We start in Hollywood, live, with a full band playing the suspenseful song and some announcer guy alleging that Donald Trump is "America's Boss." George and Carolyn accompany him out through the crowd toward the stage, and everybody in the theatre cheers. Trump makes a strange, unhappy face when you're cheering for him. I don't know if he's smiling or what, but it bothers me. There are young and cheesy people either connected to Lee, or very obvious plants in "business suit" costumes, getting way too rowdy about Lee. If I could believe he had friends, they would be tools like this, but I'm not prepared to take anything on faith here. Don Jr. pats his father sweetly on the shoulder as Trump makes his way toward the stage, and the song keeps going and going like you're going to go crazy. There's a cap on excitement that the song doesn't know about, like, if you hear one car alarm, maybe you look out the window, but after a person outside your house has been screaming for twenty minutes, you start to lose interest. I really hope those dudes are getting paid to act this stupid. They have signs. This is so much like American Idol that everybody in a business suit, which is everybody, looks really weird. Less like a group of normal people in business attire and more parallel to a scuba diver's convention. Or a bunch of damn furries.
Finally, Trump finds a place to sit down, which is the clearly marked chair he's been wandering toward the whole time the song was snorting detergent-scoops of methamphetamine. Donald Trump is wearing my favorite outfit in the entire alphabet of clothes: black suit, white shirt, red tie. Except that the tie, and the suit, are so shiny and weird that they look like you could stretch them like rubber. Like his tie is made of Laffy Taffy. But if it were, I suppose it would be the most delicious Laffy Taffy ever created by the hand of man, and Laffy Taffy would suddenly be a 12 billion dollar industry. Trump explains that the reason the finale is happening in Los Angeles is actually fractionally a reason, because the next 15-week job interview will be starting in Hollywood in January. If you don't already know that, you haven't been listening to Trump screaming his ass off about it every week in front of a ferris wheel. Oh, and the screaming? In full effect. I think Trump falls under the jurisdiction of "fire in a crowded theatre" because even the words "15-week job interview" are screeched with such a terrifying intensity. Between the Trumpeting and the psychotic music I ended up in a ball in the corner and nothing's even happened yet. He calls Hollywood "La-La Land" -- Why? -- and everybody cheers for a million years. Why?