So they're at Rutgers. That well-known haven of sports excellence. Well, I can't make that joke, in all honesty, because I know nothing of football, college or...other. Professional. But I went to the Rutgers Football website? And their current scores were from 2004. Go Rutgers. So it's Week 11 of 15, meaning there's three weeks and change left of these sad bastards. Trump asks Synergy who they'll give up to the losers on Gold Rush to even things out again, and they all laugh awkwardly and won't look at each other, because nobody wants Sean there, least of all Sean, whose dubious masculinity is somehow threatened by being on a team with women. And not at all by his lack of masculinity. He volunteers, which makes Synergy Roxanne, Allie, and Tammy; and the GR lineup is now Sean, Lee, and Michael. A heady rush of testosterone there: the Gormless Brit, Undescended Testicle McGee, and the Gay Martian. Lucky Sean. What if they threw a men's team and nobody came? Trump seems to find this deep or something: "This is the basics of life! Men against women!"
Fuckin' what? Gross. I know he's a dipshit, but his dipshittiness is so often in that territory that it can't just be a coincidence. I don't want to know about him like that. He asks Allie why Synergy has done so well, and she says that it's "rare" to find "three women" that are "so confident" and "get along so well." ["It's only rare on this show, bobblehead. Don't play into Trump's shit." -- Sars] Aww, I wish Charmaine were around. She'd love that. Charmaine was so in synch with Synergy -- they'd never joke about gang-raping her! Now that's Girl Power. Or, you know, Human Power. Allie says their chances seem good, and Lee says the Rush chances seem good. Trump talks about Rutgers and football and my brain turns off, because those are magic hypnotism words, and then all of a sudden their task is to throw a tailgating party by selling the food of Outback Steakhouse. Which I will admit upfront I do enjoy and I am not ashamed of that fact. I have been there twice and both times it was a gustatory lollapalooza. The difference between me telling you this -- just between us friends -- and the people saying it over and over and over on this stupid game show is quite simple: I am not being paid to say it. Because I am not a whore. I'm just a boy, who likes a delicious steak every now and then. Two parking lots, two tents, two tailgate parties, the team to sell the most Outsteak and Deep-Fried Onion Crap wins. As Trump goes on and on about how much he loves Outsteak, as opposed to the steak he, you know, actually eats -- when he's not chowing the fuck down on nonexistent Arby's, that is -- Tammy smiles like she's a blissful blind girl in a television movie about a country kind of hope. Who dropped E a half hour ago.