They come out down the hall looking like the supreme assmunches of all time: Kristin swinging that stupid purse with her stupid tits pushed up and that crocheted Ren-Faire sweater you button right at the breaking point of your dÃ©colletage ("You cain't have it hanging out like that," remember, Kristin?), Geoff with his shirt buttoned down to his sternum and the sleeves of his zebra-striped sport coat rolled up to his elbows. Mysterious Brown-Haired Douche, who's wearing some nice jeans but sunglasses indoors, pipes up to ask, "You ready, boy?" To which Kristin responds, "Yeah." Heh. "Let's roll some dice, baby," he smarms.
As though summoned by the word "dice" (or "baby," as in Big Fat Baby), Tim appears, wearing the black suit and pinstriped-shirt-with-matching-pocket-square that only those with alleged Mob ties can get away with. Man, I'm really on and on about the clothes tonight. I think it's like if your dog got run over by a blue station wagon, and after that you'd be really aware of blue station wagons. Matt "Velvet" Dusk arrives for a meeting with Tim and asks immediately what he thought of last night's show. Tim says that it was good about 3,700 different ways without letting Matt get a word in edgewise and it sounds like bullshit, but it's not, that's just Tim. Tim asks about the Lorraine Hunt situation and Matt "Velvet" Dusk tells him how Joe the Vet came and harassed and "distracted" them while they were onstage to let this lady sing. Emboldened by Tim's admission that things like that "shouldn't happen," Matt "Velvet" Dusk starts into that classic old jazz standard, "This Is Not a Karaoke Bar, And I Am Not a Karaoke Singer (Because If I Believed That Were True, I Would Murder Myself)." He even takes another trip to the "shared vision" well, where he's convinced that he and Tim and Tom have one single clue what they're doing between the three of them. Tim sells out Joe the Vet totally, although I'm not sure I believe him. "We'll do it your way," he says, to which poor doomed little lovely Matt "Velvet" Dusk returns, "Our way." He says, "This is gonna be really good," and I can't stop thinking of Lady Heather smiling up the big new house Caleb Nichol bought her, and how I said out loud to an empty house, "Girl, you are fucked."
Tom wanders -- and I do mean wanders -- through the casino toward Tim, edited in such a way as to seem that he wandered up just as Matt "Velvet" Dusk was skipping off to sing "It's Oh So Quiet" to lampposts and dancing mailboxes. Actually, I would pay upwards of six "G-notes" to hear Matt "Velvet" Dusk sing that. Tom fakely asks what the whole meeting (that happened on another day and not just now) was about, and Tim blows it off. Tom struggles to stay in the moment instead of going to the Civil War Reenactment or the Boston Tea Party or whatever the fuck goes on in his head. They play out a shitty little "I thought the entertainment area was mine," "Well, I thought the whatever department was mine," your-chocolate/my-peanut-butter scenario that is tough to watch because they are bad at pretending to do what they actually do. How is that possible? How can you be bad at playing yourself? I may be affected in real life, but at least I can read my lines, you know?