Cut right to the helicopter, Adam so jazzed it's ridiculous, and they all giggle cutely as Trump tells the pilot which buildings to circle. Trump looks like my dad for a second, so I love him. For a second. "In a car," he philosophizes, "it would take all day! This will take 20 minutes." That's like 19 minutes too much for me, but they seem happy enough. Felisha Agrestics that while a helicopter is fun, a helicopter with Donald Trump is awesome, and then does a very funny non-impression of Trump: "Yeah, see that building? I own that one, I own that one, I own that one… That was amazing." Trump describes how some condo "used to be the tallest building on the East Side," but now he's done it once better. Alla interviews the very incredibly awesome "Trump, to me, is power." She continues: "He is the king of New York -- it shows in every word, and every gesture, everything...he lives for this city." I am not writing copy for Trump Omnimedia Unlimited, so if you want a guided tour of the buildings and Trumpanies, I suggest you write the best boring song ever for XM Satellite radio, and hope he picks you up in his helicopter.
He tells them he recently sold the land under the Empire State Building, and majestic music plays as Trump informs them that they're looking at the Statue of Liberty, and how amazing it is. The sun is beautiful, the Statue of Liberty is beautiful and what it stands for is beautiful, but I'm choking on a combination plate of stars and the stripes, because this is like the fifth fakely patriotic editing moment we've had to deal with, starting at the first episode with that weird flag pan, which was before we even met these bitches.
However -- once it's over, which takes forever to the point where the score has to snort two more full rails of overexcitement just to get there -- there's now Adam's pretty awesome story about how flying over the Statue of Liberty with a Prince of Industry made him feel a connection to his father, who came to the U.S. with nothing in his pocket: this is not just living a dream for himself, but for and with his father and mother. He describes it as "a few seconds of pure bliss." What am I, going to snark on that shit? It's awesome. I love you, Adam. Me and the Statue of Liberty want to kiss you on the forehead at the very least. Then Trump, of course, jumps right up in there with the whole uncle thing: "Make a lot of money, this is the way you're going to live, Adam." Helicopters and pussy, Adam. Helicopters and pussy. Which almost ruins it, but not really.
Night falls on Trump Tower, where Randal is reeling, telling his only other damned teammate, Rebecca, that this is "the toughest loss since [he's] been here." I would think it would be tougher if you didn't know, chapter and verse, graph and pie chart and point-by-point, how you fucked up, but yeah. That might be worse, actually. He calls it a "subjective task" and says they were told they did a good job -- that the "finer points" made for the loss. This isn't true. If I ask you for a cherry pie and you make the best apple pie in the world, it's Rebecca's fault if I hate it. I mean, I love Rebecca, but she was the one that was all "sophisticated, intellectual audience" and wouldn't let it go, even though the pie they should have been cooking was closer to "bloodless, rhythmless devotees of Dan Brown and Robert Waller." Not that anybody fought her on that basic point, but still. It wasn't the subjective portion of the task that they lost -- they won, in my opinion -- but the basic ABC of the task. Which is basically, when you get down to the aerated soil of it, was their problem on Star Wars too, frankly. Too much Lamborghini excitement, not enough Dairy Queen detail.