Piers meets with a rep from his charity, Intrepid Fallen Heroes, and suggests giving twenty free tickets to wounded veterans. Piers is aware of the cost to his team, but thinks Trump will be impressed by his embracing of the spirit of the thing. Plus having a bunch of uniforms with pinned sleeves and pantlegs in the room will encourage people to bid higher, what what (my words, not his)? He asks his rep, "Just for the record, you don't care how mean I am, do you?" He laughs it off, just so we all know this isn't actually bothering him that much. "The meaner the better," she laughs back. Trace goes to the Trump Hotel and meets in an otherwise empty dining room with the four Backstreet Boys and who I assume is Fitzjoy. He starts by pointing out that they're only going to have one dressing room instead of two, so can they cut the shopping list in half? Nope; the Backstreet Boys still want two of everything. So Trace realizes that they're "a group of kids that were going to just bust my balls all day." Nick asks about the possibility of getting wheatgrass, which Trace has never heard of. "Are you punkin' me?" he interviews. He's disgusted by them on every level. Once again, Trace and I are on the same page.
Piers, meanwhile, has assigned Stephen to rustle up celebrities. "You tell Gandolfini that it's me," we hear Stephen blustering into a phone. Alas, we do not hear the raucous laughter that would be the only possible response. He also strikes out with Lindsay someone (Lohan or Buckingham, we don't know which), and Ben Stiller, and God knows whom else. In fact, he comes up entirely empty, which has Piers pretty worried. Stephen interviews that there wasn't much he could do on such short notice. He gives an epic not my problem shrug.
And on that note, we're done until next week's finale. As long as it's not one of the live two-hour extravaganzas of old, I can't wait. But I suppose I will.