S4. Aspiring Corporate Weasel Death Watch -- which has become a fairly intimate affair, actually. We're down to a relatively itty-bitty number of weasels. Bill asks for predictions about who will get the boot, and Amy and Nick both throw their votes to Heidi. Indeed, Troy comes in the door, and Amy calls out, "Troy? Heidi?" Kwame spots Troy coming in and grins. "T-Roy!" he calls out. He gets up and goes to greet Troy, and they exchange an enthused hand-slap/pull-back thing that they've mastered and I can't describe, except to tell you that it says this: "Fuuuuuckin' A." It may also add "dude," right at the end. Troy settles himself in a chair to tell the tale, and shares the fact that Trump rode them hard for getting their asses kicked, and Troy's response was to point out his relative merit -- to tell Trump, "Everybody sucks, and I'm the best." The rest of the Aspiring Corporate Weasels all break out laughing, and Troy raises his hands in a victory gesture. They're all going to be great at mass layoffs someday.
Time-lapse footage of traffic takes us out of the evening and into the next morning. And it looks cooler than you'd think time-lapse footage would look -- they do a good job on this show of using time-lapse in a way that makes the whole city look like a big wiggling amoeba. Bill and Nick stand, wrapped in towels, as Nick shaves and Bill brushes his teeth. Hang on a minute, I'm thinking about how shallow they must think I am. Still thinking. Still thinking. Okay, I'm done. Apparently, semi-nakedness is the order of the day, because Amy is out at the kitchen, also in a towel, getting some coffee. She's been grinding the Starbucks beans, it would appear. (Ew, no, that's not a euphemism.) The phone rings, and because the world just isn't quite that friendly, Kwame is fully dressed as he goes to answer it. He gets the instructions -- from Rona, who I just figured out is a different person from Robin. Robin sits in front of the huge "TRUMP" letters, and Rona sits in front of the newspaper clipping that says "Master Of The Universe." That took me eleven episodes. I would make a terrible Eagle-Eyed Forum Poster. Anyway, the instructions tell the candidates to meet Trump in an hour downstairs in the lobby of Trump Tower. One of the regularly-appearing Tense Music Cues plays as we stare at the giant wall of water in the Trump Tower lobby and see the candidates arranging themselves in a little arc. You know, we used to stand just like that in the college a cappella group I was in, and we used to call it "the cantaloupe." So whenever I see people stand in a cantaloupe, I expect them to start singing something with a lot of "doop doop" in it. (Yeah, laugh it up. But that experience is the only reason I can sing in Bulgarian.) Once the cantaloupe is arranged, Trump walks up with Ass-Kicking Carolyn and introduces the NotGeorge of the week. It isn't Bernie, the Primary NotGeorge, but is actually Mark Brown, the Secondary NotGeorge and the guy who runs Trump's Atlantic City hotels. Secondary NotGeorge looks like he just got here from a 1976 porno movie in which he plays the cuckolded husband.