And now we're at the Mandalay Bay's parking area. I know this from having negotiated it several times over the weekend I was married. The camera goes into remember-this-guy mode. Not to spoil the suspense or anything, but it's trusty valet Mike Cannon. Then we zoom past all the nicely-dressed people milling around -- yeah, this is totally fiction -- and then into the Mandalay Bay lobby. The camera lingers in another introductory moment; this time, it's "events coordinator" Mary Connell. She gives the camera a flirtatious glance. We then zoom into the casino and past the slot machines to cool-as-a-cucumber Nessa.

Then the camera goes nuts; we head into the elevator, up the elevator shaft, do a few loop-de-loops, end up in some hall, nearly run over some poor waiter with room service, elude him, go down some more hallway, squeeze through the security peephole, and then get a view of the Strip through what is presumably a hotel room window. It's a pity the people in the bed are too busy to enjoy the view.

There's a big ol' slow-motion moment so we can confirm that verily, this is carnal activity, and because the woman in question is a) on top and b) tattooed, she is a brazen hussy who will bring men low. There is enough writhing to send L. Brent Bozell off in need of a lie-down, and then the music gets all, "Yo! Ready!" and the camera zooms back in reverse. Hey! I finally recognize this! It's "Ready, Steady, Go!" by Paul Oakenfold. It is about as lyrically complex as "Rock and Roll, Pt. 1" by Gary Glitter.

The camera gets up with James Caan's feet. We see a bunch of guys in black suits checking their weapons as they amble on down the hall. The camera, exhausted from its three minutes of labor, lies in the hall, panting and watching from afar.

On and on amble the men. Their leisurely stroll is intercut with leisurely writhing scenes. The hotel key slides in and out of the slot, because no metaphor is too subtle for prime time, and then the door bangs open.

Molly Sims looks over her shoulder, apparently delighted to be interrupted. That doesn't speak well of whomever she happens to be straddling. And then she utters the creepiest greeting ever: "Hi, Daddy."

Cue the shocked silence from Daddy and his pet goon. The young man on the bed recovers from the shock of having the blood rush back up to his head and VOs, "Daddy?"