But whatever, it's so, so eerie and muy dangeroso and lends Tim and Tom -- who bought the casino we're going to be hearing about with their Bubble Economy Website Lottery winnings and are already obviously total tools, on sight -- an almost manly, virile air. "Put those boys on some Harley-Davidson motorcycles with some shiny black leather chaps and see what happens next," their undeniable and indefatigable manliness seems to gesture aggressively! You can't turn your back on them for a second, due to not knowing what they'll do next! The music suggests that they have beaten me up and/or given me children to whom they will be distant, if not deadbeat, fathers in the near future. They were born to ride! In Volkswagen Jettas. Black. With Hootie already in the CD player, standard. It's not everybody that gets photographed in black and white with that sound: basically these guys and the hardened criminal no-goods on America's Next Top Model.
They introduce themselves, and again, by "they" I mean the chubby one, and by "themselves" I mean "two youngish men who still refer to each other as 'best friend and business partner[s]'"…and then underscore that seething, Chris Moltisanti, non-Hootie vibe by mentioning, offhand almost, how they are "made guys, but not in the old Vegas sense," defying you to make any sense of this declaration, and supporting it by affirming that they are "self-made guys." All of which means nothing except that the note they wrote you moments ago asking to have their asses beat now includes a $5 tip from them (and a $200 retainer from me). The man currently known as The Midnighter wonders how impressive and dramatic one can appear when gliding on unseasoned shoes through a perfect Vegas parking lot, and I tend to agree. It's like the Reservoir Dogs JV team. It's like the Reservoir Dandie Dinmont Terriers -- kind of like dogs but also kind of like advance apologies. And just like at the Dog Show, the short yippy one won't shut the hell up.
There are flashes of Las Vegas, which make me feel sophisticated and sexy until someone -- I can only assume it's Tom -- murmurs, "Dice Town," and it's so sad I get unsexy again, and start thinking about dice. The cameras cannot get enough and zoom all over the place as Mr. Dice Town talks about how after college they couldn't rub two nickels together, how they had this unrealistic and nerdy view of things. A terrifying picture of Tom in high school floats out toward the screen, into your living room and thence your nightmares: the spawn of Julia Sweeney and Al Franken, locked in a carnal and talkative embrace.