There are clothes scattered all over Jenn's suite, and she's wearing another slutty black dress and a black BOA and she answers her phone and it's her grandma. I'm a guy and I don't really own clothes like that? But if things were very different for me, and I were wearing what she's wearing, and my grandmother called? I would totally ask her to wait and then quickly change clothes. I can't even talk to my boss on the phone unless I'm fully dressed. Is that weird? She's asking her grandmother to tell her the words and tune of the song she's going to be singing. Grandma tries to give her the tune, but the speakerphone distorts it so badly she might as well be singing a commercial for Ford trucks. She still has a better voice than Jenn, who now attempts to sing along with her, meandering around the melody in a vertigo-inducing manner. Grandma, Jenn informs us, has been a singer since she was fourteen. Older and wiser now, Grandma screams at Jenn to drink a lot of water while in Vegas, and Jenn laughs that she's been "chugging it by the gallon." Which just sounds like she read it off the back of a porno, which is what she is living. Small bumper out to commercial about how Jenn's about to come face-to-face with her big break, "but her true talents may lie elsewhere!" ["Yeah. In Portland. Go away, moron." -- Sars]

Tommy is simply walking through the casino, minding his own business and singing that Goofy "Oh, the world owes me a livin'" song, when Monique spots him and calls out, "Hey Tommy!" Admittedly, this next bit is regrettable, but I can see how it is probably a pained attempt at being breezy and jocular. There are some mice you can shock a thousand times and they'll still head straight for the red pellet, you know? "How you doing, woman? Everything going well?" He keeps walking, because she is toxic, and she lets him get a little bit away before screaming as though he's walking directly away from her, instead of simply continuing on his trajectory, "Tommy, get over here!" Like he's the asshole who didn't stop for a professional conversation with her, even though she gave no indication such a conversation would be taking place.Sars nailed it earlier this week, comparing Monique to the Utter Bitch Australian Hostess from the last season of The Restaurant. They both send gift-wrapped baskets of rope to your house with which to hang yourself. They fondle your trigger, then they blame your gun. They do the things they say are up to you, and then accuse you of trying to fuck it up. They lead you down complicated Tarantino linguistic pathways about whether you think they are or are not a bitch, knowing all the time they're going to beat you up regardless. Lesbian Dealer Lady looks on, unhappy but disinterested: Monique, too, has a job to do. That of being a windbag bitch. "What do you want, Monique?" Nothing, really, I'm just kind of bored. Anyway, nothing I can't get from my kids when I go home to abuse them right after this shift.