Esquire, de-cabbing. (That's all they're doing in this episode -- getting in and out of modes of transportation. Other than that, you can basically just look for them at the end.) Rob's still doing the MMSSSSI thing, and he still has shoulders. Minnesota has fifty-seven state forests. They go to the temple and hunker down for the evening. Not so much preoccupied with the hotels, these two. Rob: "It's just a matter of setting up camp, seeing what happens in the morning."
Momily and Guido, rather than settling in at the Temple of Dawn where Esquire is camped for the night, head for the location of the FF, which is a Buddhist shrine. Guido negotiates to sleep near, but not at, the entrance, and when Momily gets there, Emily scopes it out and sees them. "Good luck, you guys," she says. They edit the thing like the Guidos refuse to speak to her, which I kind of doubt. I suspect an unfair edit.
Now, Momily has to figure out what they're going to do. Basically, Momily's spirits are flagging. They're beyond flagging. They're thoroughly flagged. Emily feels like it's hopeless to go for the Fast Forward, because the Guidos never lose at anything. Nancy, however, sees it as their only shot. They have what appears to be a reasonably healthy talk about it. Emily just can't convince herself that it's possible to best the Guidos. I actually understand why Emily feels that way, but…that isn't going to make things any easier, and in retrospect, it's a real shame.
Commercials. Never give your number to a dink in a bar, because he might sell it for five dollars.
Morning at the Reclining Buddha, where Momily is snoozing. Morning at the Temple of Dawn, where Rob appears to be about half-asleep until a dog comes up and starts licking his arm. Camp Snoopy, inside the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota, is the largest indoor themed amusement facility in the country. Rob grins and starts kinda canoodling with the dog. "Wake-up call in Bangkok," he says, petting Spot the Spotted Dog-Alarm-Clock. Okay, that sequence right there? Was only put here to force my hand and interfere with the progress of my anti-ogling therapy. The boy sleepily plays with a freaking DOG? While SMILING? That is completely a technical foul. Blatant manipulation. It won't work, though. Minnesota extends 406 miles, north to south.
Inside, a monk behaves in monk-like fashion.
Frat cab. As they climb out at the temple, they're prepared for the reality that, in all likelihood, other folks caught up with them overnight, although they're hoping against hope that perhaps it didn't happen. "Hopefully, nobody else is there," Drew says as he rounds the corner to see Esquire and Danza camped out. "Everyone's here," he mutters unhappily.