Anyway, this "tallest" building is something that Don Jr. was associated with in some way we don't hear about, and that it's "totally sold out," so now he's building a second building. James gives the fakest, cheesiest, smarmiest, weirdest huge grin and nod at this -- or does he? -- and goes, "Wow!" So Trump is going to fly them to Vegas (this is the part where you cover your ears, because you know exactly what's going to happen next) on his private jet, which causes Nicole to scream idiotically and make a stupid grin face that is not fake, just really gross. "WHAT?" Like she's not fooling around: this is actually the greatest thing in the world. I guess they were setting this up last week when Frank was all, "Helicopters, free beer, a giraffe, what's next!?" I was thinking lap dance, but an assload of classy luxury in a giant flying penis is like so close to that. Really: getting a hep-laced lap dance in Vegas from a hand job specialist is exactly as appealing as flying anywhere in anything that says "Trump" on it. And if you don't agree, or if you agree on the upside, I don't know that we have a lot to talk about, you and I.
Task: To design an advertising and promotional campaign for Tower II, using a giant budget and a "digital artist," and then give the pitch to Don and Daddy, who will decide which team of two gets fired. Key points: ad campaign. That means internal. Not an ad, but a marketing campaign. The fact that only one team of the three will end up producing this -- the other two will basically create ads with talking -- should give us pause, but by the time we get there, things will already be so stupid that it won't matter. "Say hello to everybody in Vegas," Trump says, and orders them to "come back with some real good answers."
LAX. My notes say "Trump het porn," but I think I meant "jet porn," although I'm not sure we can definitively say there's a difference at this point. God knows Trump still hasn't figured it out. The jet porn goes on for one hundred years with wistful music, sliding up one side of the tumescent black monstrosity, stroking down the other. It's so gross. The, um, that thing where the stairs come out from the bottom so you can get inside? The gangway? Did I just make up that word? Whatever it's called, all you can think is, "Here comes the lipstick!" The camera is a stripper's hand in the champagne room; the throbbing jet is jutting like a proud warrior, out into a fertile field. Imagine what will happen when Heidi gets fired! Jet fuel everywhere. So you know who's impressed by all this? Nicole. You know why? Grossness.