We begin the episode with a warning that viewer discretion is advised, which I personally think is entirely too vague. If you're going to warn people, warn 'em -- tell them, "This episode contains gruesome violence/sexual acts typically found only in Joe Eszterhas's imagination/depictions of people using controlled substances and enjoying it/rabid misogyny/complete disregard for your intelligence/completely self-indulgent writing..." You get the drift.
Having warned the more delicate flowers in America's television-watching audience off tonight's episode, the camera then moves in for a shot of the Vegas skyline (casino of the week: New York, New York), then zooms out to what is one of Vegas's swankiest neighborhoods -- houses the size of hotels fronting acres of rolling green grass. Clearly, these people are so rich, they can import their own non-desert ecosystem. We then flash to the gate where there's a for-sale sign, and then to a couple walking past the fountain toward the double doors of the house. The woman burbles, "Wow. I love it already! I can't believe we're doing this. Is that the lockbox?" She's easily distracted by shiny things. The man tells her the realtor gave him the combination. Oh, that's not reassuring at all. After establishing that neither the realtor nor the owners will be coming by, we head into the house. Big, airy foyer with double staircases, all sorts of swanky interiors, et cetera. The man says, "Wait until you see the master." As they enter the room, the woman -- whose shirt seems to have a gaping problem across the chest area -- is all, "Oh. My. God. This is gorgeous." She flops on the bed, and the man flops next to her, grinning mischievously. "What?" she asks. "Wanna snoop around?" he replies.
Evidently she does, as the following few scenes basically sum up the paranoid fantasies of anyone who's ever had their house on the market: the man and woman rifle through closets and drawers, try on clothes, and generally behave like boors. Then they cap the experience by having a quickie.
Cut to the woman bouncing down the stairs, buttoning her shirt and holding her shoes in her hand as she says, "Oh. My. God. I could get used to this place. I could! You're an animal!" The guy tells her the backyard is the best part of the house, and in anticipation of still more inappropriate things-to-do-in-a-house-you-shouldn't-be-in behavior, the woman asks, "Really? Is there a Jacuzzi?" She bounds outside into a beautifully landscaped patio and pulls out her stock line: "Oh. My. God." As she's standing there looking at the pool, blood begins dripping down from an unknown height and landing on her blouse. The woman stands there for a minute, then gradually notices what's dripping before looking up at a blood-drenched awning in horror.