Eventually, the guys (minus Greg) go golfing, which involves Joe sticking the pole suggestively between his legs and dropping trou in preparation to play. After he takes his first shot, Albert says, "Your ass is a lot better than your fuckin' golf swing, that's for sure." At least he hits the ball. Juicy, in his wifebeater, cuts air twice before hitting the ball.
Back at the resort, the girls convene and learn that the "shopping" they'll be doing is actually food shopping in research for Teresa's third cookbook. She says, "I'm thinking it might be sort of a fusion Italian-slash... Italian cookbook." She meant Italian-Latin, but still... Kathy says bitchily, "I personally would rather go golfing with Teresa so I could have a club" then laughs evilly. She does insist, "I wouldn't hit her... I wouldn't," but the devilish look in her icy blue eyes says it all. The groups are separated in two different cars on the way to the market. Teresa insists she's over the whole altercation with Kathy, but Caroline calls her bluff. In the other car, Greg, Melissa, and Kathy basically mock Teresa for being such an overreacting, sensitive diva. Both cars arrive in town to discover very little besides a few bars fashioned from shacks, some stray dogs, a big cock (in the rooster sense, not in the Greg sense), and a decapitated cow's head.
Back on the links, Joe blames his poor performance on sexual frustration. Rich says Albert had another thing coming if he thought he could have a successful day on the course with "this bunch of clowns." Albert tells the others, "I would consider it a personal favor if you promise never to play the game again."
At the market, the women scream like they're in a frickin' Saw movie at the sight of the headless chickens and other various carcasses. Melissa tiptoes through the streets whining, "I'm stepping on blood with my Guccis." And, yes, it is pretty grim. There are puddles of blood on all sides and various animal heads on display, but they are in the Dominican Republic, not Monte Carlo. There are places to wear Gucci to the market, and this is not one of them. And running around screaming and horrified isn't going to change the culture, it's just going to make you look like an asshat. In an unexpected turn, Teresa is relishing dealing with the meat and talking to the locals (just ignore that part where she asks them, "Have you heard of my book Skinny Italian?). Overall, it's an insulting spectacle, and you kind of need Countess Luann there to declare, "This is not the Plaza Hotel, this is Punta Cana." Then again, if you need The Countess to bring things back down to earth, you're in trouble.