On arrival, their host tells them they are in "the nicest suite in the place," and how they are going to hear a little music this evening, and have a little food, "a little beverage" (whatever the hell that means), and that he'll set up dinner for them if they like. He's like Julie the Cruise Director. I think I would be kick-ass at that job, actually -- casino host, I mean, not the other thing. How fun would that be, to literally get paid to charm scary people? R.I.C.O. asks disingenuously if they have to gamble in order to be treated so nicely. This is of course the central theme of Story A. "We get whatever we ask for," he tells us in interview, "because we Gamble That Way." They've been put in the "Old Steve Wynn" apartment. Notice how they don't run around gawking at everything like trash. "Tim and Tom want you to have the best suite in the hotel." Host guy gives them more tour, and then R.I.C.O. makes the mistake of asking about the view, which they are immediately told is "spectacular." As they are led by their host to the mechanized window treatment, R.I.C.O. mumbles, "Spectacular?" The window slides open on a parking lot, and an empty expanse of dirt-road nothingness. It literally could not look worse unless those future-robots from the Terminator movies were chasing humanity's survivors through it with lasers. They've paved paradise, but have yet to complete putting up the parking lot. R.I.C.O., wonderfully, calls it "an elephant's graveyard," and says it looks like a "truck stop." He is a poet. S.U.A.V.E. points out the Greyhound station, a "nice" touch. They're very funny, and still laughing, but honestly, I think they are just a little pissed. "So, aside from the view" -- good save there, dillweed host guy -- "believe me, you're going to have a great time tonight." R.I.C.O. curses, and tells the host to close the window again, disgustedly. "I'm going to go in there and walk around in my room naked. I like to walk around naked." He stomps off and everyone laughs, because: What?
The bellhops fight stupidly and fakely over Jenn's luggage, climbing over each other like starving orphan puppies to get her bags out of the Jeep. We leave her at the check-in desk for a brief view from the gallery, where the bellhops are...still fighting over her luggage. Such is the power of Jenn. "Why don't you let me get one once in a while?" "I'm that good, what can I say?" This whole thing is especially dumb. Like Tim and Tom dumb. Check-in lady (who is way less pretty than Amanda Righetti, besides being obviously a whore on the side) asks dumbly what brings Jenn to "our great state?" Meaning Nevada? Jenn's moving to town, we are reminded again, which check-in lady finds just so exciting for some reason. Maybe she's being forced to overenunciate by the proximity of the cameras. Maybe it's coke. Maybe she had a stroke. I don't know. "I need a job," says Jenn, by way of explaining that this is her middle name: Jenn "I Need a Job" Nelson. "Do you guys have any openings or anything?" There's a glint of tongue ring as she explains she'll do anything -- she just needs a job. It underscores her claim nicely. She randomly throws out "cocktail waitressing," by which the hyperoxygenated check-in lady is overexcitedly underwhelmed. "Oh no, you should be doing something more glamour. Total glamour." Which, okay, first of all? Entire seasons of Absolutely Fabulous could be written around skewering that bullshit. Some Dynasty bitch lady with fake boobs on Six Feet Under would say that right before her head got chopped off by a flying fashion-related item. And secondly? Jenn is not total glamour, she is total freaknik anal sex schoolgirl waiting to happen. She's wearing platforms with Lucite heels: Total glamour my entire ass.