Trouble Is Brewing

Previously on Hotel New Crapshire: Brian chose toilets over carpeting, which is a fine idea in a men's room, but not such a great idea at a motel. He also chose dictatorship over diplomacy, and made even Kristen look cool for telling him to shut up. He made John hate him, which isn't easy, and he wasn't able to compensate for his personal sucking with good performance, so he went down in a blaze of glory by firing himself. And Magna threw a big kegger. (Is that giving Magna short shrift? You have to understand, I'm trying to get this recap done so that I can go to some God-forsaken location in Wisconsin -- booooo! -- to be a spectator at a cutthroat chicken-eating contest. So totally not lying.)

This week's New York skyline porn is accompanied by acoustic guitar, which is quite a change-up, and which makes no sense at all, until you hear a woman singing badly. So apparently, one of the chicks has appropriated Danny's guitar and is using it to lament her old boyfriends or something, not that I can make out any words. And not that she seems to have committed to any particular key, although I'm not one to knock artistic freedom. She's doing it in a very, very off-key fashion, unfortunately. But when we pop up into the L-Pal, we find that -- ack! -- it's actually Danny singing like a woman singing badly. It's these moments when I wish someone would hit me with something heavy, seriously. My kingdom for a candlestick. And he's wearing a salmon-colored t-shirt, too, so it's like he's 37 percent girl, and it's the kind of girl who's 74 percent nail polish. As he continues playing, he voices over that he's happy they're "moving ahead" following the Verna meltdown of last week. "This is going to be great!" he interviews, not sounding very convinced for a guy who likes to make his team yell, "UNBELIEVABLE!" like they've all been drinking the Fool-Aid.

The door to the suite opens, and here comes the entire Net Worth team, with the exception of Fire-Me Brian, who of course put himself so firmly in the line of fire last week that there was no point in a final table. "Count how many people are walking in right now," Kristen (I think) comments. As if anyone on this show can count. Give me a break. "He fired Brian right then and there," someone says, as Kendra's mouth hangs comically open. "What happened?" asks some Magnan or another. "He's an idiot walking," says Audrey of the Five-Dollar Ass. Uh, no offense. In my favorite moment of the episode, even though I will hate Michael by the end, Tara tells the group that Brian basically told himself, "I'm fired," and Michael responds by holding up the Trump-alicious cobra hand in his own face and saying, "He went like this? 'I'm fired'?" And he seems to be serious, that for a moment, he thinks Brian literally fired himself. Tara clarifies that no, she's not saying it was quite like that. Hee. Michael says with great irony in an interview that this means "rules can be broken" in the Boardroom, given the failure to even do a final table.

Craig, John, and Kendra shoot hoops (I knew she was the coolest of the women) as Danny comforts a still-lagging Verna. Verna assures Danny that she'll be fine. He voices over that she looks "run-down," but he thinks she'll rally. Ha ha ha, yeah. Probably. Verna tells Danny she has "inner strength to stay here." So she's about to get out all that inner strength and run it up the flagpole. Stand back! Verna's inner strength is flapping! He tells her that if she's feeling sick and needs to lie around, she should just do that and "let [the team] be sensitive to that." Yeah, I'll be counting on their sensitivity. Danny interviews that he wanted to "get everyone together as a support group" for Verna. A support group? What is this, a Dr. Phil special? Gah. Danny gets the team in the living room, where he announces that if Verna wants to stay home from the task tomorrow and lag around the suite, "that's cool." The rest of the team has this expression on their faces: "Um." Erin, wearing a fur-trimmed coat that saps all her credibility, sarcastically characterizes Danny's approach in an interview as "this clearly isn't The Apprentice, this is clearly kindergarten." And if that's true, if Danny does think that, I think all that really means is that he saw last season. Back in the lack-of-support group, Erin speaks up that she's not so sure about Verna staying home from the task. Like, what would happen if she needed to stay home, and then they lost, and they went to the Boardroom? She's also concerned about Verna quitting again in the future, logically enough. Michael opines in an interview that he personally believes Verna is physically fine, she's just not up to the fast-paced stuff. It's the kind of thing guys say when they're struggling to finish a sentence without using the words "she probably has" or "her period."

Ultimately, Verna announces that she feels bad for the team, but she's actually going to just quit now, because she feels bad, and she doesn't think she's going to feel better anytime soon. Only Danny looks crestfallen over this. Verna gets up and gives everyone hugs, as if they cared about her, which they don't. Really, the cold, meaningless, entirely emotionally vacant embraces are the ones you always remember. Erin tells Verna she's "brave." For quitting, I guess. Good one. Very sincere. Bren interviews that while Danny was "bummed out," he thinks Verna lacked the "burning desire." And a reality show contestant is nothing without her burning desire. Verna and Danny share one last Flake Hug, and she takes her leave. Sad music plays as Michael interviews that "it's bullshit that Verna quit." He goes on to mealy-mouth yet again about how Verna doesn't understand the "fast-paced business environment." It's fairly clear that Magna is out of its depth here, not only because Verna doesn't appear entirely well, but also because the task at hand involves genuine empathy, and genuine empathy is in short supply in a house where everyone knows there will one day be a big multi-publicist cage match over who gets to show off his or her apartment kitchen in some trendy-ass decorating magazine. As the team goes ahead with making food and things, Verna rolls her little rolly-case out of the suite. Michael calls her "a nuisance" and "useless." He doesn't understand how anyone can quit, because he's never had to work with himself. "At least get fired with some dignity," he says. I never know whether to grudgingly admire, wistfully pity, or fundamentally hate people who look to this kind of show for dignity. It's usually the last one. The door closes after Verna as she becomes one of a very tiny number of reality show participants to voluntarily shrink his or her minutes of fame from fifteen to something short of that. Weird.

The Trump motto this week is "Lead With Authority." Trump tells us that leaders don't "lead by consensus," because a leader is a person who may go against everyone to make the decision he perceives to be the right one. In a meeting including Boyfriend Bill (oh, hi, Boyfriend Bill!), Trump gets mad at some guy named Pete for something or other. Leading with authority, that's Trump. I suspect Pete is buried in the concrete in the foundation of the Trump National Cement Block Showcase right about now.

The sun comes up, just like in The Lion King, but with less singing, at least for the moment. We return to the suite, where the team has decided to take matters into its own hands, and Danny is calling Rhona on the Rhonaphone to report that Verna has fled the coop. He tells her that they'd appreciate it if she'd pass along to Trump the message that Verna is gone. Rhona agrees to pass along that message, and of course, she has one of her own -- the team should meet Trump in Times Square ASAP. That's all she says -- "as soon as possible." So apparently, Trump's just standing around waiting for them. We watch the team stroll toward Times Square, where indeed, they encounter Trump and the Viceroys just pulling up in their limo. Great timing! Trump and his pink tie talk about how tough the experience is, and give Verna's departure a shout-out. "Verna couldn't hack it. She quit! She left!" He is such a soft touch. Oh, and I am in love with Audrey's gigantic hoop earrings, which I could put around my rather thick wrists without difficulty. Danny looks all sad, but Trump goes on to say that "in life, people quit." He asks whether anybody else would like to leave. Unfortunately, no one does. It really could have sped up the show if they had. They all say "no," though, and kind of emphatically.

Trump introduces the task by saying that Nestle is the biggest food company there is. Worth more than $100 billion. "So that's $96 billion more than I'm worth!" Trump says with shock. "And I'm not happy with that!" The candidates laugh, just the way they would if it were funny. Of course, if he were capable of being funny, he might not have the four billion, so he might want to quit while he's ahead. Trump says that they'll be working with Nescafe Taster's Choice, and adds that "it's really good, believe me," as if he has ever had instant coffee in his entire life, other than maybe espresso powder on his sidewalk whenever it snows. Trump explains that each team will have a $75,000 budget from the two Nestle execs who are present. The challenge will be to "create a marketing campaign" for Nescafe, using big ideas. Big! Ideas! Like...mime! Hold on to that. And again, the winning team will be the one that creates "the most buzz" and "the most excitement." And the losers will go to the Boardroom. Oh, and he reminds Michael of his exemption. Sigh. We hate Michael's exemption! Trump greets a bunch of fans as he's leaving, because he is all mobbed by the common people now. He's like the Pied Piper of Money, except that if anyone tries to follow him, he has them shot.

A sax plays us into the task, which is taking place at Nestle. And you have to admit that Nestle is the most blatantly sexual of all the major grocery brands. There's something going on there that you just don't get from something like Pillsbury, although interestingly enough, it would work with General Mills. Anyway, Bren says in the Magna meeting that because it's a creative marketing task, he would put Danny up as a great prospective PM. Danny accepts. And why wouldn't you put the guy in charge of your marketing effort whose most recent marketing effort last time Carolyn called the worst she had ever seen? Danny re-introduces the task, talking about how they're going to be judged for representing the product well, being creative, and so forth. There is some team chatting about the promotion, and then we watch the increasingly obnoxious Michael explaining to Bren how at cafes in Europe, there's Nescafe everywhere. So Michael wants to promote "a European lifestyle," complete with "European models." And mopeds. I hate him instantly. It's something about the way he says "mopeds." "Trust me," Michael says, "everybody loves a beautiful European model." And also, everyone is a straight man. Stephanie sits with her mouth agape. She interviews that Michael basically didn't take the task seriously, because he was exempt. "He pretty much just sat back and enjoyed the ride," she says. And it's not like it's very much of a ride, either. It's like sitting back and enjoying the people-mover at the airport. When Michael continues to press his hooker/model thing, Erin looks right at him and says, "You're going to alienate women." Michael is confused. "But you're going to attract more men. Double up on the men." HATE. Danny, making a lot more sense than usual, interviews that Michael comes up with a single idea, and then he just brags about how awesome it is and wants nothing to do with anything else. Danny quite wisely points out that Michael "is sealing his own fate" with the way he's acting. He's certainly sealing someone's.

Over at Net Worth, a meeting is going on in which Chris is explaining that they should do a cash giveaway, because if you yell that you're giving away $5000, everyone will immediately come flying over. Angie suggests herself for PM, saying that she has an idea for a concept where they'd play on the "choice" part of Taster's Choice, saying that they could do an All-American "election" theme which would play on the fact that you do have a choice about the coffee you drink. She's saluting, she's thinking Uncle Sam, butterfly ballots...it will be totally life-affirming, dude. Oh, and she wants a marching band. And a "baton flame-girl." Hee. She points out that you have a choice -- "it doesn't have to be Starbucks." Yeah. You should count on people to decide they want instant coffee instead of the real kind. Don't make it about convenience. Make it about free will. Tana interviews that Angie got to be the PM because she "was passionate about it." She thinks Angie will "do a good job." If, that is, Angie can "not have a nervous breakdown in the meantime."

Indeed, Angie is of the Pushy School of Project Managing, directing everyone to put their attention where she wants it for the five minutes. Tana says that Angie, on the day of the task, will be "my mother, Thanksgiving Day morning." Hee hee. She anticipates stress, but says "we'll see how it goes." We will, indeed. And remember: it's okay to burn the biscuits; everyone can scrape off the black parts. Angie does a little nascent freestyle white-lady-rapping as we leave this segment, and the less said about that, the better.

Over at Magna, Stephanie is working on getting an event planner, because they've decided to "outsource" the entire thing to somebody who can do all the details. Hmm. But she's having trouble, because she's not even sure what she's supposed to be doing, and there's chaos, because "Danny is not controlling the team." And Bren is chewing on a chair, I believe. No, really. In a callback to shows past, Stephanie seems to be making some of her phone calls from under the table. Scary when you remember things you'd rather forget, isn't it? She gets on the phone with a planner who tells her that his quote for the entire thing is $47,000. Of their $75,000 budget, that is. Alex says that in the face of this decision, Danny basically was paralyzed. When the planner tells them that he's going to fax them over an agreement, and they will have sixty seconds to sign it, Danny balks, saying "that's impossible." I wouldn't deal with anyone who gave me sixty seconds either, I don't think. Stephanie gets pissed off, because she thinks Danny's going to give up the event planner and they have no way to fill that slot, because they have "not even an idea." Unable to figure out what to do, Danny puts the event planner to a group vote. But the group doesn't want to vote, and Alex puts it back on Danny to make the call. Alex tells us in an interview that Danny put them in a bad position with regard to the time limitations by refusing to get on the stick until the time was ticking away. Ultimately, Danny does decide to go with the planner and pay him his exorbitant sum, so they're giving up the great majority of their budget without really even knowing what the guy is going to do. And then in an interview, Stephanie brings back the popular non-word "unorganized," which we know that the candidates always love so much. The fax machine fatefully sends the planner agreement, dun-dun-dun!

Back at Magna after a commercial, Danny explains to the camera that they still needed a big idea, even after signing the contract. So what the event planner is doing, exactly, I do not know. Bren comes up with the notion of iPods, and says that all he sees in New York is people with earbuds and cups of coffee. It isn't entirely nonsensical, although I don't think most of those people are drinking instant. Alex suggests that they give away an iPod every 20 minutes. Everyone seems to think the hook to the world's most beloved consumer product at the moment is probably a good idea, with the exception of Michael, because he hates everything that doesn't involve hot chicks. He also spits out the ridiculous line, "People with money don't walk; they drive." There are so many things wrong with that statement. In New York, it's bullshit, for one thing. And why would you be trying to sell instant coffee to people with money? And why would only people with money like iPods? None of this makes a fucking lick of sense. (I really like the expression "fucking lick of sense," by the way, and plan to use it often.) Stephanie points out that Michael was just pissed off because they didn't use his Festival of Rich, Beautiful European Booty plan. She's not crazy about the fact that he seems to be coasting on his exemption.