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The Apprentice 4 - Episode 5 Summary

'Nobody Knows Anything: An Adventure In Rough Paraphrase' By Estee
Original Airdate: October 20, 2005

{Establishing shot: a man sits in a Boardroom, all alone. At least, we think he's alone. As we zoom in to focus on his head, a very slight movement comes from his hair that has nothing to do with his motions or the air currents. Just for a moment, we catch a glimpse of what might be fangs among the fiberglass strands -- and then stillness takes over. The man clears his throat and shakes his head a few times as if to clear it. The hair doesn't move.}

Donald: 'Hi, I'm Donald Trump, and I shouldn't have to tell you that. You should just know it. My name used to be everywhere and on everything. Buildings. Helicopters. Water. My new wife, although I can't show you that unless we go to cable. But for some reason, you all seem to have forgotten about me. You used to watch me every week. I would gather fresh crops of slightly green, extremely egotistical, and incredibly stupid people, then offer the last one standing a job running one of my companies, and you've all heard of the Trump Mailroom, right? You used to really enjoy watching that sort of thing. It seemed as if witnessing idiots compete to see which one was the least stupid appealed to you.'

Donald: 'So in order to make you all feel better, I kept getting bigger and better idiots. And I encouraged my good friend Martha to do the same, just to double your pleasure. And do you know what happened? Martha, that ex-convict, got a group of people who were so stupid and so incompetent that they made mine look like actual hiring prospects! Her ratings are low because you have to count on your own contestants watching and none of her people are smart enough to work a remote, and my ratings are down because it's all her fault, all hers, even though my ratings are actually as good as they've ever been if not better, it's still all her fault, and my ratings? They're fine. Thank you for asking.'

Donald: 'Anyway, in case you weren't watching last week, much like the person who's going to be summarizing this episode and I happen to know I got blown off last night so a certain someone could watch James Woods not get any cards again, maybe I should just go on that show if I'm expecting something resembling attention -- hey! Trump Poker Showdown! It's completely original! -- George, go copyright that... as I was saying, last week, the minicorps had to come up with a mascot to promote Dairy Queen's Blizzard brand, which is sort of interesting because much like this show, the Blizzard is just about impossible to finish without having your brain freeze at least once, and everything in it is so thick, you wonder how anyone could possibly stand it. Excel came up with a female genie, which worked because kids found it motherly, adults found it inoffensive, and male teenagers liked to stare at the design sheets for hours on end while coming up with wishes she could grant. Which gave me an idea for a new Trump Taj Mahal mascot, but never mind that. Capital Edge came up with -- something. Something that looked like -- something. What was that 1996 Atlanta Olympic mascot? God, I still have nightmares...'

Donald: 'Anyway, Toral refused to wear the costume, not because it was ugly and embarrassing, not because it was against her religion, but because she felt she was too good for her team, for Dairy Queen, the show, and me. I was fine with the first two, but the other ones just had to go, and so did Toral: I fired her with no hesitation, with no qualms, and with no chance for Felisha to make a bad decision by picking two other people for the Boardroom. As I understand it, Toral was last heard saying she was too good for the taxi ride, and I agreed completely. She took a limo to Suite #2, and I'm sure it was the most comfortable trunk she ever rode in.

Donald:'So since that little fetish clock in my head is ticking around to 'Fire someone!' again, let's give the minicorps a new task to excel at. Mark, was that a spoiler? Well, somebody else can worry about it in editing. Now what is it that damn summarizer says every season? Oh, right. Roll opening credits.'

{The opening credits, for lack of a better term, roll. We move to the inside of Suite #1, where the men are waiting to see who comes back from the Boardroom. We can't identify who's talking. Well, we could if we wanted to, but what's the point? They're all disposable clones anyway.}

Someone: 'It's the blondes versus the brunettes versus nine inches of near-liquid mud. Why don't they ever let us watch?'

Someone else: 'Felisha's toast. She forgot she had to appeal to the demographics. And what's the demographic hanging around Dairy Queen? Horny male teenagers with no dates, no cars, and nowhere else to go.'

Another person no one cares about: 'We're winning this because we're a team. Plus I used to have no dates and no car and hung around Dairy Queen a lot.'

The first someone: 'They're just a bunch of sorority girls trying to pick up the same boyfriend.'

A short guy: 'Well, aren't we doing the same thing with Donald?'

Someone else: 'Hey! He is so totally my type! And I saw him first!'

{All of the women, minus Toral, enter.}

Generic Man: 'Whoa -- what happened?'

Felisha: 'Shut up and die, you task-winning son-of-a-be-yotch! Choke on your lack of knowledge! -- Capital Edge, follow me into the bedroom. We've got to talk.'

Generic Man: 'Can we watch you clean off the mud?'

Felisha: 'What part of 'die' did you not understand?'

{Back in one of the women's bedrooms:}

Rebecca (confessional-tell): 'We all agreed that when we got out of the Boardroom, anything said there would stay there until we needed it to make a team member break down in tears. You just can't waste that sort of material.'

Generic Blonde Who May Be Yet Another Jennifer: 'We have to start over. We have to be a new team. We have to actually win something. We have to find out who's been stealing my bleach.'

Not-So-Generic Black Female Contestant: 'You know what? We've had a false sense of unity on our tasks. We've been pretending we're a team. Obviously that's wrong, so I vote we all save a lot of time and start trying to kill each other now.'

(c-t, now identified as Marshawn, whoever that is) 'Shut up. Oh God, just someone please shut them up. I hear them arguing about what kind of engagement ring they'll get Donald to buy them in my sleep...'

Generic Brunette: 'Didn't you see subclause C in the contract? Only Mr. Trump and The Blonde Who Has My Seat are allowed to kill us.'

Marshawn: 'Damn. Okay, go back to what you were doing.'

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