Manhattan Skyline Shot Number 856 transitions us to the suite, where the men are licking their wounds and, it appears, sucking down the leftover lemonade, which would certainly be the last thing I would feel like doing. Kwame interviews that he thinks they sold as much as they possibly could, and it was only when they learned how much money "the girls" sold that he began to feel like they could have done better. Sitting around the kitchen, the guys credit the women for their victory, and Troy says, "They just spanked us, and we'll come back." Bowie interviews that he's bummed that he doesn't get to see the Trumpartment, and he envies the women because they don't have to worry about the Boardroom tonight. If he knew what the Trumpartment looked like, he wouldn't feel so bad.
Peppy music takes us up to...oh, Lord, it's the Trumpartment. The ladies are just arriving. How can I describe the Trumpartment to you? Okay, imagine a really nice, pretty apartment with nice, pretty furniture. Now, in your mind, cover all of the available flat surfaces with gold leaf, except for the walls, which you should imagine are marble. Now, put an incredibly large, incredibly bright chandelier approximately every six feet as you walk through the apartment, so that all of the gold leaf directs glare into your eyes at all times. Also, stock the apartment with an incredible quantity of expensive clutter, like little statues, and trinkets, and doohickeys -- pure gold doohickeys from Europe, of course. The maid (or whatever) opens the doors to the apartment, which appear to be pure gold, of course. She ushers the women into the inner sanctum. More gold. More marble walls. The chairs, where other chairs would be wood, are gold. The tray ceiling? Gold. "This is, like, rich," Tammy says. "Like, really really rich." I think Tammy has reacted to the apartment just as Donald intended. Kristi interviews, "Words can't describe how beautiful it was." Oh, really? I'll give you some words. "Tacky." There's a word. "Gaudy." There's another word. "Fugly." "Hideous." "Ostentatious." "Ridiculous." "Preposterous." And, oh yes, "offensive." They're all words, and they all flashed in my mind when I observed the wonder that is the Trumpartment.
As the women tour the place, Trump's girlfriend Melania comes down the stairs. "Hi, I'm Melania," she tells them, which I think taxes her vocabulary tremendously. There is chitchat, and then Tammy asks Melania, "How do you clean a house like this?" Well, I don't think Melania knows much about how you clean the house, there, Tammy. She's not exactly scrubbing the toilet with the marble-handled plunger. "Well, you have, uh, people to clean," Melania says blandly. "You're very, very lucky," Heidi says. "And he's not lucky?" Melania says. Way to put the guests at ease, there, you rude, rude girl. People say that all the time -- "you're a very lucky guy," "you're a very lucky woman" -- and it's not a slam at you, it's a compliment about how much they like your other half. You can shut the hell up and take it graciously, but I don't know why I would expect anything Trump-related to be gracious in any respect, I suppose. They all obediently stammer that of course Donald is also lucky, of course! Of course he is! Melania may not be married to Donald, but she has already taken as community property an exact replica of his incredible need to have people kiss his ass.