As Courtney sucks the lower lip off her boyfriend, Hunter makes French-kissing faces in the background, and Rob reminds Courtney that they have a show to do, so her saliva-exchanging will just have to wait. "Well, this has been a fun visit," the boyfriend sneers, earning himself the Regina-bestowed nickname of "Señor Stinky." Courtney tells him she won't be long and returns to work.

Hunter says that she was beginning to wonder if Courtney's boyfriend even existed. Courtney assures her that he's real and that she's been trying to get him to visit for months, but that his all-important career in the sports trophy business has been preventing him from leaving the charming environs of Tempe, Arizona. Hunter's ridicule radar goes off the map when she hears just what it is that Señor Stinky does for a living. Her eyes pop out of their sockets like Dolly Parton's boobs in a B-cup bra. "Deegan's family is the top producer of golf, tennis, and varsity trophies in the southwest," crows Courtney. "Oh. My. God," replies Hunter, obviously far too amused for her own good. Courtney lets Marcy and Hunter in on the secret that Deegan's not just in L.A. to visit Courtney; he's here to meet with some of the top country-club people. While Courtney goes on and on about Señor Stinky and his lower-rung career, Hunter is enjoying herself so much that you can practically see her inner monologue printed above her head. "Wow. Courtney's such a tool. Trophies? What-fucking-ever. I wonder what time my manicure is?" Courtney winds up this little interlude by stating her hopes that if Deegan's meetings go well, he might even move to L.A. The eventuality of which will most likely force 99.9 percent of the L.A. population to head deep into the hills of Montana.

Over at the craft services table, Dave's loading his plate with every single kind of fattening item he can locate, Hairless is picking at wilted greens, and Dickless is excitedly reading a fan letter. It would seem that this fan of Dickless is either a convicted felon or a permanent resident at Bellevue, because within the context of this letter, the fan calls Johnny "sensitive" and "intelligent" and tells him that he's "cooler than Ryan Phillippe." Okay, the first two descriptions are just plain wrong. But that third? Let me clue you in on something: RYAN PHILLIPPE BLOWS DONKEY ASS. Christ, Regis Philbin is cooler than Ryan "I pout therefore I am" Phillippe. God.