Kinetic is now at four members (Muna, Angela, Heidi, and Kristine), while Arrow is still an uncountable mass of shrieking kindergartners. The task: to design a half-time show for a soccer game starring the multivitamins of GNC. Both teams create concepts around the basic idea that whatever your problems in life might be, GNC can solve them: Kinetic with a multi-part obstacle-course destruction of osteoporosis and heart disease, and Arrow with a multi-part self-destruction involving the obstacle of James and the arteriosclerosis that Surya's business practices most closely resemble. Kinetic wins because their concept makes sense, while Arrow's seems to be a Cirque de Soleil retelling of the film Rocky, starring Tim and some Sparky Polastris mincing around a boxing ring until something stupid happens. The GNC executive is appalled, as is Viceroy Bill Rancic, but how can you tell. The winners play golf with Trump, blowing his mind that women can hit a ball with a stick and make it go places. The losers have a full-on awesome meltdown in which Nicole (!) and Frank (!!) join Stefani on the Grownup side, while Surya and James have a whine-off. Everybody's forced to pull out their thesauruses in order to explain that Surya sucks without using the word "sucks," and everybody's similarly forced to admit that James's non-stop ass-covering, while creepy, is still less obnoxious than Surya's whole bag of bullshit. After a boardroom in which Surya lectures Trump on all manner of subjects, including "Why I Am The Victim Of A Vast Arrow Conspiracy," "What 'Brainstorming' Means, Take Two," "I Really Wish I Was Still On Kinetic," "Turns Out I Suck As A PM" (that was the best part), and his meaningless score of how many times Arrow has won in spite of him, Trump finally fires Surya! The right person! And why? Because he sucks! The right reason! Man, I hope this show never stops being good again. The first half of this season was too much to take. week, though: Schwarzenegger and Trump in the same room. I already feel molested.
Previously, Arrow won for the millionth time, and then Trump fired Derek for "his unprofessional behavior," meaning "no reason at all," and Surya nodded sagely about how stupid Derek was, and then Trump fired Jenn for "being a weak leader," I guess, and suddenly this week we're treated to a shot of Jenn looking like she's about to vomit, instead of what really happened. Because what really happened was that the inmates continued to realize that the asylum they were in was stupid, and Trump kept pulling his weak-ass rank in as many directions as possible, telling Randal to shut up for no reason and firing people and screaming his stupid head off to regain control of a stupid, silly game show that only he is taking seriously.
In the tent, we review exactly who's left on Kinetic: Kristine, Angela, Muna, and Heidi. Kristine interviews how they're going to have to work harder than they've ever worked, now that Derek's not around to tell them what sneaky shit they need to be doing, and Kristine -- perhaps she is drunk -- is telling Kinetic that they could easily be the Final Four. Inside, Surya is talking and talking total bullshit about...whatever. They're brilliant, he's so happy to have saved them from themselves, he's their corporate Henry Higgins and they are all drooling fools that he loves affectionately, they always had potential that only he could see, without him they would have drowned in their mediocrity, and wouldn't that have been sad. Nicole stares at her wine and swirls and swigs, again and again. James and Frank send highly violent eye daggers of hatred directly at his stupid face. Surya tells them how lucky they are to be in his presence, both as a leader and a person of integrity, because all they needed was someone to show them the path -- they always had it in them to shine. He's privileged to have been the wonderful man to bring that to light, and he'll always be proud of his part in making them such a great team. He fully tells James that his favorite thing about James is that he reminds him of Surya, in that he's a brilliantly capable leader who is never going to be recognized for his genius within his lifetime. That's what he likes about James. Whatever self-obsessed assholes do when they think they're being complimentary, that's what he's saying. I'm slightly -- slightly -- exaggerating, but then that's just what I do, take pabulum and the pronouncements of people shoved up their own recta, and turn it into art. It's just who I am.
Frank lets us in on a little secret: Surya is sickening, after awhile. He's also, for all that integrity, a huge liar -- and bonus points to Frankie for pointing this out -- because his memory of how things go is wildly divergent from the realities of history: Surya's lie that he came to Arrow because they were smart, strong, brilliant people is actually the opposite of the truth, which is that he did it out of a misguided desire to show that he was the strong link, that he was a stepper-upper, and so that Trump would recognize him in the lineup, and because he thought that Arrow were untrained monkeys, shitting themselves and rolling in it. And he wasn't wrong about all of it, but his intentions were not exactly pure either. Frank finally puts on his Sleepy Suit and stomps off to bed, chuckling hatefully about how much Surya sucks.
To Echo Park, after narrowly missing Ryan Cabrera standing there like a pothead. It was only his alarming hair that alerted the driver; when asked what the hell he was doing, the talented youngster replied, "I wanted to feel the ocean!" Later on, I made the mistake of making a Ryan Cabrera joke outside of an American Idol recap; midway between the two incidents, Donald Trump made a third mistake: the brightest fuchsia tie in the history of sartorial assaults. Bill Rancic is described, queasily yet factually enough, as "a winner," and gives his usual cheesetastic bullshit grin. However, his fake tan is looking radiant and sexy, and he's coming off hella better than last year based on that and his teeth alone. Trump talks about how Echo Park = Health and Wellness and Exercise. When they're not stashing bodies or saving young Latinos from heterosexuality, I guess. "I should be exercising, but I don't feel like it!" Trump shouts, indicating in his tone that people should laugh. They do, fakely. The youngster Stephen, standing nearby, is the VP Marketing of GNC, whose youth serum is apparently miles ahead of anything we've yet seen. Trump points out Kinetic to the baby child, and calls them losers: particularly Angela and Heidi, who were once stars. You know he doesn't really mean it with Angela, because he wants her for his boyfriend. The task: put together a halftime show -- "at the Home Depot Center, a beautiful place" -- during an L.A. Galaxy soccer game to promote GNC. Angela nods, trying to think of a place more beautiful than Home Depot. It's a wonderful soccer team, Trump suggests, though I'm not entirely convinced they exist. The fourth-grader standing to him will be the sole judge and jury. I'm thinking boobs and X-Box, free Doritos and a keg.
There's some very nice, kinda cool music as they get it together, team by team. Surya goes, "Let's talk," and separate from the kinda cool music is the inner sound of DOOM. Frank is all about putting on "the biggest show," getting people involved. I still don't know what Frankie's skill set actually entails, but "putting on soccer halftime shows with vitamins and yelling" seems about right for starters. Tim tosses out -- and is very excited by this -- the idea of a boxing ring, a la "Time For Tide To Go!", where a guy is skinny and then puts some kind of GNC Frankenproduct in his body, and is reenergized and irradiated, and that's great. James loves it, because the crowd will be engaged. Frank offers to create the boxing ring, and narrate with his impenetrable mushmouth talking. Everybody's feeling it, everybody's excited...Surya goes, "Time out real quick." Four words that Surya's fooling himself by putting together in a single sentence. Now's as good a time as any to have a little daydream about Wonderful Jim. Why thank you, Jim! How did you know I was craving a Diet Coke? Oh, how lovely. A backrub, here in the south of France. And look, Journey in concert! Let's make out!
Frank rolls his eyes; Surya tells them to shut the hell up and think in their heads. Oh, right, that silent brainstorming where everybody bounces off each other's ideas by never hearing them. Wonderfully -- and not unlike last week's BR -- chaos breaks out: everybody shushing each other, Frank calling their quiet time one minute at a go. At one point Surya actually corrects him on how many minutes they have left to be silent. I would have popped him one. I swear to God, these people are impressive. They haven't slept in "eight weeks," heh, he's been up each and every one of their asses since Trump was little, and now he's like, "You have to sit quietly and not brainstorm for three more minutes, not two, before you can go back to the conversation you were having before I remembered to suck." POP. Right in the kisser. I am a man who normally scorns violence as the resort of lesser creatures, but holy Christ. James interviews about how Surya's kind of sad, like an old man trying to be cool with the cool kids, but also kind of like he needs to be smacked really hard. Frank makes fun of Surya to his face, Surya is pissy about it; Frank cracks Scantron jokes, because that's his frame of reference; Frank delights and depresses me in equal amounts, but I think I am falling in a golden-retriever kind of love with him. Life is fucked up in L.A.
Kristine tells us that she has done this actual thing, in her life, for like eons, but unlike if Surya were saying this, and I'm sure somewhere he is, I actually believe it. If you think for a second that we're in for a taste of Kristine in any way in this episode, though, you're wrong. She's still just that cute girl in the futurewear to me. I have no idea who she is or what she wants, or why I like her so much; I joke about how there are ten people on Kinetic named Jennifer, but I swear, it's because there are still so many people on Kinetic that I really like and want to get to know, and still don't know anything about. It's a social blindness thing on the show's part, I think: we know a lot about the sort of people Arrow are -- enough, in fact, that I've gone through the whole "you can't hate anybody if you know them well enough" cycle with all of them -- while...Jenn? Loved her, don't know shit about her. Kristine, same deal. Heidi, frankly: what is she besides a person with a USB port? Even Derek, I don't get the full picture, and what I did get was mostly from watching this shit over and over specifically for him, trying to learn him.
Look. If you're still with me at this point in the season, or my history recapping this show frankly, you know I'm not trying to make a point when I say that I believe this is a producer error, that the whole Girly Team is such ciphers, that comes from a gender place. I'm not actually fucking around or being melodramatic when I say that. In the comic book industry, if you will allow me, we have a saying: boys draw bodies, girls draw faces. I'm not an artist by any means, but I'm totally girly as far as this distinction goes, so maybe I'm interrogating the production from the wrong angle, OR MAYBE I'm totally right: the editing this season is emotionally tone-deaf, and neglects the characterization of the women. Those teams were picked nearly randomly, from a pool of people presumably interesting enough to be picked over thousands of applicants: it's not like they were like, "All robot ladies with no personality over here, and the queers; all the buck-toothed hicks and trampy-looking defense attorneys and metrosexual dudes, on the right." They didn't do that. It just fell out, and somebody in charge decided the girls weren't interesting enough to care about. That's absolutely how it went down. Gross, you know?
Anyway, enough with the caring about the culture of hatred our television and government are selling us. So Kinetic talks about having some kind of vitamin duel or something on the field -- Heidi: "That would be fun! I dueled vitamins on Prokloris 15 when I was part of the Robot War for the...but I've said too much" -- and they come up with four huge vitamin costumes that four humans will wear, and they'll race through the obstacles of life: clogged arteries and osteoporosis, all that stuff I don't know about yet. Muna brings up throwing confetti and t-shirts at the crowd, and Kristine immediately incorporates, saying that can happen at the finish line. Muna brings up something else. And then something else as well. The secret bitching subtext is slowly becoming text. Kristine's like, "How about we run these ideas fifteen different ways and then talk about it? Like grownups? Or since I guess we're not, let me be clear: I'm not going to hang you out to dry. Nobody even knows who the fuck I am. I want to win." Muna: more bullshit. I don't know if she's been like this the whole time, or if... Well, frankly, I don't know if this is really happening, period. I'm sure I wouldn't like Surya in real life, but that doesn't mean he's the doucheprat he seems to be on this show, you know? I'm like 93% sure that Muna doesn't wake up in the morning bitching and picking and nagging and whining and yakking and freaking out, continue through lunch, take a short break until three, and then commence bitching until sundown. I'm pretty sure that's not true. But like...you got James and Muna and I think that's it? Horrible white people, the sneakiest little bitch in the game, and Muna acting like Sophie's Heart + Calpurnia all the time? Hmm.
Though there's Kristine, on the pro side that this is not secretly being edited by the Klan, saying that Muna's driving her up a wall, acting like nobody has any idea what they're doing. She's just like, "You know what, I don't really care, this is gonna drive me nuts, and I'm going to kill her." Muna: More talking. Kristine finally -- and this is something I have trouble with, and so I'm always jaw-dropped and impressed when people say this out loud, because it's like asking for money or walking a tightrope 50 floors above Manhattan: I have no idea how it's done -- "I don't feel like you're giving me any credit that I have done this before." Muna, because even with the bitching she's still really cool, is immediately like, "Oh my gosh." And I buy it. I think she's honestly saying, like, "Something really fucked up has happened if that's how I'm coming across to you." On the other hand, I think Muna honestly doesn't trust anybody not to be an idiot, and I can't fault her for that in general, much less on this show. You know? She interviews, and it's hilarious in that Muna way, but also pretty compelling, in a human way, like you buy both sides equally: What kind of a person would she be, to see an area where they could improve, and not do anything? "You want a MUTE!" Like we talked about Dilbert and how it's boring and hilarious at the same time because it's universal? Either that's hilarious and universal, or I'm a nagging pick-pick-picker, because that made me laugh my ASS off. She talks crazy irritating about God, like God would even admit on the record that this bullshit show exists, but finally talks about how Kristine is not so much her "ideal teammate." Back in the van, "moments after" Kristine suggested she wasn't giving her enough credit, Muna "wipes a tear" from her eyes. This show is making me like The Number 23. I don't trust anything now, even shit I see with my own eyeballs.
Stefani and Frankie, as usual, are getting the props ready, while Tim dances around adorably. Frank tells at motherfucking length about the tarp on the floor or something, and Tim reiterates how there's this "Average [Tim] Joe" who gets beat up by life and gets GNC products down his gullet and then defeats his problems. And you know what? I think Tim belongs on Arrow after all. I'm totally reading tarot at this point, because only Our Lord knows what was really going on, but here's my read: Tim comes across as an Aaron, a pretty and well-to-do jock that plays the piano for ass and never had to work a day in his life, but from this, and the fact that he gravitated naturally toward Nicole and Frank, I think what he really is, is -- and Tim, forgive me if I'm off base, and forgive me more if I'm not -- the redemption of Tarek. Because I think maybe the deal is that Tim is a not-so-lucky guy who struck gold, with his God-given talents, and instead of overcompensating and rowing crew and whatever bullshitty Signifiers Of Wealth stuff, he just used those talents to succeed. I think he's a guy who made the most of deprivation. I'm not even into looking into whether or not that is true, because -- and I'm not getting into my personal shit with you -- I know that there are a lot of different definitions of "deprivation." Whether he grew up poor like Tarek or rich like Aaron, he's a person who has figured out how to bridge the gap between the start and the finish line. That's what I think, and just this little story, about the Average Joe overcoming Lethargy or whatever, makes me like him a shitload more, because I've been thinking this is true. The deal I'm making with you is that I'm not going to investigate further until this recap is submitted.
Everybody on Arrow just loves the propmakers, because they're doing what Arrow would be doing if they weren't on a TV show. Also because they're doing great, to be fair. Surya loves everything, everybody loves everything, Arrow Corp. as a body declares National GNC Halftime Show Holiday Celebration for all the world...and James speaks up. I feel like this has been going on all along, based on a few strange edits, but we're getting it in the face this week. He brings up the salient point that the audience is 13,000 people -- that's a lot of people to pay attention to this, like, epic Paul Bunyan tale of a pilgrim's progress using GNC chemical supplements, with all its plot and skinny-guy issues. If you're in the sky, in the boxes, in the cheap seats looking down, that's going to be five ponces poncing around with a lot of echo and a lot of running around in a square about as big as your thumb. And he's right. But since it's The Apprentice, he's wrong by being right: he's saying it too late. And that's his bad: you don't criticize the basic idea -- which is admittedly great except for the venue, the crowd, the scope -- after the props are built. James is starting to get a rep for doing this, bitching after the fact but before the boardroom, but this is the biggest one. Even Surya is like, "We committed money to it." End of discussion. We know how fast they have to turn these things around, we know there's no wiggle room, money- or time-wise. That alone indicts James: the physics of the game itself. Which is what he's trying to play.
QUICK QUIZ: Does James know he's being as creepy as he is actually being?
A) True or False: There's a percentage that everybody has to be devoting to "thinking about the eventual boardroom if we lose," versus "doing everything I can to win this task."
B) Of the two options, which one makes you a choad-hole?
C) But is James doing that?
D) How can you tell?
E) Mostly, is Surya so fucking awful and monstrous that you don't care?
F) Wouldn't you rather be drinking a margarita and listening to Ben Lee or Patrick Wolf and pretending to smoke cigarettes? Doesn't this show make you want to go outside?
G) Seriously, though, ask yourself: You're on a game show, looking to win. All the people on TV that you love, they play the game. They stay quiet in the BR, they do all their bitching -- looking at you, Stef -- in interviews and keep a smile on their face at all other times, they do it all right.
H) And if I'm telling you as your recapper that I don't have a problem with it?
I don't think it's sneaky or creepy to bitch in interviews and -- what did they call it on The Comeback? OTF, "on the fly" -- OTFs. If you read the American Idol recaps, you know that to this day I still talk to the bathroom mirror whenever I'm in a pickle. Ever since Julie and Heather B, I have done this. I do the Jim eye to the camera when nobody's looking, and I talk to the mirror. At a club at 1 AM, if the drama's happening, I'm there reporting. It's the only way I know how to stay sane. If I were bored enough to go on a game show -- especially an ass-rape like this one -- you best believe I'd be saying the utmost shit to the camera every chance I got. Is it true five seconds from now? No. Does it actually matter? No. Ever had an unchoice thought about the love of your life? Socks on the living room floor? Too much Wii, not enough making out? You've been there. Talk to the camera. It's kept me sane -- as far as I apparently am, to you, the audience -- for...fucking fifteen years and counting? Is that right? Time keeps creepin' up on me. I'm 29 on Thursday. Apparently you start feeling old, or so Gwen Stefani tells me. You start writing songs about babies and ex-boyfriends. I just want to have babies with Derek Arteta. That's literally all I want. I am old. Beth and Norm and Eric's abs is how old I am. Jesus.
How did I get to me again? I do that so bad, you guys! I'm not that interesting! Why does it always come back to me and my gayness, general, and my specific gayness for Derek? Maybe when I'm 29 I will be able to shut up about me. Well, then I'd just talk about the Killers and the Walkmen and whatever; that song "Something Happened On The Way To Heaven." Pages and pages, I swear. Which is really just talking about me some more, which if you've read one single page of the Doctor Who recaps, you know that just means I'm bored as fuck. Back to these bitches. Quiz over.
Although I kind of do have to agree with Surya that what James is doing now is both weird and a more than a little creepy, as much as I love "the game" and the playing of it. Oh my God, can we talk about Janelle and Dr. Will? That was the closest I ever came to bisexual panic. I honestly just didn't know what I was going to do from moment to moment. I thrive on having predictable opinions and never changing them, as you know, so that was like double the fucking frightfest... Still talking about me. While I was talking about me, Heidi was telling us a truckload of shit we already know. Luckily, she's the most beautiful woman in the universe, and I personally could look at her all day every day every day for quite a low salary indeed -- I'd look at Tim or Aaron for less, or Derek for free, but otherwise, my God the Heidi power -- and there are so! Many! Words! Here's a list.
Words
"Ultimate"
"GNC"
"Multivitamin"
"Challenge"
"Obstacles revolving around"
"What GNC does"
"To promote health"
"And wellness"
Muna bugs the shit out of some guy, talking up a wild storm. To be honest I don't know what she's saying. Neither does he. Neither does Kinetic. Neither does Muna, I confess to believing. She micromanaging things that don't actually have a macro or a micro to be managed. Just...things. "And will gravity accelerate to 32 feet per second per second? Can you assure us of that? On the day, specifically, do you have the date? I have it somewhere? Gravity will work that way? Weather systems will work like they have for millennia? When a person runs through a ribbon, that still means they win? Can you guarantee that?" Kristine watches, full of hatred, and interviews about how complete of a control freak Muna clearly is, how up the asses of the guys she is, how ongoing her micromanagement. Heidi watches as the guy's finally like, "We just really need to start working at some point? So we can make the things that you need us to make?" Kristine, in interview, begs her to zip it: not productive. Lots of shots of the other guys hating Muna, the main guy fully rolls his eyes...and then winner music. Hi, Angela! Oh, and she has much to say about how great the design guys were, how the stuff looked great, she's like BFF with the constructors of the props, and in interview she reiterates -- in case you were unclear on the concept -- that this is all about winning the task, and getting out of the backyard. Man, I hate the backyard. It's like the final invisible member of Arrow that I still hate. Every time you think you won't have to worry about the backyard, somebody's bitching about it. And there it is, grinning. In night vision.
To the arena! Where men are made fools, and women are made vitamin capsules! James is in a bottle of vitamins, Nicole is laughing stupidly, Angela is horking her speech into a megaphone, Frankie is unfortunately doing the same on Arrow's side. Everybody's jumping around and having fun and being adorable. James interviews that the first Arrow rehearsal tasted "sour," and that once again he's getting "really nervous." It's not that he's wrong -- he's dreadfully, sour-patch, nervously right -- but it's a timing issue. So he correctly notes that their little skit about the boxing is not going to make sense in front of fifteen thousand people who can barely see what's going on, and all they're going to hear is Frank's voice echoing over them and their children and rendering them impotent. He makes hella effort to make sure we understand he's had these concerns "all along," except for those few crucial moments when everybody was agreeing on it, and that the "fear is still in [him]."
The if not mythical then highly improbable Galaxy fans, all thirty-seven of them, are welcomed into the booming stands. Men in shorts do something I'm told is playing the game of soccer, or "football" to our international English-speaking compatriots, or "futbol" to everybody else that cares. James continues to talk about how their skit is not going to make sense to the people that can't see or hear what's going on down on the tiny field, and Bill is thinking about how douchey James is coming off, and...Tim and Frank and Surya do a whole Keystone Kops thing where they run around all confused like chickens in search of something more, like just completely forgetting what the motherloving hell is going on, for awhile. It's adorable. They're like, "Where's the copy?" "I'm redoing the copy." "I'm the copy!" "I've got the copy." Frank is like, "I have confused the copy." Bill's normally wide-eyed frenzy terror goes into mental bedlam as he watches this chaos go down. If the socks in his sock drawer acted like this, the world would actually end. Unclench! He briefly interviews that something like this has both "lots of moving parts" and the additional moving part they call an "utter miracle." James and then Frank talk about...I don't know. "Can we call it 'vitamins'? 'Mr. Vitamin'?" I think they're wondering about branding vis-Ã -vis the whole Vitamin Person concept, like, do they have to create a character and is there a character already available, et cetera, the usual stuff you would worry about...waaaaay back around the time we were having the quiet time portion of the brainstorming. Surya's like, "Whatever. Draw a diagram of a person writing the word 'vitamin' and put it in my inbox." Surya tells James he's frustrating and then tells us at motherfucking length about how never in his life has a team made life this hard for him, what with their "new ideas" (actual quote) and "freaking out" every five seconds. It makes it "really hard to manage," Surya explains plaintively, when...people are involved? Suck it, Surya. Your hardships are right above the taste of cilantro in terms of things I don't care for.
Trump arrives; he and Bill and a little boy join the scores of fans in the stands. Oh, it's the exec, right. Kinetic goes first on the show: Angela screaming, Kristine pushing something out onto the field, some mad talk about how they're going to be "educating and entertaining everyone" while...people dressed as vitamins run around madly. I don't know how old you have to be to call bullshit on that. I spent part of grade school in Phoenix, Arizona? Where the sun lives? And every year they'd have this crank-head (we called it "crank" in those days) come out in a puffy Rainbow Brite skirt and tell us to SWASWA and I have long since forgotten what that stands for, but I'm like constantly trying to SWASWA to this day, and even at the age of I guess five, I silently passed judgment on this woman and her robot companion: "This is monumental BS."
Perhaps I was precocious, but I prefer to have this amount of faith in the generation: an Olympic-sized lesbian threatens to "educate and entertain" them and a bunch of hungry day-players dressed as M&Ms toss down their cigarettes and start capering around a soccer field: one of them at least has gotta call bullshit. They're the future of the human race, you know? Surely one of them is going to have some questions. Kristine explains to us, like the slower friends of the bright child I am imagining, that the vitamin people are quote "running across the field." So then we watch them run around the field for hours, with Angela yelling God knows what at the people, who can't hear her. There's a giant heart, which stands for heart disease, and pills having fun, and there are rings they run through that symbolize "physical fitness," apparently. And the whole time this is happening, Muna's giving the same presentation in Español, which doesn't help anybody in any way. All the pills and weird furries have English and Spanish written on them, and...WHOA. IS THAT HEIDI? DRESSED AS A VITAMIN? How can she still be that fucking hot when she's dressed like a vitamin? She's magic! Angela runs around like an entire cheer squad, shouting nonsense; three people stand up while before them, lower on the stands, three dudes take a nap and do crossword puzzles.
Wearing a dirndl, Nicole is screaming. Why does she dress like the Pennsylvania Dutch sometimes? It's not modesty, because we saw her kissing boys on TV, and it's not about flattering the countenance, because she looks like a long-ago Olden Days wife when she does it, the tired kind who's like one hoe of the back forty before she lies down in the red dirt and falls asleep forever. So I don't know. Maybe she's quirky. Quirky? I got quirky: Frank speaking that language of his that is just so heartbreakingly close to English, until you get up close and start trying parse words. He's the Monet of talking. Subtitles on, and...apparently this a story about Joe. "HI JOE!" screams Goody Nicole, waving her arms in the air like the bull's in the heather again. Some mean gay dancers prowl around Joe, who is actually Tim, and follow him from ring to ring like the smallest episode of Oz ever. And the least frightening. Surya flounces around elsewhere, it seems unrelated to Joe's fate. There's sad music as the gay symbols of...something...menace Joe into a corner, and he's like, "Not the jazz hands! Not the jazz hands!" but you know, more, like, lethargic? But then MISTER VITAMIN SHOWS UP! Not a single effing person cares, in all the world. The GNC exec kid pulls out his DS and goes, "Oh Castlevania, you eldritch minx. Through a thousand lifetimes you have haunted me and my doomed, damned bloodline. But I will unearth your undying secrets yet."
Surya interviews, about some other experience he's having that is not this one, that everybody "bought the story," and that the exec "had to like it": "How can you not love that?" The exec mutters something about how lame that was, and the storyline being oddly reminiscent of another something that sucks, and Bill agrees, and Trump is so tuned out he almost tries to order a cocktail from the exec. Frank says...something...about how Joe is healthy or happy or...something...and Surya, what Surya's feeling right now -- as though Mr. Vitamin himself had done whatever it is that he does when the gay anti-vitamins have you backed into the corner of the boxing ring -- is two things. The second one is "excitement," which looks like every other emotion Surya ever has: bulgy. The first one, though, and the one that really makes me want to punch somebody, is "vindication." The very idea of Surya feeling vindicated about anything, ever, makes me want to poison the seas and blot out the sun. "I was right, and it just feels great," he says. Like, just to fuck with me.
So their stupid skits happen, and both of them look like chaotic messes or the one stoner group in your foreign language class that did their skit and everybody was like, "What the fuck?" but didn't say anything. Or, oh, you know what? I went to summer camp, I told you this story before, how I only sent one letter home and I didn't sign it and I just wrote, "When the Ancient Greeks wanted to get rid of a child, they'd leave it exposed on a mountaintop." Right, so toward the end of camp, we had this "talent" "show" for some reason, and every bunk had to do a thing. I want you to use your powers of imagination with me here, not only so I'll feel less alone with this memory but also because it's totally how the Arrow show went down. My bunk was like second or third, and the sound system didn't start working until like the sixth act. Three other guys, wearing masks our counselor had drawn, to look like the three Chipmunks. He was a really good artist. We only got in two fistfights the whole summer, thanks to getting a handle on my authority issues. He did shove me up against a tree and choke me for awhile one time, but I was totally asking for it. Anyway. Me, chubby little Jacob, wearing I'm sure my green silk pajamas, they're like all I wore all summer because of how over it I was, and because I imagined that they helped me to blend, ninja-like, into the greenery. Wearing a kitty-cat mask, also drawn on cardboard with markers. Music nobody can hear, of the Chipmunks singing, "What's New, Pussycat?" I'm the pussycat. In green silk pajamas, I am the pussycat.
Sitting on a stool, on a stage, holding this mask up with my right hand, as the three guys from my bunk are flitting around in a circle, like, flirting with me? Like the girls in that one scene in Almost Famous. Singing in harmony about how they want to kiss the sweet little pussycat lips. Singing this Chipmunks cover of a Tom Jones song, two layers of weirdness all by itself. To me. While I'm doing my best version of "coy," okay, and the speakers aren't working that well, right, so way back in the crowd of the entire camp, you can't even hear the song. Just this dull roar and high squeaky voices, and the boys of Bunk Oblivion dancing around me, in a chipmunk and pussycat masks, for around three, maybe four minutes. And me trying to preserve my ladylike pussycat virtue, like, No, boys, Chipmunks, I simply cannot, for I am a lady! Don't make me call for Dave! Doing my best job, as one must always try to do -- like honestly applying myself to this character, her emotions and motivation and what's standing in the way of her getting what she wants, et cetera -- even when the assignment is deranged to a scarring degree. Like recapping this show.
But so I remember thinking, "This is fucked. They can't even hear the song. This has gotta look like the original Wicker Man. This is like the inside of Dewey's head from Malcolm In The Middle. This looks like we're all going crazy at the same time without warning. We look like a coven of witches in the shape of anthropomorphic chipmunks. I am so going to have something to talk about with my therapist when I get home." And eventually the counselor of the bunk over, wonderful Kevin from Maine, with the ponytail, just told us to stop, that it was over, that we could go do whatever we wanted, because we'd earned it. And then they fixed the mic, and Kevin's bunk (which included a personage about whom my feelings were both intense and unspeakable, and a single detail about whom I cannot remember today, beyond a feeling of heart-wracking romance and the woodsy smell of nature or whatever) did a lip-synch of "Love Bites" by Def Leppard -- Kevin's favorite band, my favorite band all summer and one for whom I still feel a great deal of affection -- that was like the coolest thing I'd ever seen, and they totally won, and they totally deserved it too.
First of all, I have never told a living soul that story, because it's too weird. How did that get invented, much less approved? So many bad decisions led to that occurrence. And what the fuck was I doing? What was so bizarre about me as a kid, independent of this thing implicating me, that I lent myself to this venture? Happily and unquestioningly? With my own input and goals for the performance? And second of all: it's so close to the twenty-some years that followed, in terms of the situations that I've ended up in and how I got there, that it's scary. You had your gay experience at summer camp? Ha. I wish: I had the gayest experience ever at summer camp. Just not the good kind.
And that's what the skits were like.
So then there's soccer, and then Trump and the little boy and Bill are grilling them about their opinions before they say who won. Angela asserts that they worked "extra hard," which means what exactly in context I do not know, and that they put on a great show. Surya describes the obvious and common idea, which has come up on this franchise before, as "out of the box," and then says that they executed it to perfection, and that he couldn't be prouder. And I don't think that's bravado: I think he thinks they're winning, and this is his way of peeing on it. Kid Exec describes Kinetic: good brand integration, it was entertaining, they did it also in Spanish, they communicated the brand to within an inch of its life. A footrace of dancing vitamin furries, and a screaming hockey player. I don't know. It was vastly better than the other one, but so is like...everything. And Kid Exec is on that train: Arrow showed poor brand integration, had a bad storyline if you can call it that, and overall he didn't understand their concept. They were like a boxer at a gay bar with a coven of choreographers? And then vitamins? And then they all take their clothes off? No thanks.
Kinetic wins, James is shitting it, Kristine is so happy (you can tell because she goes, "I'm so happy!"), Heidi's laughing. Stefani is dead sad; Bill's fake tan looks even nicer outdoors. You could get used to him, eventually. I guess I see where you guys are coming from. Kristine interviews how if she'd lost this one, Muna was going to be found in Echo Park with a shiv -- no, it's Kristine -- a graphite chopstick between the ribs. Hopefully, she hopes, they'll work it out and Muna will eventually shut up. But Jacob, you're saying, what's the reward? The most interesting part of each episode! The reward is to play golf "at the number-one-rated course in California," which of course "happens to be mine," the Trump National No Carolyns Allowed Golf Club L.A. They not only get to play golf -- the most fun you can have besides bowel cancer -- but they get to do it with Donald Trump! Plus a "very important man in golf," who can only be Satan himself.
Tent vision: so very windy. Stefani trying to keep her tent together using her hands and will power. She interviews again that camp sucks, that moving back to camp is terrible, that it's sad to live outside, that it's "just completely not fair." And you know how I feel about statements like that: fair to whom? Fair based on what? But it's Stephanie, almost crying, and I find that I don't have it in me anymore to get moral about these kids, because I feel so horribly bad for each and every one of them, with the exception of Nicole, for whom I feel a certain amount of pity but nothing too painful or energy-consuming. Way I see it, she's got it covered. No sense both of us feeling sorry for her ass on a constant basis, or shrieking about it like grackles every five seconds. I feel like she'll pick up the slack for me on that one.
morning, at I'm sure the absolute crack, there is triumphant music as we see some capitalism porn of the golf course. And I mean...it's a visual wonderland. It's like the most luxurious thing ever. I would enjoy strolling around it, which is basically the same as playing golf, but with less rules. There's a waterfall the size of your momma. There's a bunch of tiny mountains everywhere. It's like if Banjo & Kazooie came true. It's greener than Ireland and a pair of silk pajamas put together. And Kinetic hits balls with sticks. For what seems like hours. Heidi's loving the "presence of Donald Trump" and "getting face time," not to mention "the opportunity to interact," as opposed to what we mean by "face time." Trump is up Angela's hoo-hah the entire time, just bizarrely so, like a kid who only sees his older cousins once a year at Christmas, and won't stop fucking following them around and keeping them from getting to do anything fun like smoke cigarettes or say swears, it's embarrassing for everybody, he tells her she's so good at hitting balls with sticks that she should be on the LPGA tour, and she should trade in hockey for golf because it's better, blah blah. I honestly do think he has a boy-crush on her, and I don't say that as a crack on Angela, she's great, gorgeous, but...he's treating her like a person. On a creepy little pedestal, kind of Tarek-adjacent, which worries me because of where it could be heading, but still: no gross jokes, no forgetting her name, no refusing to look her in the eye. I don't think she registers as a woman, for him: just a thing he wishes he was. Angela's only response: "Golf. Yeah. You could...play that your whole life?" Heh. Or at least until you were as old as Donald Trump. Same diff. Stop slobbering on the Olympian, you old freak.
You know who I have a guy crush on? The Adidas guy, who's playing golf with them, and is totally adorable. He's old and funny and jumps around and has a lovely laugh. I think he's great. I don't know his name or what he does or why he's here, but I like him a lot more than Trump, and honestly that's all I'm asking for. People that are not Donald Trump. If you are not Donald Trump, please add your name to this list. Trump gives them each a set of Trump golf clubs, because that's honestly his world, I get it, I am over it. They're probably plated in gold or whores or something, I didn't get a look. They hit balls forever. Trump tells Angela to envision the ball as the Russian hockey team, and boy do they laugh and laugh. Trump is adjusted to the idea that Angela can hit a golf ball, but the rest of the all-girl team? That shit flips his wig! He goes on about it for a length of time that, not to get into it too much because we're nearly done and I don't wanna waste a lot of space, but if you subtract from infinity the area under the curve of every ball Angela hits, or I'm sorry, the derivative, that's right, if you add all that up and subtract it from forever, that's how long he goes on and on about how women can hit golf balls. But they shouldn't be expecting to learn to read or write or defend themselves anytime soon. Angela and Trump interview and chat about how nobody knew he had this fun-loving side and Heidi congratulates him on hitting a ball with a stick: "Pretty impressive!" she says. "I am only a robot. I can never eat the apples that I polish and polish, without ever winding down." Angela says something that in my notes trails off halfway through and then it just says, "My god how boring." Then comes that commercial where the old people make out, but their dentures stay secure. My most hated commercial of all time. If a television commercial could be your nemesis, that would be it.
Surya whines through the hedge once again, to Angela this time, about how he doesn't trust his team. You know what's so funny? They're all operating under the assumption that their fake first-day friendships actually count. Like, if he'd stayed on Kinetic, they'd all hate him. Not as bad as Arrow does, but his sucking is a constant no matter which side of the hedge. But because Kinetic never had to deal, they're able to make these sweeping statements of his overall worth and how close they are, and he's just as lame, sneaking over to the hedge after every task to whine and cry and moan about it -- to people he barely knows. To people he knows less than he knows Arrow, at this point. It's just so...imaginary and freshman-year and crazy. I love it. Angela tells him, based on no information but the lies he tells himself, that his ideas are resulting in wins, and Viceroy Kristine knows that. He starts crying, horribly, and whines about how Kinetic has to know that he's the reason they keep winning. Which isn't true. I love how with everybody else, they're so demonstrative and annoying, but when it comes to Surya's brilliance, it's like this secret admiration that they cherish but can never reveal. Like his whole life is a surprise birthday party and he's waiting for it to hit, and then he'll have friends.
Muna and Angela and Heidi feel so bad for him, due to their imaginary relationship with their imaginary version of him, and Muna asks if he even has one person to help him. The whole team is having a great time, while this is going on, by the way: laughing and chatting and not sucking. Muna mentions that James has never won, or something, and Surya mentions that they've never won at all without him as PM. Which is wack. And if you think that's a red flag that he's going to think PM record matters, this year especially, you're totally right. Angela interviews that it must just be a personality conflict -- and she's right. Surya's personality is in conflict with reality and how personalities should be. Surya whines and mewls and cries and gives another three speeches about how awesome he is, like he's so offended that he even has to explain how wonderful he is, and they agree with him, but they sure do take off pretty fast. Muna tells him to fight, and promises to pray for him, which I always find rude, but he tells her she's sweet, and she runs off, to get away from him and the one-man show of his magical, wonderful, undiscovered perfection.
Upstairs at Trumpy's, the Little Exec reiterates that Arrow lost because their concept was not on brand, it made no sense, and there was no story. He suggests firing Surya, because he sucks. Well, he says it's because the PM leads the concept, but we know what he means. Bill says that Surya's going to be the target, but that it was Tim's confusing idea, and that James is mean. Downstairs, Andie's I guess going out to the clubs right after this, based on her outfit. I hope she remembered her fake ID. Aww, she and the GNC executive should date one day! When they are old enough!
Surya comes into the BR smirking and weird; Trump asks Frank to explain the concept of the event. Which is, I can only assume, a sign that he is not feeling the boardroom right now, and wants to spice it up with some crazy talk. And Frankie provides it, all about how they were bringing across a positive message about GNC, but that it was sadly very boring, and that was the problem. Surya describes the desire to strike a note of...whatever, Trump interrupts him, this isn't his first rodeo with Surya. Tim explains that the idea was his, and it's solid -- it was the execution that was the problem. I'll buy that. I don't know how you make that interesting to watch, but I feel the same way about soccer, and those fourteen people were all there on purpose, so...James offers that Surya was a great leader way back in their first task, back when he had to remind them to wear clothes and not scratch their genitals in front of executives, but they've kind of outgrown his bullshit at this point. He reminds Trump that they lost the Lexus task. Tim agrees: Surya sucked in these two tasks even more than he does naturally. He's disconnected from the team and is jerky.
Trump: "Every time! You're like a dog!"
Trump: "Stefani, who should I fire?"
Stefani: "On this task, Surya."
Trump: "And generally? Who's the least competent?"
Stefani: "Oh, I wasn't implying anything, sorry: Surya. No matter what you ask, if it's negative I'm going to answer Surya."
Trump: "Tim? Nicole?"
They: "Suryaaaa!"
Trump: "Nicole, what about Tim's shitty idea?"
Nicole: "You shouldn't be reprimanded for a brainstorming session."
Trump: "So this is all Tim's fault?"
Nicole: "I don't see where you're going with this, even though it's totally obvious. We were all giving ideas...look, do you know what 'brainstorming' is?"
Trump: "Every other week I do. This is an off week so I don't, so therefore Tim should be fired?"
Frank: "Um, no. Tim stood by his shitty idea and we executed it poorly. This indicts Surya somehow."
Trump: "It sucks to be Surya especially today, no?"
Surya: "You're my future employer, as far as I'm concerned."
Trump: "Kind of? Just slightly? Just the slightest, just a titch, could you...shut the fuck up? I'm dicking Nicole around and making her think she's getting her boyfriend fired. Just...what is wrong with you?"
Surya: "Um, nothing? Like for starters I have the best record blah blah blah..."
Trump: "But your team hates you, though."
Surya: "That is because I am perfect. I don't know what to do about it."
Trump: "Surya, who would you fire?"
Surya: "James."
Trump: "Because you don't like him, because he makes fun of you constantly."
Surya: "I'm that lame, yes."
Trump: "...Whatever. You're fired. I'm tired. This show is expired. Move 'em out."
TRUE OR FALSE
Q) That is exactly what happened last week, no? Like...this week it's true, and last week Trump made it up in his head and the resulting joke being on him was so intense that he nearly whipped out his penis for everybody to look at, was how not in control he was. And yet this week, every word he spoke last week is coming true. So like, my question is this: I don't want to say that Donald Trump is psychic, but...is Donald Trump psychic?
A) He's not really great at it, if so. Start with the word "California" and work your way backwards 'til you hit "Tent City."
While the boys are cooling their heels outside, Kristine tells Trump to fire all three of them. Trump laughs, but not a whole lot, because he's busy calling Bill "Wild Bill." Wild Bill? In the entire dictionary of adjectives, "wild" and "Bill Rancic" are like magnets that will never touch and only resist each other. Unless it's, like, "the wild, terrified look in Bill Rancic's eyes" or "a wildly rousing game of Boggle at Bill Rancic's house." So Wild Bill tells Trump to fire anybody but Tim, because at least Tim does things and has thoughts. I can't agree with that, even if some of his thoughts and activities give me the shivers.
Surya, IMMEDIATELY: "Can I speak for one moment? I take inspiration for you? I take risks like you do?"
Jacob: "OMG, dude. Sack up. You couldn't give it a moment to breathe?"
Trump: "Whatever, watch me suck the life out of that one: Do you wish you didn't take risks? Like I do? And you never do?"
Surya: "Yeah like I wish I had not taken the risk of letting my team have even one goddamn idea, or yeah, taking the risk of going from one randomly selected group of strangers to the other randomly selected group of strangers. But I realized that they needed discipline and that I was the only person who could do it, so actually that's why I did it, so actually it wasn't a risk, so never mind. I was totally getting my delusions mixed up with my outright lies. Just like you, Mr. Trump!"
James: "Look, you little shit. This team doesn't need discipline, we need inspiration. Every word out of your stupid mouth is about Surya: 'I' this, 'me' that. You cut people off in brainstorming and do everything you can to derail tasks so that you can feel like you're in control. You're rude and you interru--"
Surya: "-- HO HO HO I WOULD LOVE TO RESPOND TO THAT WITH MY FAKE ANGER AND STUPID YELLY VOICE THAT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING EXCEPT THAT I WANT YOU TO THINK THAT I AM VERY OUTRAGED!"
He talks at length about something, whatever, he was "brainstorming," the Surya kind where you sit quietly and don't talk, and somehow in the silence, there were no ideas. "I asked for more ideas, again and again," he says, and that part's true, and Tim admits that part's true. Oh my God this actually is last week. Please don't fire Tim! I will literally have nothing left!
Trump: "Wait, so you totally have engineered the entire team to toss Surya under the bus, and yet you are agreeing with him about something?"
Tim: "Yeah, like facts?"
Trump: "I...I don't...what?"
Bill, quietly: "Nuh uh, he doesn't get that."
Tim: "Sorry. Yeah, I'm being...sneaky or something."
Kristine: "He was awesome on Kinetic. Best five minutes of our collective life. I admit I don't know the guy's name, but I'm convinced we're close somehow."
Surya: "So you should fire James! For disloyalty! You hate disloyalty!"
Trump: "What? What did he to that was disloyal?"
Surya: "He was...mean!"
James: "How in fuck did I contribute to this loss in any way? You're a shitty leader, you've been a shitty leader all along, none of that has anything to do with me. Tell me one thing I did that brought us to this table."
Surya: "You don't even deserve to be on this show!"
Bill: "Um, chill. James, is that true that you stay quiet and then complain after it's too late?"
James: "No."
Bill: "Yes it is."
Tim: "It kind of is, actually. Obviously. But check out how sucky Surya is, though!"
Surya: "James destroys the team all the time! By having questions! And talking during quiet time! And being mean! Yesterday, Mr. Trump, I shushed him, like you would a four-year-old child -- and he didn't shush! It's KILLING MORALE!"
Trump: "I'm firing Surya no matter what happens, so let's have some fun."
Everybody: "Great, you nutbar."
Trump: "Hey Tim, should I fire James?"
Tim: "Um, no?"
Trump: "Heeeeeey James, should I fire Tim?"
James: "Fuck no."
Tim: "The thing is that James does things? He does work and knows what he's fucking talking about? So I kind of hate James, but if we lost him, that would make us less. We'd be less of a team. Whereas if we lost Surya, we'd be less of a...douche factory. He does nothing. He contributes nothing. We're fine without him. He gets really fake mad for no reason and his eyes bug out and it's obnoxious."
Surya: "Maybe I'm great like James too! Maybe the problem is that I've been PM! I'm just as good at James at working and talking and stuff!"
Trump: "You're better at this game...when you're not the PM?"
Surya: "Obviously!"
Trump: "Did you just fire yourself?"
Surya: "I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record."
Jacob: "IN A SEASON WHERE THE PM'S AREN'T CHOSEN BY THE GROUP! YOU HAVE A 1-2 RECORD AND FOUR TECHNICALITIES! STOP REPEATING THINGS THAT ARE NOT SELLING POINTS!"
Surya: "I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record!"
Jacob: "Why are you like this?"
Surya: "Fire James! Fire James! I win sometimes!"
Trump: "Kiddo. They win in spite of, really. Kind of. Don't they?"
Surya: "Kind of, yeah."
Trump: "You were the PM on a losing task and there's nobody else to blame."
Surya: "There's James!"
Trump: "Fuckin'...okay, why? One reason."
Surya: "He is mean!"
Trump: "Because you don't like him."
Surya: "That's literally how small and gross my soul is, yeah. That's how mentally and emotionally stunted I am: my dislike of him and the way he belittles me doubles as an objective reason you should fire him."
Trump: "I like the way you think, but there's something off about it. Also, you're such a tool I can't even believe it. Fired."
Surya, dissolving into tears: "I have a 5-2 record! I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record. I have a 5-2 record..."
All the way out the motherfucking door, crying and whining like this. Trump calls this "a tough one," and Bill calls Surya "a fighter," which is a funny word for what he is, and they agree that he's a good guy and a fighter, and Kristine finally jumps in all, "He's...got passion? Um, that was a tough call?" Trump nods. "That was a very tough call."
Outside, Surya is more pissy and more whiny and more stupid; Tim's looking bored, James is looking boring. They give Surya credit for fighting in the boardroom and Tim's feeling bad about him leaving already. They go "whew!" and head back to their mansion, and somehow Tim has buttoned the top button of his jacket, and this button only, so he looks totally weird, like a ship's captain or something. In the cab, Surya finds it -- you guessed it -- absurd that he's going home, even though he has the best meaningless record. I don't have the time or inclination to talk about why this whole line of reasoning is so flawed, but it's like: straight A's didn't get you laid in high school either, jerky. He tells us, in case we didn't know the precise figures, that he felt like an outsider 95% of the time, and that if he'd known then what he knows now, that full-grown adults don't need their hands held or basic shit explained to them, or any of the other gifts he brought over the hedge, if he'd known it was all going to go so absurdly, he would have stayed to annoy Kinetic instead. "It just goes to show," he finishes off, "that the best person doesn't always win."
And by the same token, it shows that being a douchebag is its own reward.