A manhole. No, really. That's the opening image of the second season. It's a manhole. They know you are excited about this season of Teenage Mutant Ninja Greasy Weasels. A taxi drives over the manhole. The manhole spews wildly bright steam into the New York night. Thank you, manhole, you may retire to your trailer and await your residuals. (Did you know that if you type the word "manhole" enough times, it will really start to make you giggle? Because it's true. "Manhole," tee hee. "Maaaaanhooooole.") Manhattan traffic is seen first in real time, and then in time-lapse trick photography that makes it appear that traffic in Manhattan moves such that it is visible to the naked eye. The skyline. The beauty of the city. The music that is normally used to suggest that the scene where the detective confronts the beautiful suspect is going to end with everyone naked, including the sketch artist. The rising sun. And then...the voice of...Trump!
"New York City," he says. "It's the benchmark for success." Bad start, Donzo. "Benchmark" is one of those words like "fortuitous" that's used incorrectly far more often than correctly. The Garner calls a benchmark "a point of reference from which to make measurements," but I think that would mean you're judged by whether you're as successful as New York more than what he's actually saying, which is that you're judged by whether you're successful in New York. (Verdict, Sars? Besides the fact that I'm spending too much time worrying about the usage of a man who can't pronounce "huge"? ["He meant 'standard,' I think. Also, he used the wrong preposition...it's sloppy usage at best." -- Sars]) He then says, "For only the very best make it to the top," as we slide up a not-very-subtle visual metaphor of a tall building until we -- that's right -- make it to the top. And then there is an even less subtle "the sky's the limit" remark as we watch the Much Bigger Than Necessary Trump Airliner Acting As Private Jet skate across the sky. Highly unconvincing CGI graphics allegedly float us in through the window of the MBTNTAAAPJ (known to its friends as the "Moe B.") until we are sitting practically in Trump's lap.
This is where he begins to repeat a lot of the monologue that he used at the beginning of last season's premiere, so I'm not sure I really have anything new to say about it. He talks about how large a developer he is. He's really large! He rattles off the things he owns. He owns a lot! I like how he lumps his two beauty pageants and his modeling agency together, in case you failed to notice just how many really hot chicks he owns. The new addition to his discussion of his empire is the meta-mention of the fact that he's even more of a big shot now, because of the show you are in the process of watching, not that that means he won't sit there and advertise it -- and himself -- to you. So it's like watching Trump watching Trump watching Trump. Are you dizzy yet?
We see a bunch of random citizens (accosted casino guests, perhaps?) act really far too excited upon being asked by Donald whether they like his show. Of course, they are completely sincere, and it has nothing to do with the fact that if they fail to give a satisfactory response, Trump will have them bankrupted and sentenced to live in studio apartments with dull, non-gold faucets for the rest of their lives. Donald talks about how after last season's finale, he returned to his first love, which is himself. Er, "which is real estate." That's it -- real estate. He reveals the much-sought-after scoop that he's made some great deals, and we just happen to be there with our camera running right when he's making one of them on the phone for almost $2 million! What are the odds? Incidentally, he's still loving that pink tie. In fact, it appears that at times, he is loving a pink shirt to go with it, which I guess is either an unexpected style choice or a sign that Melania isn't great with sorting the whites and the colors. Trump makes spazzy hand gestures (someone get that man into a creative movement class! That's the sign for baking bread!) while explaining that "energy is what it's all about." He claims to have "great people that [sic] work for [him]," and says that he just flew in from Chicago, and boy are his T-bills tired! No, not really. Really, in Chicago, it turns out that he was conferring with his right-hand man...Boyfriend Bill! Oh, hello, Boyfriend Bill. Trump reminds us that Bill won last season, in case you're not aware of that. Donald tells us that Bill is now "overseeing," by which he means "having his picture taken near," the construction of Trump's big new project in Chicago. We see Bill on the phone saying, "I'm on top of it." Obviously, Trump hired the right person. Kwame could never have said, "I'm on top of it." (Assorama would have said, "I'm on top of it, and also, I just won the U.S. Open.") I have to say, Boyfriend Bill seriously needs some acting lessons if he's going to keep trying to look like he does stuff. It's not easy, pretending to be in charge.
Aaanyway, Boyfriend Bill is old news now, so Trump is looking to hire someone new to run "one of [his] many companies." In a very strange shot, we watch a bunch of people pass in speedy-vision, while one guy walks down the street in real time, looking down at something he's reading and frankly behaving in a rather slouchy way as high-energy blurs go by him on all sides. This all occurs as Trump is explaining how very dynamic the person he's looking for must be, and I suppose we're supposed to think that he is looking one person out of a blurred zillion, like Slow-Walking Guy here, but Slow-Walking Guy really doesn't look like a great hire, frankly. Slow-Walking Guy looks like on his first performance review, the box for "Takes initiative in looking for creative solutions" will not be checked. "Keeps vertebrae aligned" may not even be checked. "I'm looking for...the Apprentice!" says Trump. Assorted skyline shots. Because New York porn rules! Woo! Go, New York porn!
A giant Delta Airlines plane (okay, it's probably a normal Delta Airlines plane, but as with everything on this show, it's shot to look like an approaching Visigoth) arrives at what is probably one of New York's many confusing airports. Trump voices over that this is no game. "It's a fifteen-week [!] job interview," he says. A bald man we can call Bald Man gets off the plane. As Trump breaks the news that there are now eighteen candidates (up from last season's sixteen -- hey, that's totally more! This will be so much better!), we watch the camera slide lecherously up the form of a leggy blonde. We'll call her Leggy Blonde Part I. We then see a guy who demonstrates what Ethan Hawke would look like if he went through whatever change affected Anthony Michael Hall and made him all bulky. And then? A twelve-year-old is on the subway all by herself. Hey, she needs supervision! , we meet Beady-Eyed Man With Oddly-Shaped Head. And then a woman who has very, very short black hair and a bright green jacket that screams, "I learned how to dress like this from reading The Devil Wears Prada." Traffic flows unrealistically quickly in Manhattan some more, and then Trump explains that some of his candidates have great educations from great institutions that almost never advertise during Pimp My Ride, while some of them only have high school diplomas, and will be brought to the final four or so, only to be mercilessly bounced from the competition and find themselves drinking heavily while inviting the Ivy League to suck their left one. The last part about "left one," he does not say out loud.
A very, very tall woman in a cream-colored coat and a bright pink scarf looks at her cell phone like she's already bored and waiting to hear from her broker. A guy who looks like Jesse Bradford's doughier, paler, less attractive third cousin gets off a bus. A black guy in shades gets into a taxi. A guy in a suit who's being shot from very far away as if they're afraid he's too gruesome to be viewed up close walks along the subway platform jauntily, doing the traditional Dance of the Muggable Tourist. The camera again (Jesus!) slides lecherously up the body of a black woman with frizzy light hair and great big sunglasses. Off the bus -- in a tube dress, no less -- comes Leggy Blonde Part II: The Return Of Leggy Blonde. A dork in a cab ties a bow tie. Shut up, Bow Tie Dork. The camera does a much shorter slide up the frame of Leggy Brunette. It takes less time to slurp over chicks with brown hair, you know. Smart-looking Asian woman takes her carry-on off the bus as Trump rattles off all the professions and walks of life they come from -- lawyers, entrepreneurs, venture capitalists, blah dee blah. Leggy Blonde Part III: A Leggy Blonde Christmas glides along in a cab. (You can't see her legs, actually, but you can bet Stumpy Blonde got negged somewhere around the second audition.) Trump claims that these people are "the best and the brightest of what America has to offer." America cringes. Canada? In hysterics. They're like, "Oh, my God, now I get why that one guy is President."
There is more skyline-ness as Trump claims that they will work on "grueling" tasks, as some guy looks out the window of his taxi. That guy is dead meat. And..."grueling"? Are we moving to coal mining this year? I hope so. Trump talks about how this season will put the candidates in contact with "some of the biggest companies in the world," like Mattel, Pepsi, Levi's, Proctor & Gamble, and "many others." "These candidates will be in the big leagues," he says emphatically. The Moe B. lands, with Trump supposedly aboard, because then he supposedly deplanes, talking about that "yooge salary," and how "they too can become a billionaire." He did that last time, too. And then we pull back from the Moe B. and watch Trump ride off in his limo. Planes, cars...what will those rich guys think of ?
Central Park, from above, and then...whoosh! We spin around as Trump talks about his love of New York City and a guy who looks like the Missing and Rapidly Aging Culkin Brother goes skulking down a hallway. He looks kind of suspicious. And then, Dead Meat Guy! One of the Leggy Blondes! Leggy Brunette! Jesse Bradford's cousin! Trump says that one of them will win "the dream job of a lifetime." Provided that your dream is to shill for Donald Trump until you're too busy to date the future star of The Bachelorette, even if you're lucky enough to meet her. Tragic, really. "Who will succeed?" Trump bellows. "Who will fail? And who will be...the Apprentice?" That's two dramatic intonings of "the Apprentice," and the show's been on for about three minutes. Somebody's getting a little carried away with having the star name-check the show.
Credits. You know, I'm not thrilled that they copied so much of last year's opening Trumpologue, but I'm happy they were smart enough not to touch the theme song or the Woo-like shots of Trump. Because those credits would almost allow you to entertain (briefly) the notion that Donald Trump is cool.
So you can follow along in the credits, but one of the Leggy Blondes is Sandy. (She was actually Leggy Blonde II.) Leggy Brunette is Jennifer. Leggy Blonde I is Elizabeth. Unsupervised Subway Twelve-Year-Old is Stacy. Green Jacket Lady is Maria. Asian Woman With Carry-On is Ivana. (Hee.) Leggy Blonde III is another Jennifer. Frizzy-Haired Big Glasses Lady is Stacie. Very Tall Mean Lady With Cell Phone is Pamela. Dork in Bow Tie is Raj. Bulky Ethan Hawke is John. Bald Guy is Bradford. Lost Oversized Culkin is Wes. African-American Guy In Shades is Kevin. Guy Shot From Far Away In Case He's Ugly is Chris. Beady-Eyed Guy is Kelly. Not Jesse Bradford is Andy. And Dead Meat Guy is Rob. And it's not personal...it's business. Come to think of it, if you're a candidate and you're reading this, that would be a good thing to remember, lest you lose your marbles and write me a stream of largely illiterate, profanity-laden hate mail.
Funky drums take us back to...more Manhattan skyline. They're lucky I really love New York, or this would begin to wear thin.
And then we're...well, we're back at Trump Tower, where Trump is voicing over that the candidates will live in a suite together and where those candidates are fast approaching. "It's brutal! It's tough! It's business!" Trump says. Upstairs in the Mocked-Up Lobby, the beleaguered Robin sits behind her giant pretend desk, with her pretend phone and her pretend flowers...I think only the chair is real. The gold (duh) elevator doors open, and one of the Leggy Blondes gets off the elevator. I can't reliably tell them apart yet. She walks over and checks in with Robin, announcing that she is Jennifer. Ah! That would make her Leggy Blonde III. Jennifer is, according to her caption, an attorney (booo!), and she interviews that she was the first one there. Which we just saw. I hate overnarration, in case I've never mentioned it. She claims there was a feeling of "scariness." The irony is that as an attorney, she's probably allergic to the word "said" in favor of "indicated," but she can't choke out anything better than "scariness." off the elevator is Maria (of Green Jacket fame). And then Andy. And then Leggy Blonde II.
Jazzy horns blare as the elevator doors open to reveal...spectator shoes and the bottoms of bright red pantlegs. Oh, good Lord. Bow Tie Dork, whom you will recall as Raj but who will always be Bow Tie Dork in my heart, sidles up to Robin all, "Hey-baby-hey, wanna see my collection of vintage gas station signs?" You can just see Robin being like, "Dude, are you trying to impress me with the flashy? I work for Donald Trump. He uses powdered diamonds as scouring powder in his tub." Anyway, Raj checks in, and everyone else eyes him like, "Oh, well, this guy is going to be a fucking barrel of laughs." Except for the ones who are jealous of the screen time they know he will get, who are thinking, "I knew I should have worn my suit of armor." Twerpy Andy interviews that Raj "isn't like any other guy." He goes on to say that the closest comparison would be Rodney Dangerfield in Caddyshack. The thing with Raj's look, though, as was pointed out by Wing Chun as well as some other people, is that it is utterly destroyed by his decision to wear pleated pants. Dude. Those are not sharp! He looks like an old guy going out to play golf. Andy obnoxiously interviews that he hopes Raj will teach him to tie a bow tie, because "those things are P-I-M-P." Yeah. For pimps who teach economics on the side.
Everyone sits around the lobby. Little Stacy looks like someone's little sister. One of the Blondes crosses and uncrosses her legs. Fingers are knotted together. Hands are rubbed. Sweat is spilled. Wes eyes everyone with disdain, thinking, "I could gut you with my fishing knife in four and one-half seconds." Maria says, in one of the most unfortunately nasal and whiny cadences reality television has produced recently -- which is really saying something -- that when she first got into the room with everyone, she knew that just as she was trying to figure everyone else out, they were figuring her out as well. She picks out Bradford to be afraid of, citing his "shaved head." You know, sometimes bald is just bald, lady. Bradford -- ew, he's an attorney, too! -- says that he thinks first impressions are really important. He says that his first thought in any room is to survey everyone's weaknesses. He decides to single out Pamela, saying she "looks like Cruella DeVille." He finds her "overly aggressive," so he figures she will be an easy mark. Yeah, keep tellin' yourself that, Sparky. The assumption that women who are aggressive are secretly weak and insecure? Always a safe one. Go with that.
As Robin tells them all that they can go in to see Trump, take note of the fact that essentially all of the men are dressed in businesswear, while about half of the women are wearing what are obviously party dresses. The tube dress, in particular, is a nice touch. Because that does, I will admit, scream of professionalism. It's just a different profession. We cut to an interview with John, who immediately reminds me of Boyfriend Bill. He's a "marketing director," and he talks about how the situation was anxiety-producing, but you're also "pumped up." The statute of limitations on "pumped up" has officially run out. It just happened right there. If you were listening, you may have heard the "Ding!"
Everyone walks into the Boardroom, where Carolyn and George are already waiting. They all settle in and wait. And then Trump comes in, sits down, and compliments everyone on how good-looking they are. Well, at least he's narrowed it down to their most promising quality. He welcomes the candidates to New York, which he assures them is "mean" and "vicious." I actually don't find New York all that mean or vicious. I have a theory of New York which is very complicated, which I formulated the last time I was there, in which I posit that New York is full of so many people that if you live there, you would never get any work done if you relied on judging people by outward appearances, which is inefficient. Thus, New York has been forced to fall back on attempting to judge people on merit, which is why no one cares whether you dress like all of the Village People at the same time, but they will shoot you where you stand if you don't move when the Walk/Don't Walk sign changes. I don't think that's vicious. I just think it's practical. ["Amen. We're actually fairly pleasant, most of us. We're just in a damn hurry." -- Sars] We could use a little more of that up here, especially in the winter. Anyway, Trump welcomes them to their interview with him and his "people." He says, "Unless you're not from this world [meaning 'unless you didn't watch last season,' which is the same thing], you know who they are." He first introduces the lovely Carolyn, who has had her hair de-helmeted since last season and looks closer to her actual age and really quite stunning. Trump calls Carolyn "tough" and "nasty" but "actually very nice." He then turns to George, who looks thinner than last year in a way I can't decide whether to think is good or bad news, and says that George is "tough" and "nasty," but "not very nice." Aw. That is so not true, Trump. Quit giving George shit, or he'll ding you in the noggin with a Polident tablet.
Trump comments that the women are all looking pretty cocky because they think they're going to do well, but he reminds them that the women last year only excelled at first, not forever. He says, however, that he wants to see the (tired, oh so tired) gender dynamic play out with a new group, so he's decided to split the teams up boy-girl again. The rules are the same about the competition and the tasks, except that this year, if you're the project manager one week and your team goes to the Boardroom week, you're exempt. It brings up the very real prospect, it seems to me, of something that wasn't really on the table last year, and that's sabotaging your team. If you were the PM last week and you're exempt this week, you might very well sandbag your team if you thought someone you disliked could go. (For instance, consider how badly some of the women wanted to get rid of Tammy last year.) On the other hand, though, it does, as Trump says, create an incentive to step up and be PM. Trump reminds them all that as talented as they are, only one of them can get the job. So there, punks! Several of them smile tightly. He dismisses them, and as they leave, Andy interviews -- while standing to a mighty girly display of purple flowers, I must say -- that he wants to spend a lot of time with Trump, but not in the Boardroom. Where others have professions, by the way, Andy is listed as "Recent Harvard Graduate," and I just want to point out that that is not a profession. That is a status, like "Just Ate Dinner."
Skyline porn. We arrive at the gold-plated Trump Tower, where the candidates make their way into their pretend suite. This year, their pretend suite is Suite 5, instead of Suite 4. It looks an awful lot like Suite 4, though. They all admiringly walk around their new faboo pad, enjoying the cheap-ass furnishings that are really attractive and are carefully designed to have a shelf life precisely as long as they are intended to be on camera. "This is bigger than my dorm room," Andy comments. What, the apartment? Hilarious. Shut it, Harvard. As everyone does introductions, Andy comments on Raj's pants, calling them "on fire," as opposed to "inadvisably pleated." As Raj and Pamela meet, he tells her how intimidating he finds it to talk to a woman who's a lot taller than he is. I hate that so much. Do guys think women aren't bright enough to get the difference between a genuine statement of insecurity and that kind of smirking, condescending bullshit? Because we are. And I know that, even though I'm not tall. "Get used to that feeling," Pamela says with a gregarious smile just because she can, and this is where I just know Sars starts to love her a little bit. He tells her he's going to "wear platform shoes like Joseph Stalin." I didn't even know Joseph Stalin wore platform shoes. Just another similarity between him and Tom Cruise.
They find the champagne, and someone actually says, "Ya-hoo!" Oy. As they all share a toast, Wes says, "I toast to the men dominating the women." Yeah. You know, if he had just been talking about winning, that would be one thing, but there is indeed an especially asshole slant to choosing the word "dominating," and it's not lost on the women. Which is surprising, considering that many things have apparently been lost on the women up to this point, including everything their parents ever taught them about dressing for a job interview. The music deflates, and the women's faces deflate, and Ivana essentially interviews that she's not sure what Wes's deal was with that line, but she didn't appreciate it. He takes a swig right from the bottle (real polite when a bunch of people are sharing, like, way to mark your territory with backwash, Fang), and we are at our first break.
When we return, we come back to Trump Tower, S5, where the men and the women split up to read their envelopes discussing what they have to do . Ivana and Bradford read the letters aloud, and after a lot of unnecessary buildup, the teams learn that each team has to permanently give up one member to the other side. So one dick goes to the chicks, one chick goes to the dicks. Not only that, but that person will be the project manager for the first task. The women all stare at each other, expressing the following thought: "Uh." Bradford suggests to the men that they either essentially vote someone off Testosterone Island, or they put names in a hat and pick that way. Somebody suggests they could start by just asking if anybody wants to switch. Bradford himself winds up volunteering, so there you go. They all shake his hand and send him off. "Sucker!" they think to themselves. "You're going to get such a case of the cooties!" Bradford steps on his own moment by interviewing about what a big stud he was for "stepping up to the plate," blah blah blah. Yeah. And then he throws in some more weak-ass baseball metaphors, and I guess that's his management style: sports metaphors. It's common, but that doesn't make it a good idea.
Bradford goes over to the women's meeting, where they're all like, "What are you doing here?" Because they're not really all that quick. He refers to himself as "the Bradford." You know who the last person was to do that? "The Puck." So just...take a pill and be quiet. Seriously. Maria interviews with a wide grin plastered to her face that "everybody needs a Y chromosome." Heh. Okay, I thought that was funny, just because she looked so much like she wanted to throw up. Forced politeness is funny. As they all sit around and discuss, Pamela announces that she'll go to the men's team; it's fine. "Let her go!" someone says loudly. "That's fine." Oh, do you have to be a bitch? Is that really necessary? Jennifer M. comments insightfully that Pamela's move was either good or bad. So, can't get anything past her, I guess. Snare drums accompany Pamela's march over to the men's team. As she slaps all of their hands, she says, "My penis is getting larger with every minute." And, you know...that's what I would like to think I would say in that situation. I probably wouldn't, but I'd know I should. And I'd want to. Rob announces in an interview that he thinks Pamela is about 6'9". Hee. He then says, "For the trade that we got, I think we came out on top." I think so, too, at this point. If only because Bradford already strikes me as the kind of insecure, chortling blowhard I cannot abide.
As they start to discuss team names, Raj announces that a great way to find names is by using British battleships. Oh, barf. I hate him so much already. Well, maybe not hate...I'm just so tired of him already, and it's so, so early. His ideas based on battleships, apparently, are "Intrepid," "Dauntless," and -- my favorite -- "Dreadnaught." Yes, that would be a great team name. Trump would not laugh at "Dreadnaught" at all. John busts out with his idea for a team name -- Mosaic. He gives a kind of bullshit explanation about how it's all the different pieces coming together, which explanation actually makes the name more twee than it is naturally. Pamela suggests "Empire State," which...is too long. A couple of them fasten on just "Empire," which Raj loves, because why name it after one battleship when you can name it after the whole British kit and caboodle? He goes on about how much Caesar would like the name "Empire," which is...just, man, shut up. You don't know that Caesar didn't make mosaics. Everybody had to take art, after all. Kevin the law student says that Raj was never hot on the name Mosaic. He liked Empire. As we just saw. Overnarration: the hobgoblin of little editors. Kevin says that this kind of attitude is "just how [Raj] rolls." Ugh. "Rolls."
Back at the meeting, they take a quick vote, and the winning name is -- Mosaic. Raj interviews that he doesn't like the name, because it isn't all about him. Well, he doesn't say that's why, but...that's why. He calls it a "fruity-toot" name, and he can just cut that shit right now, because people who wear fucking plaid pants and black and white shiny shoes and carry canes have a fucking lot of nerve calling anything "fruity-toot." Asshole. "It says nothing except the fact that we're politically correct...I don't even know." You can tell that sentence trailed off because he had no idea what he wanted to say. Because he has no point. Because he's an ass. He tries to rescue himself with the equally meaningless statement, "It's antithetical to my character and I don't like it on a fundamental level." Yeah. Thanks for that. Now go off in your corner and await your future assignment as a yes-man on The O'Reilly Factor.
The women's team appears to have brainstormed a very, very, very long list of names. Unmanageably long, really. Sigh. This is, to embrace a few stereotypes while I'm at it, almost always the way groups of women who don't know each other start out. They start out with these consensus-based, everyone-should-be-happy arrangements that are doomed to end in bloodshed and that, if used to order pizza, result in starvation. Maria rattles off the list, which includes such stellar choices as "Mobile" (uh, isn't there already a company that's practically called that now?), "Flex to the Max" (I think that's the new Weight Watchers plan), "FluxMax" (for which you will need an ultrasound), "Ego" (for the teamwork aspect), "LTF" (which she says stands for "Larger Than Life"...hey...), and, finally, "Apex." She suggests narrowing it down to three. Bradford looks unhappy. Maria hollers to the camera in an interview about how she thinks Bradford hasn't had a lot of "one-on-one" conversations "with a group of women." There's a good reason for that, you know. It's not possible to have one-on-one conversations with groups, you know. I think this show actually makes the Garner's head blow clean off. Bradford tells them he likes "EliteCorp." (Well, he pronounces it "EliteCore," which is, of course, the other new Weight Watchers plan as well as the way you earn a pink Cadillac from Mary Kay, I think.) He tries to close the discussion by just declaring that that's the end of it and he wins, which really does not go over well at all. They ask him not to be a dictator, please, and somebody brings up "Apex" again, which is just about as charming a name as "Acme." They wind up voting between "Apex" and "Triumph" (the Insult Comic Team) and "Apex" wins. And how have they spelled it on the sheet somebody took notes on? "Appex." Keee-rist. They may be the best America has to offer, but they would get spanked in a spelling bee by a team of advanced fourth-graders. That's just not a hard word. If you can spell "Ape," you're almost home. Bradford talks about how all the "girls" were talking at the same time and he couldn't make them all listen to him, and he figured that the team was really in trouble. Gee, maybe he could distract them with little bottles of perfume or get them all manicures to keep them in line.
The teams all mingle, and Bradford taunts the other guys for picking a "feminine" name. For fuck's sake, the team is called Mosaic. You'd think they named it The Pink Frilly Panties. Raj, with no team spirit whatsoever, once again pipes up about how he hates the name. Time to shut up, prick. The women of the brilliantly named "Apex" play right into it, cackling at the utter hilarity of the word Mosaic, which I think very few of them could define if push came to shove, except to be like, "They did one on Trading Spaces where Hildi broke a bunch of expensive dishes, I think." "Hey, dude," says one of the women to Raj, "Save your energy on the clothes and fight for the name a little bit more." Heh. They've blown the name insanely out of proportion, but still...burn. Jennifer C. (Leggy Brunette) says in an interview that she just could not wait for the guys to tell Trump their name. "Gawwwd," she says, right out of your ninth-grade geometry class, "you're the guys." She totally has no idea what that word means. Furthermore, I repeat, they didn't call the team Kotex. There is nothing inherently feminine about a mosaic. It's a piece of art, idiot. Twee, perhaps, but not girly. Raj grumbles off to bed, complaining that he "got [his] ass handed to [him]." I only wish that were more true.
The morning, the black princess phone rings in S5, and they learn that they're to meet Trump the morning at Toys 'R' Us at 8:00 AM. We see them arriving at the store, where they are gathered and Trump arrives. And Raj, because he's himself, has decided to carry an unnecessary cane. My exhaustion with him only grows more intense. Outside, Trump pulls up, blows off Rona on the phone, and heads inside. He says good morning to the assembled horde, and asks for the team names. Apex! "Sounds good," Trump says. Mosaic! "Mosaic? Wow, that's awful." Trump doesn't know what it is, either. I think he thinks it's Moses' brother. Because I just can't believe...I mean, how studly is "Mar-a-Lago"? Trump asks the members of Mosaic if they all like the team name, and Raj -- showing disloyalty that is not going to endear him to Trump, and thus falling into an obvious trap -- gripes about hating the name. Speaking of things that will not endear Raj to Trump, Trump now says, "What are you carrying the cane for? You look like you have two very good legs to me." Raj has no idea what to say to this, because the answer is, "I think it makes me seem cool and interesting, which I do not know how to accomplish in any other way," which is a very embarrassing thing to admit. "The team likes the name," Pamela says firmly. Trump likes that from her, you can tell, and he comments that it was "very decisive." He asks Pamela how she got to be on the men's team, and she confirms that she stepped up to "take a bullet for the women." Heh. Bradford says he did the same thing, but says he doesn't consider it "taking a bullet," because he thinks he "did all right."
Trump introduces the task by delivering the non-news that they're at the Toys 'R' Us in Times Square. He claims that this is the nation's largest toy store, not that you can historically believe everything he says about the world's largest anything. He talks about the $20 billion a year toy industry, and says that in the first task, each team will develop a new toy for Mattel. "You'll have access to all the Mattel resources you need." I assume this includes the Barbie Dream Drafting Kit. He says that when they're finished, they'll present their toys to various Mattel mucky-mucks. The team that produces the most marketable toy will win. And George and Carolyn will be watching, so don't try anything. Losers? To the Boardroom! Good luck, aspiring corporate weasels.
The teams cab it to Mattel, and when they get there, Pamela starts by telling her team to take their ties off, because nobody at Mattel is wearing a tie. She's probably too pushy by half in the way she says this, particularly this early in the game, but it's a good observation. Her white pants, however? Are not a good idea. There's almost no situation in which I approve of white pants, unless you're a guy graduating from high school with me in 1989, and you're wearing a blue blazer. She opens it up for brainstorming, and John suggests something that sounds kind of like a cross between a squirt gun and one of those baseball caps that holds beer cans that you can drink from out of straws. You know those? Anyway. It's hard to explain, but it's some kind of a water-gun concept, and I think I've seen it in the Harriet Carter catalogue. No one likes it. Wes has some extremely complicated and weird idea about a magnetic fish tank, and I don't even know what he's talking about, which is probably at least part of the reason it sounds to me like incoherent babbling. But not all of the reason. Andy bursts in with his Big Idea, which is: Crustaceans. He just wants to say it over and over and over again. Crustaceans! Crustaceans! Crustaceans! He calls his concept "Crustacean Nation," and says it would be...a crustacean with interchangeable appendages. Or something. So...like, a crab that can have a hook? I don't get it. And there's something with trading cards...it just doesn't hold up, to me, at all. It sounds like...I don't know, SpongeBob TransformerPants? Kevin jumps on board with some kind of a routine about how some of the crustaceans will be good and some will be evil, and...this is officially the worst idea I have ever heard. Somehow, I do not see my little nephews sitting down to reenact the battle of He-Mollusk versus Scalloptor.
Wes, the "Private Wealth Manager," interviews that Rob didn't feel like he was able to contribute to the team as much as some other people. We cut back to the room where John thinks they have "tremendous ideas." As Wes repeats that Rob was "trying to do his part for the team," Rob announces to the team that he thinks that in addition to crustaceans, they could also do an eel that would crawl up on land and grow arms and legs. Apparently feeling like this is a corruption of their otherwise flawless interchangeable-crustacean-appendage concept, the guys all look around miserably like they can't believe somebody invited this guy. An eel? An EEL? Rob interviews that his strategy was trying to contribute as much as he could without getting in the way. Back in the room, Kevin points out that you can't "accessorize the eel" (which is a statement far more gay than naming your team "Mosaic," if you're keeping score at home), and everyone agrees. "We gotta kill the eel!" Wes interjects. And the eel, she is killed. Rob says that he was doing what he thought was best, which was perhaps "to just chill out." Well, really. Once they dis your eel, what can you do?
Apex Corporation. (Or, if you like, "Appex.") Bradford is telling the assembled women that they need something that can be ready to go tomorrow. Elizabeth (I think) offers to write down ideas on a big board while they all brainstorm (although she uses a cutesy "download all of our ideas" expression, including hand gestures that could be some sort of interpretive dance move indicating "rainfall"). Sandy explains in an interview that they all tried to figure out what kind of toy they thought would work well. "The drag queen wardrobe for every young boy!" Ivana suggests energetically. Crickets everywhere: "[Chirp, chirp.]" Elizabeth says, "If a boy, six to eight, had an Easy-Bake Oven, what would that be?" See, I don't think she means literally an Easy-Bake Oven for boys. I think she's asking what's the analogy to a toy that a lot of these women remember playing with. One of the annoying things about this is that it becomes obvious, and it was even more obvious upon watching some of the Extra! Boardroom! Footage! this week, that they were told that they toy was to be for boys ages six to eight, but that's not at all made clear, so it seems at first like they all were just designing for boys because they don't give a crap about girls. Which some of them don't, but still. Bradford says that he "was worried that the women wouldn't be able to put themselves in the shoes of a six-, seven-, and eight-year-old boy." He interviews that he knows what little boys want out of a toy, because he used to be one. A boy, not a toy. Although really, who knows? Bradford shows the women a sketch of what he claims any "normal kid" wants, and I'm not so crazy about his use of the word "normal," but whatever. He's drawn a football helmet on wheels, basically. And in fairness, Pool Boy would play with that. He's not eight, chronologically, but still. Bradford really, really loves his own idea, which mixes the love of sports with the love of cars. It's really not a horrible idea, in many ways. My nephews would play with it, too. And my brother-in-law.
The women, however, are not feeling it. No one actually seems to like this idea except for him. Jennifer M. interviews that she thinks Bradford pushed the football thing because he lacks "intellectual horsepower." Presumably, horsepower of the type that would tell you that My First Drag Queen Ensemble was a good idea. She claims that "kids today" want "a more sophisticated toy." Hahahahahaha. Yeah. You know, my older nephew is within a month of qualifying as a six- to eight-year-old boy, and you know what he likes? Crashing stuff. If it comes apart? Even better. If it comes apart and makes noise? Even better. If it comes apart and makes noise and can be aimed at other people, such as my younger nephew? Even better. "Sophisticated," pfft. Baldford (seriously, I cannot type Bradford reliably, and Baldford is much easier) asks whether they have other ideas, and Stacie says that they have an idea for a car. One of the women describes an idea for a vehicle that would be made up of different parts from tanks and boats and whatever else. "No," Baldford declares. "We're going with the football idea. I'm making an executive decision. That's it." Wow. That'll make you popular. Maria points out to him that kids may or may not have any interest in sports, which is true. But they also may or may not have any interest in being a drag queen, Maria. Baldford repeats that they're doing his idea. He really did act like an ass in that scene. I sympathize, because certainly, groups of women are sometimes subject to this endless discussion/paralysis thing that they seemed to be lolling around in, and it may require somebody to make a call eventually. But I think he would have been better served by compromising to the point where he found an idea that at least someone was enthusiastic about besides him. It's not a good start on a group effort to pronounce literally every other opinion on your team to be of absolutely no importance.
Maria interviews, in her pink sparkle tube top (eye roll), about how Baldford made this decision all on his own. Back in the discussion room, he tells them that he understands how they all would like to have a say, but "it's [his] ass on the line." Well, actually, it's everyone's ass on the line, but...whatever. Maria fantasizes in her interview about getting her hands around his throat. Baldford stares at the women intensely.
This week's Black Screen Motto is "Be Quick But Be Careful." Trump interviews that although he respects quick decision-making, it's also important to make the right decision, so the best thing is a combination -- someone who makes the best decision quickly. The fact that you never could have solved that puzzler is why you are not a mogul. As Apex heads into its meeting with the designers, Stacie interviews that nobody was really all that jazzed about Baldford's football idea, and adds that some of the women had thrown around the idea of a remote-controlled car of some kind. In the meeting, Baldford tells the designers -- one of whom is wearing a remarkable black top with some kind of fireworks display on it, like…did you get that stencil off an old Trans Am? -- about his rolling football helmet, and asks them if they've seen anything like it. The designers tell him, it appears, that they are aware of such a thing, and it's not entirely successful at this point. As Ivana shakes a Magic 8-Ball as if she has no idea what to do with it, Baldford asks about just doing a remote-controlled car where you can interchange the parts. That idea seems to go over a little bit better. And, hey, it sounds like it's close to something the women were thinking of before he forced the football down their throats. Remarkable. Baldford is a little too eager to have the designers claim to be "excited," and then he interviews that his original idea was the sports guy, but when the designers said that they didn't think it would fly, he backed off. Of course, having a group of eight women tell him they thought it sucked did absolutely nothing to dissuade him. In the meeting, he asks the designers if they can have it ready for tomorrow. They say yes, but comment that they'll be "pulling an all-nighter." Baldford claims that he "reconsidered [his] management style" along about here, thinking that it might be better to be less of a dictator. "You can't always be a dictator," he says. That is true. And I find it just as sad as he obviously does. Jennifer C. says that she thinks the remote-controlled car could be "a phenomenon."
Very heavy music bonks on the soundtrack. The moon is in the sky. Morning arrives. At Mattel, Mosaic meets with the designers in the workshop and sees the mock-up of the crustacean thingy. They all love the way the snails and whatnot look so "scary." Yes...terrifying. Assuming you're a sand mite. Apex then meets with its designers, and sees its remote-controlled car, which does indeed have interchangeable parts. Apparently, they're ideally supposed to have four cars and there are only two, but other than that, everything's going well. Baldford talks about how much the design team rocked to be able to put those prototypes together 13 hours after they came up with that idea, and I agree. I love toy geeks. The team thanks its designers, and Baldford says that just when he was feeling great, he realized that it was time to go into the focus groups.
Apex walks into the area where they'll watch a bunch of kids through some glass while the kids either play or don't play with their toy. As the kids settle into the beanbag chairs, George looks on with a wide grin. Jennifer C. interviews that it was very intimidating being in that room with George and the design guy, watching the kids pass judgment. The demonstrator introduces the four boys in the focus group to the "Metamorphor," which is what Apex is calling its car. The boys react with a lot of enthusiasm to the idea of customizing their cars. They dig it, although that's mostly because it's a remote-controlled car. Baldford talks about how great they were when they got the toy, blah blah blah. He thinks it reminds him of how he probably would have acted, so apparently, the kids were kind of controlling assholes about it. One of them gets a wheel to come off the car, so that's going to be a plus. Elizabeth interviews that they will win or lose, "dependent on the kids." Thank you, Elizabeth.
At Mosaic, we learn that one of their "crustaceans" is an "undersea cheetah" that is "half-fish, half-cheetah." Because you know what's big with kids today? Centaurs. John recaps yet again that they had to go to a focus group, blah blah blah. "That was going to be where this task was won or lost," he says. The demonstrator brings the kids up to look at Crustacean Nation, which really is what they're calling it. One kid, whom Pamela laughingly refers to as "surly" in a voice-over, sits back in his beanbag chair all, "Carnation what?" He looks bored, and she agrees, saying that he just wasn't having any of it. And you can tell from the way that the honking bassoon in the background is going, "Honk, honk, honk, honk, he, hates, this, toy." "He was kind of wise to the whole thing," she says, and you can tell from that comment that it isn't that Pamela hates kids, because I think she sort of respected that kid for being onto the whole deal and not being impressed. I think Pamela was secretly thinking, "Now that is my kind of child." None of the kids are actually very impressed, and one of them even comments on the logistics, saying, "They fall apart too easily." For one thing, these toys require kids to do a lot more playing themselves -- for this to work as planned, kids would play with them like superheroes, which really requires the kids to be with friends and have some time to plan, so I don't think this idea is as hopeless as it looks from this display of junior ennui.
As Mosaic watches the kids, Pamela remarks about one of them, "Who cut that child's hair?" And...it's unkind to pick on ugly children or -- in this case -- attractive children with ugly hair, but...she's right, too. What she isn't displaying, however, is very good judgment, especially when she repeats, "My God, what happened?" And then even more when she adds, "He looks like a mini-Dumb and Dumber." Which...again, bad judgment, and again, kind of true. Carolyn looks on with obvious surprise and dismay. It's not so much that you can't insult children in front of Mattel executives, to me, as it is that you have to have a sense of appropriateness, and while a stray remark would probably be chuckled at by everyone, you can't pile on to a child without risking really pissing somebody off, and I think it's that failure to read the room that Carolyn is concerned about. Chris interviews that he was surprised by Pamela's behavior when they were "trying to make an impression." And presumably the impression they were trying to make was not, "Ugh, children." See, in the toy business, you have to be nice to all kids, because even the ugly ones have birthdays. John interviews that once they got out of the focus group, it was "out of [their] hands" and into the hands of Mattel executives.
Skyline porn. We return to a conference room where Apex is hanging out, waiting for a decision. As Jennifer M. explains, they were all sitting around when Stacie picked up a Magic 8-Ball and started "trying to get everyone else's attention in the room." Shame on her! The rest of them and their tube dresses would never! What follows is a very weird scene in which Stacie says a lot of things that don't make any sense, but nothing that's particularly wacky, either. It doesn't hang together very well, and although she comes off as kind of a goofball, the reaction of the other women -- who behave as if she stripped naked and started dancing around the room with paper clips on her nipples -- seems mightily overblown. Sandy bitchily interviews that they were all obviously thinking that Stacie had to be fired straightaway. Well, totally. God forbid you tolerate a quirky personality. "She buckled under pressure, and we can-not let that happen again," she says in a chipper, obnoxious, cheerleader's voice.
In his limo, we see Trump tell Rona to "cancel that meeting" because he's heading for Mattel. Wow, it's a good thing they had the camera there when he spontaneously decided to change his schedule like that and drop by the task. I swear, this show has the luckiest camera guys ever. Both teams file into a conference room where the Mattel mucky-mucks are waiting to deliver the verdict. As they're getting ready to do so, Trump is making his way into the building and up to the room. The design guy praises all the creativity they showed, and then Donald arrives in time to hear the outcome on the task. The design guys say that the Mosaic crustaceans were good, but "a little close to other things" that are already out there. And it's also not "wacky." No, he really says that. "Wacky." Hey, you guys, be more wacky! Not wacky enough! No, wackier! He also thinks they needed to tell the kids how to play with the figures more. Pfft. That's what I meant -- kids will figure that out, it just wasn't the right setting. The Metamorphor, on the other hand, he feels was a big hit, and the kids loved it. He feels that the "clear-cut winner" was Apex and the remote-controlled car. Apex jumps up and down. Mosaic looks grim. Trump then announces that Apex will be dining in the Trumpartment with him and Melania. He promises "a really great dinner." Baldford will be safe if Apex is in the Boardroom week. As for Mosaic? Boardroom. In fact, Trump claims to have "really missed saying" that people are fired, which seems...obvious, to the point of being stale. The men look grumpy.
Later, Apex converges on the Trumpartment. Ivana says, as they get on the elevator, "We're going to have dinner with Trumpy!" Trumpy? TRUMPY? And yes, there was a monster in a Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode who was named Trumpy, and unless she thinks that Donald looks a little bit like a biped furry anteater, Ivana is barking up the wrong tree. The Trumpartment is still really, really gilded and really, really tacky. I sort of have nothing to add. Ivana says, "I feel like I can't touch anything." That's probably because there are still little tags attached to everything of value in the apartment that say, "Not To Be Touched By Ivana, By Order of the Trump Guard." Melania emerges, showing off her boobs in a blue halter number, and Baldford talks about how Melania is "a fantastic hostess," and "how a royal person would act." By which he means, "Nice ya-yas." Well, he might mean, "Wow, nice ya-yas for a classy chick," but that's as much as I'm giving him. He talks about how "gracious" she was, and then Donald appears to join them for dinner. "So far, so good, right?" Donald asks, and they're all like, "Um, yeah!" Because what choice do they have? "Good, except that your fiancée is too shiny." Trump makes a lame joke about how Baldford did a good job in spite of being a man, like, ha ha ha. Baldford's all happy about being king of the chicks.
Saxophone music carries us from dinner at the Trumpartment to Mosaic cooling its heels in S5. Raj finds all of this "humiliating." I secretly suspect he finds it especially humiliating losing to girls, which is why I'm extra-happy it happened. John complainterviews that the girls are getting to know Trump "on a more personal level" (as if Trump has a more personal level), which he thinks is really important. He would give up all the other rewards for time with Trump. I don't know, dude. It didn't do much for Nick. Raj serves the boys something disgusting for dinner. I don't even know what that is, but it doesn't look good.
And we cut directly from that to some shrimp cocktail at the Trumpartment. Mmm, shrimp cocktail. Jennifer C. starts openly eyeing Donald -- dude, his fiancée may not be a rocket scientist, but what she lacks in sharpness, she makes up for in proximity, because she is right there -- as she voices over that as they sat at this "fabulous table," she carefully watched Donald, doing exactly as he did. She gives Trump a bizarre, coquettish sex-eye as she voices over that she wanted to be "as professional as [she] could." Not going too well for her, I have to say, the being professional. And...nice halter in her interview. Do the women on this show even own entire shirts? Anyway, everyone goes on to enjoy a lovely entrée, and as the jazzy music swells and we slide away from the Trumpartment window, we hear Donald say, "So what's with the guy with the cane? What's that all about?" Hee. Indeed, Trump. Indeed.
Quasi-Latin music brings us back to New York after the break, and Mosaic -- or, the men of Mosaic, more precisely -- are enjoying a game of "Trump" on the basketball courts. Get it? Instead of "Horse"? It's not that fascinating. But anyway, as Kelly goes for a stuff, he manages to put his knee through the wall of the fake S5, leaving a big hole in what appears to be the white foam board it's made of. "Anybody have some duct tape?" a voice wonders. Pamela interviews that there was this group of guys, and she came in to lead them, and they failed. She knows that the rest of them are bonding, and although she's trying to be friendly with them, it's not working so well. "I'm with the enemy team most of the time," she remarks. Pamela has a conversation with Ivana about going to the Boardroom, while Andy looks on with disgust, calling Kevin over to peek with him. As they walk off, Andy says, "I want to hit her with a shovel in the back of the head." You know what? That is not cool. You're like 22 years old, you arrogant little shit, and your brilliant idea just sank like a rock, which is a fact that nobody is going to eat but you, so why don't you pull it together, get over the fact that she's taller than you are, and suck it the hell up?
Andy then gives a stupid interview in which he claims that blame can't be placed on any of the men. Including, apparently, him, despite the fact that it was his idea. He thinks the problem was Pamela, obviously. "No man at any time knew what they were supposed to do." It's interesting, because the Extra! Boardroom! Footage! showed that one of Pamela's complaints about Andy was that he needed to be constantly told what to do and was incapable of handling anything on his own without constantly asking for the step, so I guess it's all in your perception, eh? "The blame here lies with our project manager," he says. Now I ask you: Did any of them not know what they were supposed to be doing when they were throwing out ideas? Because that's where they went off track. Not execution. They just didn't come up with a good idea, and that ain't on her, as unsure as I am that I'm going to be able to stand her for very long.
A bunch of the guys sit around and speculate about who Pamela will bring to the Boardroom. Chris and Rob both think they might go, and they both suspect that Andy might, as well. Rob also talks about how he spent half the day with his thumb up his ass, so it seems like he does understand what happened, he just doesn't understand who's going to take the blame for it. He interviews that Pamela is going to ask the question, "What did Rob do?" and that his reaction will be, "What did you tell me to do?" Oh, no. No, no. That could not be a more incorrect answer. A guy like Trump does not believe that in order to contribute, you should need to be given direct orders. How can he not know that? Ay yi yi. Even I know that. Kelly and Kevin talk about how it's "like getting ready for a game." Because boys love sports metaphors. Meanwhile, Pamela applies mascara. Because girls love makeup. Andy lectures us that Pamela sees him as a target "because [he's] young." And not, I guess, because his idea sucked ass. He goes on to say that Pamela doesn't know that his claim to fame is as a "nationally ranked debater." Ooooh, impressive! Not. I have no idea why he thinks that debate would necessarily prepare him for this. In a debate, you're not talking about yourself, and you don't have to sell yourself. It's really a pretty markedly different skill set. ["And the 'skill' is…remaining a virgin. I'm sorry, but it's true. Cram it, Crimson." -- Sars] "I will take her out," he says confidently. Because he's ripped up all the chicks he's faced so far...in his vast 22 years of experience. I have to say, as irritating as he is, Andy is the kind of person I am happy to go up against anytime, because he will always underestimate me, and I will always kick his ass as a result.
Sunset. Chanting music. It's time to return to the Boardroom. Mosaic enters, dragging their bags behind them. They walk into the Boardroom, where Carolyn and George await. When they're all seated, Trump walks in. "Okay," he says. "Tell me. Were you impressed with Mattel?" Pamela says that she wasn't sure that Mattel was on board with the information that the candidates had actually been given. Carolyn asks if Pamela means that Mattel handled it badly and she handled it correctly. Pamela's not saying that. She's saying the team were just throwing out ideas, and they don't understand much about toys. Carolyn comes back with her opinion that Pamela didn't understand the children, and notes that she didn't appreciate Pamela making fun of the kids in the focus group. When she brings up the haircut comment, Pamela goes over Carolyn's head by ignoring her and turning to Donald to tell him that the one kid had a really bad haircut, which is stupid for two reasons. First of all, it's totally insulting to Carolyn to completely take your eyes and attention off of her while she's talking to you. Second of all, as Trump immediately points out, he has bad hair himself. Pamela bungles her comic timing by feeling obligated to repeat her Dumb and Dumber line under her breath, but she acknowledges, "I should have kept that to myself." Carolyn asks her if she thinks she can relate to children if she talks like that, and Pamela says that frankly, she doesn't relate to children and doesn't have any.
Trump turns to Raj and asks him if the men shouldn't have had the advantage in designing a toy for boys. Raj goes into a big thing about how he was too good for toys as a child. "I was enjoying my imagination," he says. And God knows, you can't have toys and use your imagination. It's not like I used to make up complex tales to go with my Fisher Price castle (with trapdoor and moat), my Puzzletown (with railroad), or my giant creepy doll. Except that I did. Trump asks Raj if his parents didn't buy him toys, and Raj dismissively says, "I had a -- a truck, I think," but he's totally disgusted by having to answer. He's intensely weird, and I don't like him a bit. George picks up on this and asks about the truck, and then brings up the fact that he doesn't understand how eight guys on a team couldn't figure out that a toy for boys should be something that moves. Kevin says that they were "inefficient," due to the lack of a plan. Trump asks Wes who he thinks did the worst job, and he offers up Rob. "Only because I do not think that he was utilized nearly enough and did not assert himself to be utilized as much as he could have been." "Utilize" is one of my least favorite words, because it's almost always a pretentious affectation, because "use" will always work, and it's much shorter. Wes goes on to claim that Rob is "a talented individual," but then Rob cuts him off. Rob says that it's true that he was "not utilized." Carolyn says, "Is that your fault?" and Rob turns around with an entirely uncalled-for and disrespectful snort of "Excuse me?" which clearly knocks Carolyn back with its rudeness. Trump changes the subject so that Carolyn won't beat Rob senseless, asking if it isn't Rob's job to "put forward," meaning not sit around on his behind waiting to be utilized. "As a team player, no," Rob puzzlingly says. Trump could not be feeding this guy more chances to own up to not stepping up and promise not to repeat the mistake, and he's ignoring the opportunity every time it goes by.
Trump asks Rob who he thinks performed poorly. Rob turns on Pamela, claiming that she did a bad job. He says that while she's "impressive in the Boardroom" and she's got "charisma," she failed to delegate to him enough. Oh, barf. No one looks convinced by this argument. Trump turns to Chris and asks whom he would pick as "not up to par." Chris, too, will be picking on Rob on this, Pick-On-Rob Day. Chris says that again, this is only because "he wasn't delegated enough responsibility." And once again, Trump asks if that's Rob's own fault. Chris doesn't think so. Pamela looks surprised.
And now, Trump turns to Andy, calling him "a genius from Harvard," and talking about how Andy is supposed to be this great debater, and he has yet to say anything. Andy singles out Pamela as the weak link. He says, "A leader has the right to be defeated but never surprised." What a crock. And honestly, what an unfortunately stereotypical 22-year-old, I-live-in-academia crock. Any leader worth anything will admit that at times, unexpected things happen. People who tell you they anticipate everything before it happens are lying, trying to sell books, or trying to impress someone they're trying to lure into bed. Andy claims that Pamela was "always surprised," and complains that she ran the team "in an ad hoc fashion." What does that even mean? They only met, like, the day before. She really didn't have time to formulate a complex plan. "Ad hoc" is the way much of life is lived, Junior, not that you would know that when you haven't yet outgrown your overblown sense of what it means to have a fancy name on your diploma. And then he throws in, "There's no substitute for hard work," which has nothing to do with the topic at hand but is just something he thought would sound good. If he were as great at debate as he thinks he is, he would know that's a horrific, obvious clunker of a line.
Called upon to give his opinion, Kelly also picks on Rob. He feels that Rob contributed the least. Trump now turns to Rob. "Rob, you are getting killed, you know that." Rob knows. I think he actually smells himself toasting like a marshmallow. John is to be asked for his opinion. After an initial hedge that Trump grows tired of very quickly, John rears back and uncorks the absolutely correct opinion that he doesn't understand sitting there and griping that you were "underutilized" by the PM. "You're here!" he says. "You're supposed to be a leader, a Type A personality. You're going to sit in the corner of the room and say, 'I was underutilized'? Get yourself in the mix. Give me a break." Word. Rob, of course, bursts in to ask whether John is suggesting that he didn't do that. Yeah, I think he just did, dear. Rob goes on to rattle off a couple of things he did, but John's sticking with his opinion that Rob is a good guy, but not much of a leader for this environment. At this point, Rob gripes that he tried to get involved and wasn't allowed, and Pamela sort of tells him that she chose not to accept some of his offers to do certain things, but that doesn't mean she didn't consider it. It's interesting, because in a way, she's admitting he's right -- she made a conscious decision not to use him just as much as he made any conscious decision to go off in the corner and not contribute.
And now, Trump offers Pamela a choice. She can either bring two people to the final table with her or three. She asks what the benefit would be of bringing three, and Trump acts like it's a really stupid question, which it isn't. Obviously, in theory, it drops your odds of being fired to one in four, but that's only if you think Trump chooses at random, which he doesn't. If you don't believe he just points around the room at random, then the leader thing to do is to make a smart, decisive move to bring who you really think deserves to go, and you count on Trump to make the right move. Bringing three could potentially look defensive and scared, plus it pisses off an additional person who might turn around and bring you time. Stupid Trump. She's actually right that the advantages are very limited. Accordingly, she chooses to bring only Rob and Andy to the final table. Trump sends the rest of the guys back up to S5, and sends Pamela, Rob, and Andy to the Yellow Couch of Fate to wait for him to bring them back in.
Alone with George and Carolyn, Trump asks them for thoughts. Carolyn calls Pamela "a strong leader," but says "she might have had some...flaws." Carolyn gives her credit, though, for competently managing eight people she didn't know, and doing it voluntarily. George says that he's troubled by Rob's being underused and then not coming forward and sticking up for himself. Not needing much advice this week, apparently, Trump brings back the three from the lobby.
When they're all seated, Trump gives Rob and Andy shit about not pulling out Pamela's chair. Oh, shut up, Trump. If I were in Pamela's position, having my chair pulled out would have infuriated me. It's a competitive environment, not a date. Pulling out a chair would be a totally dominating move, and it's a good thing they didn't do it, because she would have stepped on them, and rightly so. She mutters, indeed, that there's "no need." "Pamela," Trump asks, "why are you better than Andy?" She says that she has twelve years of work experience, and she just has more experience in business than Andy. She's already, apparently, built two companies and been an investment banker. She praises her own "business gut" and says that Andy "will get there; he's just not there yet."
Now, Trump asks Pamela why she's better than Rob. She says Rob is a great salesman and "people person" (even though it seems like nobody likes him), but she thinks that in terms of "sheer horsepower" and "depth of skill set," he still needs work. Rob looks surprised. Rob protests that everyone knows that in the right task and in the right capacity, he's valuable. He argues yet again that he was "underutilized," and I can't understand why he keeps returning to that when it's clearly pissing off the boss. "A lot of people are underutilized because they don't choose to be utilized," Donald says simply. Getting it yet, Rob?
Trump asks Andy for his thoughts. He says he think Rob is "very intelligent" and "Pam" (sure hope she invited the nickname, because once you've fantasized about hitting her with a shovel, dick, you don't apply your own diminutives) is "impressive." Trump asks "who's the least of the two." Andy refuses to answer the question -- a very bad blunder in any debate -- and moves on to praising himself for being the idea guy behind...you know, the failed idea. This all sounds canned, like it's his pre-prepared defense of himself, and it doesn't remotely fit what he was asked. He argues that the only reason he's in the room is his "youth." Rob gets in a little dig that coming up with the name "Crustacean Nation" isn't exactly anything to get all excited about. And, no kidding. Trump asks Rob if he liked the name. Missing the opening, Rob says that yeah, he liked it, "But it didn't matter. We lost."
Trump says, "It's that time." He tells Pamela that he finds her to have a "very hard edge," and he's not sure that's going to change. He tells Rob that it was notable how everyone seemed to agree that he just didn't make much of a contribution. He calls Rob out for being all, "I wasn't asked," saying, "You don't have to be asked. To do a job, you really don't have to be asked." Amen, brother. Trump moves on to Andy, telling him that he does see him as sort of "a project." He says that he's not confident that Andy has enough experience to do this. However, he's willing to consider it and keep him in the game a little longer. Thus, "Rob, you're fired." Rob gulps and nods. They all get up and leave, which is nice, and more dignified than some people are. In the lobby, Andy and Pamela get on the up elevator, while Rob gets on the down. Because he's going to hell. In the Boardroom, Trump comments that that wasn't a "cinch," it was a tough booting. George opines that it will be difficult all the way along, because it's an impressive group. Carolyn's like, "Mm-hmm," and you can tell that she can think of about eight people who she would happily ship off tomorrow without forwarding addresses.
Rob leaves. Pamela and Andy return to S5.
In Rob's taxi-view, he says he accepts the decision, and says that everyone else is very strong, and very cocky. He thinks everyone should think every Boardroom could be their last. Uh, as it was for him.
week: Stacie is "losing it." No one likes her. The task is to create a new ice cream and sell it. The men try to sell ice cream with kisses. And Trump rips into someone in the Boardroom. Or so it appears. Hey, we can hope.