Brianna and Jake walked off last week's stage as each other's travel buddy. This week, Dante walked ON with a résumé.

If you haven't watched yet, go watch. Come back when you're ready to talk about the most atrocious 82% in DNP polling history and the Dougie-off that decided everything else.

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Kween Cece Szymczak

Cece walked onto the Boondocks stage to "Temperature" by Sean Paul, and I'm not convinced any other song was even in the running for a Trauma 1 ER nurse who loves to dance on a night out.

Her last name is pronounced "Shim Shack" and yes, it's going to be on the test. She's 27, originally from Wyoming, nine years in Arizona, and one of ten siblings. She works peds and adult ER at a Trauma 1, which means she has personally witnessed every flavor of human catastrophe and is rattled by none of it. In her words, she's in her "grandma era" (out by 11 because of work) but she'll still dance on the table when the occasion calls for it. Self-identified nerdiest fact: she loves Harry Potter. Movies, not books. She's trying to read more this year.

Our host, Jack Yaeger, introduced Cece with "saving lives by day, dating with intention by night" and honestly that's the whole file.

Her last serious relationship ended two years ago and she described it on a live Boondocks mic, with full composure, as emotionally abusive. The two years since have been about getting firm with her boundaries and her standards, and she walked into this episode with a specific list: tall, fit, outgoing, facial hair ("there's something about it"), loves Jesus, wants to get married, and wants kids. She's not here for casual.

Three men. Ten minutes each. Blind dates. Let's go.

Date #1: JJ — The Whole Ass Husband Arrives Right On Schedule

JJ Halligan walked out to "Right Here" by Justin Bieber ft. Drake, which is an absolutely unhinged walk-up pick for a ranch kid from a town of 400 people in South Dakota, and I mean that affectionately.

Jack's intro set the tone: "former college hooper turned tech guy who grew up on a ranch. He also watches anime. And he says he's ready to be a whole ass husband. Sorry, mom, for swearing." The tagline made the pre-date packet. That alone should tell you how this was going to go.

JJ is 29, 6-foot, born in Cheyenne and raised in Casper, Wyoming before landing in South Dakota, and has been in Chandler for eight months. He played college basketball, then coached college basketball for six years, and then walked away because "that lifestyle wasn't going to allow me to be the husband or the father I really wanted to be." He now works for a tech company — business development, hiring, office manager of the Mesa office. He is the oldest of three brothers, calls his mom every other day, and goes to his dad for advice.

The first ninety seconds were green flag confetti. JJ is a Wyoming-adjacent rancher, Cece is a Wyoming native who's bewildered that anyone has ever heard of Wyoming. JJ has read the Harry Potter books. JJ's favorite movie is the first one. Cece is a Prisoner of Azkaban girl. Her friends SCREAMED. Then JJ calmly explained that he's a weird mix of cowboy, college jock, and full-on nerd — Harry Potter, Marvel, anime — and it just kept matching her checklist line by line.

Then came the moment. Cece asked, "Are you a believer?" JJ didn't blink. "I am a very believer." He grew up Church of Christ. Youth group. Vacation Bible school. He talked about drifting from his faith during the coaching years and said the first thing he did when he changed his life was rededicate himself to those values. Cece is faith-first. Cece wants a man on the same page. JJ didn't just land on the page — he walked her through the chapter.

Also important: they're both roughly two and a half years out of four-year relationships that ended over the exact same issues (marriage, kids, religion), and they are both deeply done with casual. JJ said it out loud, twice: "I'm ready to be a whole ass husband. I'm almost 30. Time to get serious."

One crack. Cece wanted to two-step on stage. JJ respectfully declined, and she later called it her only red flag on him but noted he played it well.

Audience polled Date #1 as "okay, it was all right" with some "pretty great" votes and one person voted JJ is ready to meet the parents. Cece's own read: "He was a cool cat." Wanted a little more spice going into Date #2. Brother. She had no idea.

Date #2: Dante — The Inferno

Dante Blissit walked onto the stage to "Pretty Little Poison" by Warren Zeiders, and let me set the scene. Before his walk-on, Jack did the audience group shout-outs and got to Dante. "Dante's group?" Nobody moved. "Dante, nobody here for Dante." The crowd laughed. His friends were not in the building. He walked onto that stage completely unsupervised. Keep that in mind for the next ten minutes.

Jack's intro: "He's been called a bad boy, a country boy, and even an icon in the sheets, but tonight he says he's dating with intention."

Dante's opening line to Cece: "Bad boy, but I'm so good inside, you know." Cece, audibly, visibly, without missing a beat: "Sorry. Not my date." Twenty seconds in and she was already apologizing for something he said. The Inferno's Canto 1.

Dante is 27, 6-foot-2, from Ann Arbor, Michigan, lives in Tempe. He's a sponsored snowboarder, a content creator for seven years, a former PAC-12 D1 football and track athlete at U of A (shot put, discus, javelin — threw 189 feet as a senior, which is legitimately insane), a bodybuilder, and mixed Portuguese, Native American, and Black. "I get that Latin side, a little spicy and everything nice." Direct quote. That was the LEAST combustible information he volunteered on stage.

What Dante was clearly trying to do: be a provider, be a leader, be a man who "serves his woman." What Dante actually did: told Cece she couldn't drive his nice cars because she'd described herself as a bad driver (passenger princess energy — she was into it for a beat, less so as he kept going), asked her if she could "hang" with snowboarding and fly fishing (she can, her dad taught her), and then asked Cece to ask HIM to take off his hat so she could confirm he had hair. She did. He did. And then, friends, and THEN, he delivered the line that will outlive every one of us:

"I used to work for Brazzers and Blacked."

Reader. We were eight minutes into Date #2 of a live blind dating show with a Church of Christ ER nurse and Dante volunteered his adult-film résumé unprompted. Jack asked him to restart the sentence. Cece laughed the exact specific laugh of a woman calculating the shortest possible distance to her friends' table. Then Dante escalated. "Some people like to have our own horse. I would say I was definitely a horse." He then told a story about a girl he'd been talking to crying mid-missionary because she'd never been able to finish that way before, and she said to him, and I quote: "You should sell it."

I need you to understand something. Cece Szymczak handled this with a grace that should be studied in graduate school. She did not flinch. She did not walk off. She compared it to OnlyFans. She said, and I'm paraphrasing closely because it was the line of the night, that there are things she's done she's not proud of, but nothing she's worried her future kids will see. She said she'd hope her husband hadn't made a video archive either. She thanked him for being honest. She kept the conversation moving. ER nurses have witnessed the worst sixty seconds of total strangers' lives for a living. Nothing on that stage was going to shake her.

The audience was not interested in being graceful. Date #2 polling results: 82% voted the date was ATROCIOUS. 15% voted meh. ONE person voted he's ready to meet the parents, and that person needs a wellness check. Cece's own review: "I saw a lot of red flags." When Jack asked if she'd bring Dante home to her Wyoming-Arizona mother of ten, her answer was a kind but extremely firm "probably not meeting my parents."

To be fair to Dante, he did say a few genuinely nice things. He wants to be a provider. He wants his future wife to have the option not to work. His dad didn't make his mom work and that's the model he wants. He's working toward acting and has friends on Too Hot to Handle. None of it registered. He'd already handed the audience a headline. The rest was the closing credits.

Date #3: Austin — The Green Flag Generator

Austin Cordero walked out to "Just A Lil Bit" by 50 Cent, which is a choice for an Italian-Puerto Rican future therapist, but somehow completely worked.

Jack's intro: "a Scottsdale native who cooks, loves dogs, and is finishing a psychology degree to help kids. And yes, he's emotionally available."

He walked onto that stage with flowers. And a jelly shot. Austin had lost his voice that morning and Cece's first move was to tell him to take his time. Five minutes in she had called him "a green flag generator" out loud. Jack agreed.

Austin is 27, 6-foot-1, born and raised in Arizona (grew up in Cave Creek), currently Scottsdale. He works at Postino as support (does everything but bartend) and is finishing his last semester of an interdisciplinary studies degree with minors in psychology and sociology. The long-term goal is to become a therapist who helps kids with mental health disorders.

He's Italian-Puerto Rican. He has a fat pug. He is the oldest of three siblings, plus five cousins all born within the same month who he grew up alongside like one giant litter. His Italian family's Christmas Eve white elephant has swelled to 70-80 people in themed costumes, and he half-jokingly considers attendance at it a non-negotiable for anyone he dates.

Austin's whole energy was softer than the other two, and after Dante it landed like a cold glass of water. He opened with "If you can commit any crime... any crime... what would it be?" Cece said rob a bank. Austin said arson. Psychology major, behave.

He binge-watches Harry Potter every Halloween AND after the holidays, which means he has logged more Harry Potter hours in the last twelve months than most of us have our entire lives. He was Alice in Alice in Wonderland in high school. The third Alice. The little one. Of course he was.

One legitimate hiccup: video games. Austin plays them. Cece said, honestly, that she's never been attracted to guys who play video games. Austin didn't argue, didn't defend, didn't get weird. He said if it's him and her, the games are gone. Room exhaled. Jack: "He's treating you like a queen." Austin was psych-major-damage-control-in-real-time and it was working.

The rest of the date flowed. Pasta from his Italian side, tacos from his Puerto Rican side, refuses seafood unless it's Bucking Rider crispy tuna rice. When Jack did a count-of-three "what animal are you getting together," they both said DOG in unison. Cece capped their hypothetical future household at two dogs, one each, no tarantulas. Austin casually volunteered he'd raise a big one and a small one, which is of course what a person who describes himself as the dad of the group would say. The audience was watching this and you could feel the room silently crowning him.

The Elimination: The Dougie-Off Decides

Casamigos toast. Final pitches. Cece ready to send one home.

JJ kept it simple: "Our conversation was very natural. It flowed. We'll hit up HYROX. I'll binge-watch Harry Potter with you. I promise I'll take you dancing on our second date." He then offered to dance on stage first if she picked him, which was the exact right call given the only red flag on Date #1. Read the room in real time.

Dante: "I'm going to keep the same consistency I give you. Not going to switch up. I have my passport. I want to go to Japan." That was genuinely his whole pitch. Consistency and Japan.

Austin: "First off, all these guys are great. I wanted to hear more about you. I feel like there's a lot more to me than you heard up here." Humble, self-aware, therapist voice already activated.

First elimination: Dante. The audience poll had predicted it. Cece delivered it graciously — "you guys are all amazing and fun men" — and Dante took the virgin Casamigos drink on his way out. Jack's send-off was the single hardest line of the season: "Dante, good luck in your acting career. And selling horses." The horse bit had its own follow-through. Respect.

That left JJ and Austin. And then Cece Szymczak, registered nurse of Gilbert, Arizona, did something insane.

When Jack asked how she was going to decide between her final two, Cece said out loud, on a live microphone, in front of a live audience: "One thing that would help me make my decision is who can do the Dougie a little bit better."

Reader. Reader. They had to Dougie. Two grown adult men — one a former college basketball player from a town of 400 people, one an Italian-Puerto Rican future children's therapist — stood up, faced the audience, and Dougied for a second date. Jack cued it and they both sent it. It is the single most Scottsdale moment in four episodes of DNP Scottsdale and I have watched it multiple times since.

Second elimination: Austin. The audience was devastated. Jack said out loud, "you guys are probably all thinking, 'Oh, here's our couple.' Not so much." Austin took it with the composure of a man who has spent eighteen months growing into himself and knew he was going to be fine. Jack to the room: "Somebody better grab him. He is not going to be on the market for long." Accurate.

Winner: JJ Halligan. When Jack asked him to consent to a second date, JJ's response was: "I think I'd be an idiot not to at this point." Also accurate. Second date is drinks and golf at Tonto Verde and the production team may live-stream it. Cece made it extremely clear she plans to beat him.

The Verdict

JJ won because Cece walked onto that stage with a list and JJ walked onto that stage and was the list. Tall, fit, faith-forward, Wyoming-adjacent, Harry Potter nerd, ex-coach who walked away from the life he'd built so he could become a whole ass husband and said those exact words out loud without flinching. He was not the showiest man on that stage, but he was the one who told Cece who he was in the first ninety seconds and spent the next nine minutes proving it. 

Episode 5 is the finale. The desert is about to boil.