Oh, man. The Trash Heap. They come pastily out of the elevator, and someone's voice-over says that they "work hard all week" (yeah, just like Howard K. Stern) and on the weekends, they like to "cut loose" and how "part of that is the attire." Again, very amusingly, this is juxtaposed with Kristin bitching good-humoredly that he's making them go "the skinny route" through the crowd. Ouch. People stare, point, laugh, make friends over the Trash Heap's unfortunate lives and clothing, vow to get hysterectomies, laugh thin-and-elegantly to themselves, and generally get their Golden Nugget schadenfreude on. And I can't blame them, because Geoff just enjoys the attention, in that geeky dressed like a freak way, and now I have his number. I have it just exactly. It's a sad number, so sad you have to express it in a certain kind of notation this keyboard doesn't support, but trust me. Sad. Geoff utterly fucks up faking the relatively simple line, "Ralphie, we each want a twenty-five-thousand-dollar marker." No words with more than two syllables, and he just can't do it. The Trash Heap call everyone by the first name in this weird way. Oh, Trash Heap, you deign to mix with the common man -- and such a long way to fall! Your noblesse oblige is like a physical force! Just like your Drakkar Noir! Here, hand me those giant wads of cash with the paper bands around them. There's a weird shot of the -- the person who stands there with a stick, what is it? Oh, that's right -- the stickman, with dice flying by his face. I don't know if it's normal to throw craps vertically, Bryan, or if this is a hint of the boisterous and obnoxious, destructive Trash Heap behavior to come, but I know I wouldn't last a day as a stickman with that shit going on.
Geoff lays down some Trash Heap wisdom: "I love to gamble. It's like a flip of a coin." What? I swear to God each of Kristin's poor abused, displaced-citizen breasts has its own stack of chips. Now Tim's working his way through the crowd. I hope he goes to their table, and all five of them are standing there just as a giant ugly retro lounge vibe chandelier falls on them, smooshing them to death. I hope Ralphie and the Stickman get out of the way -- I bet the Stickman has fast reflexes. WOW a totally pointless and obvious zoom-in on Kristin's breasts! That was awesome! Tim shakes hands with the Mills Bros. (Insert the "I love coffee! Bryan, call me!" joke, until a poster points out that that's the Hills Bros., not the Mills Bros., so now I got nothing) and butterfly-kisses some preliminary heinie. Tommy Sunstrum, a lowly young dealer and the sonstrum of Host John, appears from a brightly-lit employee hallway, so it seems like he's dying in reverse. He foreshadows next week's troubles when he calls out, "How you doin', woman?" to some kind of Mom Lady in a suit with a managerial air who gives him quite the withering glance. There are some random shots to a sign with meaningless blackjack numbers and then cards being shuffled by an unknown individual, and a shoe (the card kind -- see, I'm trying to learn the lingo).
Kristin drunkenly asks if Tom is John's sonstrum, and a whiff of Drakkar Oblige floats by. Geoff drunkenly remembers that John Sunstrum was their host. While Geoff stares down at his crotch, Brown-Haired Guy belatedly and drunkenly catches up and Tommy just has to keep going, "Yeah, yeah, yeah," to save time until we're all on the same page again. Tommy's 23 and adorable and he has been a dealer for about seven months, but would really like to be a host. If you never watch this show again, and I pray that you do not, this might seem meaningless to you, but it all will fit together in the end, I think. Mark Burnett sent me a love letter in the form of an interview I read the other day where said he envisioned the show as a "nine-season, sprawling soap opera" about the goings-on here at the Nugget. Isn't that hilarious? I'm sure, Mark. But see, he's right a good deal of the time, you know, and has created some popular series in his time. Really, I want Commando Nanny to fail on its own demerits, rather than as strike three after The Restaurant (which I kind of liked), and this bag of bullshit right here.