At the Ghost Bar, Corey tries to bury the hatchet with Gabby. Their conversation basically revolves around Corey trying to make Gabby understand that he's a deep soul who's been hurt by everyone around him, and that this has turned him into a whispering poet whose sole mission in life is to bring harmony and tranquility to everyone's lives. Gabby says he's a shit-covered prick. Corey shrugs and says she's got a mothering quality and he's a hurt child and dammit...they go together like ramma lamma lamma kadingity-ding-da-dong. Jesus, Feldman, get off it already! And while you're at it, take off those stupid goddamned sunglasses while you're in a club at 2 AM. You don't have to worry about the paparazzi splashing your photo on the cover of The National Enquirer anymore, you godless bucket of chunky horse puke. You are a nobody. Hell, I've got more fans than you, and I do everything within my power to drive people away from me. Corey and Gabby agree to make a truce, but Gabby insists that this doesn't mean she's apologizing for a damned thing she's said to him or about him. Corey can live with that. Hell, it's one of the best deals he's received since The Lost Boys; he'll take it. They hug, and Gabby looks like she'd rather be hugging a leper with halitosis than Corey.
Corey goes outside to call his girlfriend now that he's made peace with Gabby, not really taking into consideration that it's 12:30 in the morning and more than likely he's interrupting Suzie having kinky lesbian sex with Chaka Khan or someone of equal fame. He starts babbling that Gabby's trying to be his therapist and is pointing fingers at him and his personality and he's damned sick and tired of it. And if he had a spine, by God, he'd stand up to her. He then manages to find the audacity to call Gabby a "phony." You don't hear a peep out of Suzie. Which reminds me: one of the original rules of this show was that they would have no cell phones. Yet Corey's clearly outside on a cell phone, once again crying to his long-suffering woman. I'd suggest he get thrown off the island at this point, but who else am I going to get all wound up about?
Back in the bar, since Vince is about seven sheets to the wind and slinging martini glasses full of table scraps at waitresses, Corey decides that rather than hang with him and do "the rock-star thing," he'd better hang out with Hammer and Manny Mo because he's guaranteed a night of limited occurances of trouble around those two. The most trouble you can get into with Manny is if he were to accidentally fall into a storm drain or something. The three of them pile into a limo and cruise to Fatburger. Meanwhile, the three ladies have decided that they're going to pay a visit to Olympic Garden, home of a bunch of guys in g-strings with what appear to be pixellated penises. I've got to admit, my puny pecker isn't anything to write home about. ("Dear Mom. How are you? I am fine. But let's talk about my penis for a minute.") But at least it doesn't look like a crime boss's face during a Diane Sawyer interview. Jerri admits that she's never seen a male stripper before, which causes me to engage in a "Horseshit!" coughing fit which amuses my two-year-old, and nobody else. Gabby's clearly uncomfortable with this outing, but it was either go to the strip club with the girls or sit in a darkened booth at the back of the dance club with a passed-out Vince while Barbie blows him and jams her fingers in his ass under the table. Strip club, here we come!