Brent has a deadline. Trump tries once more for the molten core of Brent's obliviousness: "Brent, don't you think it's important in business to learn from experience? Weeks, or years, or decades -- not just a specific task, right?" Brent agrees, eternally uncomprehending this. "Your team can't stand you, they think you're a loser and they think you're a loose cannon, and they really don't think they function very well with you. In fact, they think they're not doing well because you're such a negative influence. Now, I could send you out and keep sending you out and bringing you back in, but I don't wanna do that. Brent you're fired." Brent breathes. Tammy breathes and closes her eyes. Andrea nods gracefully. Trump yells at them to leave. "Out. Over! Go! I don't wanna waste anybody 's time." Brent thanks all three of them, Trump and Viceroys, and Trump says "thank you" like a million times in case Brent starts talking.

Nobody talks to Brent; they all just crowd the elevator. He stands and fidgets and stares straight ahead, waiting for the other elevator to open. It's painful.

Can I just say something honest and very emo for a sec? I don't hate Brent -- I don't know Brent for anything. I know the Brent we've seen on the show, and maybe I hate that picture, that image of Brent, but...no, not really. I don't even hate TV Brent, because I feel so bad for him. I feel very Miss Tyra about Brent, because I remember just enough of junior high to see a great deal of Brent in my past. Like with Markus or Clay last year, you can only get so very frustrated with a person if you recognize their bullshit in yourself. That's so true it's a cliché, but it pertains here, because I've gotten a lot of letters recently about the "vitriol" and the "poison pen" and these things, but...like I would care about Bryce being a dick. I was never that kind of dick -- I was the Brent kind of dick. That should be obvious. What freaks me out is that Brent is way older than me and he's still not happy, and that's terrifying, because it means I could have gone that way, and so could you, and I can't imagine what that would be like. It's like, every year you get older and are still wrapped in that ugly bullshit cocoon, the harder it is to crack it open, to the point where it won't just hurt your heart, but maybe it will actually kill you, like actually physically give you a heart attack or something, and I don't know what the fundamental horrible thing is that Brent requires to get past it, but I'm scared to death that he wouldn't be strong enough for it when it comes, and even more scared of what would happen if it didn't, ever, because then he stays like that, and that's really not fair. The smartest people are always the craziest, because they can always figure out a way to worm out of getting crushed, and then they don't get to drop the act, they just add more and more to the act, and I realize that is a lot of blah blah for a simple "Brent is a fuckwad" concept, but that's where the intensity is coming from, so now you know. The grotesque response to Constantine's ouster rears its head again -- but every time, I think the whys of that should be perfectly obvious. Lenny, I just fucking hate. It's not very complicated. But I sort of love Brent, which makes me feel like I'm in a movie where the person smashes a glass in their fist when they hear that their ex-wife is boffing the old best friend or whatever. Brent makes me scream like Cornholio.