Joe and Courtland's train to Vienna? Doesn't exist. There is a train to Warsaw. They decide to take it, though Joe's capped smile looks forced and Courtland looks crumpled and defeated.
Calrissian comes out of her cabin with an already-opened bottle of red wine. Oh man, how do you say "roofies" in Russian? She sighs and giggles, then heads into a cabin with some Russian dudes, pours them a glass each, and says they need a ride, then a plane from Tokyo to New York: "Money, we need money." The Russian guys cackle in a scary, date-rape kind of way.
Voice-Over Guy nails it: "The harshness of Moscow is overwhelming to Joe and Courtland." Dude, I'd think the harshness of anything outside of a Gap or a Chi-Chi's would be overwhelming to these lunkheads. A seizure-inducing sequence of gritty, gritty (gritty!) Moscow flashes by (ooh, people smoking! People standing on a street corner!) as Team Pink slogs by toting backpacks. Joe says that since they can't afford the train ticket, they're going to be "homeless in Moscow." Yeah, if only there were an embassy or something they could go to. I am so sure these two pampered show ponies will sleep on the street, not.
Celeste files her nails (no comment) as Tami frets about their situation. A "woman upstairs thinks the governor should know about this...." Woman upstairs? Is the talking about God? Or Mary-Ellis Bunim? So this woman said to wait, and that the governor would take care of them, and the Blondes saw the boat leave. "Aaah!" says Celeste, "all I have left is my sense of humor. And some serious B.O." And now, all Celeste has is the B.O. Isn't this show sad? What it does to people? Not the actual contestants, I mean -- me.
Calrissian slugs back wine with the very creepy touchy-feely Russian dudes. Lando says he will "do whatever he has to do -- not whatever, but, you know, [he'll] do something." Hee. Good looks and brains, what a package.
Tami and Celeste, in their usual ultra-passive way, randomly wander toward the lady who said she would help them; the lady then runs into her friend, who is the local press secretary, who introduces them to some travel dude who puts them up in a hotel. Celeste sits down and says, "I think I'm in a suite." Recovering bimbo, my ass.
Lando drags his seasick self up to a crappy little lounge to sing. For about a minute, all we see is a shot of him singing -- not tunelessly, but not exactly wonderfully either. I guess he's pretty good. Calrissian yells, "Wooo!" He could be singing just to her and the Russian date-rapists. It's that intimate. Oh, wait -- I was right; no one is actually there. Lando sings, the band limps along, and then it's over. NBC, proud as a suck-cock!