to have directed Natural Born Komics. Levine has $10 million that his dad gave him and a condo somewhere in a neighborhood decidedly not the Hollywood Hills. But poor Justin can’t meet any appropriate women at his own Oscar party. What is he looking for? A girl with 34-23-33 measurements. “Are you fucking high?” Patti exclaims. “You want tits on a stick, basically!” “No!” Justin says, using his best “but, MO-OM” voice. “I want a nice girl who I like.”

Lucky for Justin, the other guy in the episode is way, way more repulsive. Kevin Strom, 41, is also a movie producer: His biggest success to date was last year’s Tom Berenger vehicle Breaking Point (so a vehicle the same way the Pinto was). He lives in a loft in downtown L.A., he has $4 million, and he believes in traditional gender roles. “While I’m watching football, the woman should be in the kitchen cooking something for me,” he explains. The actress he would most like to “do”? Well that would be Cameron Diaz. “Men are only as faithful as their options, and I blame women for me not being faithful,” he argues. “It’s not my fault they’re sexy!” Oh, and he keeps a spreadsheet of all the women he goes out with, so he can collate personal details about them and look like he’s sincerely interested. All this, despite the fact that he wears purple shirts printed with flowers!

Patti decides she’s going to educate these two buffoons, in hopes not so much of helping them find love but of making them a little less terrible for the women who will inevitably agree to go out with them. The girls Patti lines up for her teachable moment don’t look so thrilled to be stripped of their various sparkly accoutrements and squeezed into identical blue tank tops and jeans. “No makeup, hair pulled back,” Patti says. “This way the modelizers must infiltrate the heart and get to know the girls from the inside out.”

A nice idea, but no. Justin looks deflated, while Kevin cheerfully eyes the scrubbed-looking horde and says it reminds him of his days in Catholic school. They both wind up picking the same girl, a pert 21-year-old brunette named Jennifer who, between her high-volume hair and smart mouth, is well on her way to becoming a Real Housewife of some unfortunate town. “Jennifer’s got the drive and the chutzpah to get the job done,” Patti says, confidently. Sadly, the two Peters Pan can’t both go on dates with her, and Patti says it’s up to Jennifer to choose which bachelor she wants to see. But she hesitates for a moment! Disaster! Both men decide they want nothing more to do with her. Patti sees it’s all going downhill from here, and yet we have another 15 minutes of airtime to get through.

Justin proceeds to devise a clever, evil plan that goes like this: He’s going to go on his stupid date with stupid Jennifer, but he’s secretly going to invite Kate, the naïve blonde life-insurance broker he passed over, to join them. “Patti is not the boss of me!” he tells the camera crew, who surely go right back and inform Patti. He and Jennifer go to Madison Kelly NYC, a store in Beverly Hills, where Jennifer’s supposed to pick out an outfit and jewelry, Pretty Woman-style. Not my allusion! While Jennifer’s modeling dresses, Justin actually refers to the movie, in which, we’ll recall, Richard Gere bought Julia Roberts the clothes, Julia Roberts being a hooker. “No guy has ever pampered me like that,” Jennifer says. (She may, in fairness, be too young to have seen the movie.)

But all this changes when clueless Katie walks in! Because even Jennifer knows there can only be one princess at the top of the fire escape. “This like a menage á freakin trois,” Jennifer bursts out. Justin responds by saying he’s going to bring some candy over. “Candy’s a girl?” Jennifer deadpans. “This is offensive, this is rude, this is so … not cool,” she continues. But, as a friend of The Scroll pointed out, Jennifer stuck around to drain her bottle of wine. Well, who can blame the girl for wanting a little more face time, right? Justin gets called into Principal Patti’s office for a talking-to, and she gives him the verdict straight up: “You’re a douchebag.” Sayonara, Semite!

Kevin, meantime, winds up looking surprisingly good. He takes his ladyfriend, Jamie, for a spa day at the St. Regis, a luxury resort in Dana Point. Which might have been OK, except that she seems to think he has something more severe than cooties. Here they are in a bathtub together drinking champagne, and she’s all, “I don’t know this man at all. I am not Julia Roberts!” (There’s that movie again!) Then Kevin awkwardly compliments her “skinny perfect body,” which comes out sounding like code for, “Where are your breasts? I specifically asked for breasts.” Next they move on to dinner, which Kevin has coyly ordered in the suite, right next to a bed decorated with white rose petals. Happily, the chef has sent up some sautéed liver, which they both find equally gross. “That is so sick,” Kevin says, washing it down with fizz. “Maybe that’s a gall bladder, I don’t know.” And now they’re both laughing! And making faces! They’re having … fun!

But the magic doesn’t last long. Kevin, wearing another appalling embroidered shirt, loses his self-control and invites Jamie to bed with him. She turns on him. “I want class,” she says, pouting. “I’m not a little hoochie.” “That’s OK!” Kevin reassures her. He’s just gonna wait until “a future time” to have sex with her, he informs the viewers at home. #EPICFAIL.

Next week is the season finale! Someone dances funny, someone takes a private jet to San Francisco, and a guy named Hillel gets a girl to break Patti’s rules. Moses, can’t the days go any faster?