They find the champagne, and someone actually says, "Ya-hoo!" Oy. As they all share a toast, Wes says, "I toast to the men dominating the women." Yeah. You know, if he had just been talking about winning, that would be one thing, but there is indeed an especially asshole slant to choosing the word "dominating," and it's not lost on the women. Which is surprising, considering that many things have apparently been lost on the women up to this point, including everything their parents ever taught them about dressing for a job interview. The music deflates, and the women's faces deflate, and Ivana essentially interviews that she's not sure what Wes's deal was with that line, but she didn't appreciate it. He takes a swig right from the bottle (real polite when a bunch of people are sharing, like, way to mark your territory with backwash, Fang), and we are at our first break.
When we return, we come back to Trump Tower, S5, where the men and the women split up to read their envelopes discussing what they have to do next. Ivana and Bradford read the letters aloud, and after a lot of unnecessary buildup, the teams learn that each team has to permanently give up one member to the other side. So one dick goes to the chicks, one chick goes to the dicks. Not only that, but that person will be the project manager for the first task. The women all stare at each other, expressing the following thought: "Uh." Bradford suggests to the men that they either essentially vote someone off Testosterone Island, or they put names in a hat and pick that way. Somebody suggests they could start by just asking if anybody wants to switch. Bradford himself winds up volunteering, so there you go. They all shake his hand and send him off. "Sucker!" they think to themselves. "You're going to get such a case of the cooties!" Bradford steps on his own moment by interviewing about what a big stud he was for "stepping up to the plate," blah blah blah. Yeah. And then he throws in some more weak-ass baseball metaphors, and I guess that's his management style: sports metaphors. It's common, but that doesn't make it a good idea.
Bradford goes over to the women's meeting, where they're all like, "What are you doing here?" Because they're not really all that quick. He refers to himself as "the Bradford." You know who the last person was to do that? "The Puck." So just...take a pill and be quiet. Seriously. Maria interviews with a wide grin plastered to her face that "everybody needs a Y chromosome." Heh. Okay, I thought that was funny, just because she looked so much like she wanted to throw up. Forced politeness is funny. As they all sit around and discuss, Pamela announces that she'll go to the men's team; it's fine. "Let her go!" someone says loudly. "That's fine." Oh, do you have to be a bitch? Is that really necessary? Jennifer M. comments insightfully that Pamela's move was either good or bad. So, can't get anything past her, I guess. Snare drums accompany Pamela's march over to the men's team. As she slaps all of their hands, she says, "My penis is getting larger with every minute." And, you know...that's what I would like to think I would say in that situation. I probably wouldn't, but I'd know I should. And I'd want to. Rob announces in an interview that he thinks Pamela is about 6'9". Hee. He then says, "For the trade that we got, I think we came out on top." I think so, too, at this point. If only because Bradford already strikes me as the kind of insecure, chortling blowhard I cannot abide.