Commercials. There are no gold medals for driving the kind of vehicle that constitutes a mobile environmental disaster.
When we get back, the drunken visage of Tara Reid is in the lower lefthand corner of my screen, because NBC hates me. Anyway, Big Ed asks Danny for an update on Brunson, and Danny bitches, "Besides the ice cream, the furniture and the fact that he's still here?" Big Ed gets snippy with, "I'm going to do you a special favor: I'm going to talk to him about his manners." Danny promises that Brunson's out tonight; Big Ed calls dryly, "Way to go there, big guy." And then there's a tedious little celebrity cameo with Penn and Teller, the sole point of which seems to be to hammer home the fact that James Caan is an actor and the magicians are not. No, wait. That's just what I took home from it; the whole point is that Brunson booked them for a private party, because he has more money than a small European country. His company has to be private; given the murderous mood investors are in following the Enron art collection and Tyco penis-ice-sculpture debacles, no shrewd CEO in his right mind would publicly toss around so much money unless he had no fear of corporate governance.
Danny and Sam meet up in a corner of the casino; she reminds him she has a headache named Brunson and Danny's the cure. He's all, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. So! About those stalkers!" She tells him one has been packed off on a plane to the Montecito's skybox at the Raiders' game. Because there's nothing like a Raiders game to make you act like a model citizen. Also, having spent more than enough time at Network Associates Coliseum this year watching my beloved A's, I have a hard time believing someone's going to leave the plushy high-rolling life of Las Vegas for a skybox at Net Ass, but that's just me.
Anyway, Sam heads over to her other high-roller, a Mr. Trevathan who apparently made his millions by becoming a turtleneck model for L.L. Bean catalog. She asks, "Has the red twelve hit for you yet today?" as the croupier announces, "Eight black and even." So…no.
And now, a brief and boring interlude: the tiresome Lani plotline. Apparently, the paper ran a headline reading "Montecito Stiffs Local," because the editor figures there's no point in mentioning the gaming commission rules and is secretly hoping to push one of those "advertising vs. editorial" conflicts when the paper's sales reps come by and scream, "That story just cost me the entire Montecito account!" Nessa claims they have to do something, because the force of whining about unfortunate circumstances ought to trump actual regulations. Big Ed gives Nessa carte blanche by telling her to find out what Lani wants and give it to her. Nessa rolls her eyes and grins, "Okay!" She's cute with the grin. Also, she really looks very fresh in that eye shadow. I totally hope this show becomes the 90210 of the Aughties, in which every trend to cross a magazine page gets slapped on someone's face or body in a desperate effort to make a cheese factory seem very edgy and cool. Seriously!