Props to Potes.
I like New York in montage. How about you? I like an hour-long recap barrage. How about you? I love a fireside when a storm is due. How about you? I like potato chips, moonlight, and motor trips. How about you?
I'm getting nervous about the increasing volume of Burton Lane rolling over in his grave. How about you?
Upstairs for the last time at the Combatotel, we find Elyse take a sip of water in drinking her USDA maximum of "bloating agents" for the day, because someone with her frame would not be able to take another sip, bite, or sharp intake of breath lest her weight crack into the double digits or she accidentally get herself some titties. Looking out the window, she tells a nearby Adrianne forlornly, "I miss Robin," because the road to hell is paved with cleverly elitist sarcasm. Adrianne bends over and shows pretty much all of a red g-string to the viewing public that she's wearing just in case Elyse is all, "That's so weird, Mrs. Plumber, but the sink really wasn't working just before you got here" and the two of them finally get some actual work as a result of those nude shoots. But instead, Adrianne just laughs and laughs, telling us in a confessional, "I'm really happy Robin's gone. I'm gonna be able to do whatever the f@$# I want and not get in trouble for it." Yes, yes. Gone are the days when a formerly demure, declining Adrianne would make her presence known only as she tiptoed on stocking feet over to Robin's couture collection hat to drop in a token of tithe. Now she's going to let her true, red-thonged colors fly high and proud, becoming the overbearing hag we always knew she had buried deep down. She'd like to get started right away. Someone crank that Hagometer up to 11.
"How do you like these apples, baby?" Adrianne screams as she runs out of the bathroom in a frilly pink negligee, leaping onto Elyse's bed and dry-humping her roommate like this is the best prom night ever. From across the room, Shannon screams an "Oh my god," which deity I'll be glad to capitalize for Shannon's edification when the good lord comes down from heaven and takes pains to depress the "shift" key in my stead. We cut over to Shannon, sitting on her bed and rocking a bucket hat because she's one fishhook and a murderous inclination away from knowing what I did last summer. Elyse, stunned but unharmed from the The Dry Hump That Dare Not Speak Its Name, takes us to a confessional and lets us know, "It'll be nice to see more of Shannon's true colors, and see her let loose a little bit, which I don't think she did around Robin." Did somebody say "let loose"? Because Adrianne is happy to oblige, leaping up on Elyse's bed and holding her arms out in the pink flowy gown like she's vying for the title role in Angels in Whore-merica, coming this fall on HB-Ho. She speaks of a "moneymaker" that requires shaking, holding out her arms and doing a fancy cha-cha dance which most of the production staff has doubtlessly affectionately termed "The Robin."