It doesnít much matter what other reality shows you have watched over the years, there can not have been a weaker ending for a contest than the finale of The Apprentice 4. It was like the moment after youíve won the lottery and then you realize that half of it is going to be taken away through taxes. Itís good, but itís just tainted now.
This is all Trumpís fault of course. Not only is he a pansy who constantly keeps his hands below the desk so that you donít see him fondling himself, but he has the decision-making ability of a sock monkey. Exhibit A in the case against Donnie is the list of bankruptcies he has gone through. Exhibit B would be this show. Even last time around - when Trump was too drunk to remember one of the former contestantís names - the finale had some meaning to it because one person was selected outright as the winner. Not this time around. Nope. There was no clearcut winner in this one, no matter what the braying asses say. Donald Trump needs to get slapped around for a while and then tossed in to the Hudson River. He has always been the worst host of any of these reality contests, but now heís not even trying to make it a contest. If he didnít have a personal distaste for certain types of people working for him, then we would have an Apprentice just like weíve had every other season. All of a sudden now, itís too difficult for him to decide between the final two candidates. What a pile of crap this man is.
Most people who bother to watch his little ego pet-fest really get drawn into rooting for one contestant or another. Viewers actually care who wins, mostly because the viewers have nothing comparable in their own humdrum lives and we have to live vicariously through the characters who are paraded before us in what is supposed to be an entertaining spectacle. Then when ďourĒ guy or gal wins, we can pat ourselves on the back and say, ďUh huh, thatís my soul twin who just walked away with the prize and that somehow reflects well on meĒ.
With one question at the end, Donnie pretty much makes it all meaningless. It is not just our preening self-reflection in the TV screen that gets wrecked, though. All of the effort that the actual contestants put into winning this thing is cast aside like so much toilet paper. This entire show is tainted with Trumpís crap and the rumors of another season of Apprentice will hopefully pan out as nothing more than rumors. And it wasnít just the contestants he pissed on. There was at least one major sponsor of the show who was just humiliated by Trump himself. Who would want to put money into his show now? We wonít even get into the failed Apprentice Light that has been gasping for air on Wednesday nights. Enough of the setup. Letís take a few moments to review the finale to see how bad Trumpís creation has gotten.
When the show opens, we are treated to a shot of Trump, Caroline and George getting into a limo. Yawn. Then Trump drools and some guttural sounds come out. He is almost unbearable to look at directly, especially when he does that over-extended puckering thing with his mouth. They arrive at the place where a ďstudio audienceĒ has been assembled. Since very few people would intentionally spend an evening looking at DT up on a stage, this is actually just the place where the patients from the nearest mental asylum have been gathered and told to pretend to be a studio audience. If they donít, there will be no parchesi for a week. The patients are just glad to be out for a few hours so they play along.
Trump stumbles around looking for his throne and we are treated to at least five minutes of the mental patients hooting and hollering. For a moment, it seems like weíre watching Oprah. Donnie reminds us that the final two candidates of this program, Randal and Rebecca, had some tasks to work on involving charity events. Randal had a softball game and Rebecca had a comedy event. DT asks the audience who they like and we have a few more minutes wasted on the audience. Who cares about the damned audience? If Donnie had more than half a brain in his head, he would have found some way to entertain us better. But, of course, this was never, never about entertaining people. It was about Trump getting some patsy corporations to pay for his inept interview process.
First, we get a look at how Rebeccaís team is doing. In case you werenít watching or didnít see the summary for the previous week, Rebecca was trying to raise money for a pediatric AIDS foundation. However, the expected emcee of the event - Joe Piscopo - backed out at the last minute because he had a manicure that day and his personal grooming was more important to him than a charity. Someone says, ďLetís get someone bigger than Joe PiscopoĒ. Not a problem. The guy is only 4í3Ē. So they call around to the local improv troupes to see whoís available. This becomes the main problem for Rebecca : Improv comedy is not easy. Successful charity events are not easy. Doing improv sketches regarding AIDS can be pretty damned funny when youíve tossed a few beers back. But thatís more likely to cause a stink than to raise money. But wait! Thereís more: Yahoo! is the corporate sponsor of her event and they donít want her to explicitly ask people to donate at the event. So we have a charity event where they canít ask for money being emceed by Joe Piscopoís stand-in and the project manager (Rebecca) is still on crutches. You know what word perfectly describes all of this? Craptastic. The challenges facing Rebecca are so horrendous that you canít help but watch just to see how many die in the train wreck.
Trump should have just stopped the show right there and said, ďYou know what? I have a better chance of getting my wife to let me touch her with my psoriasis-laced genitalia than you have of winning this thing. Itís over, Randal won.Ē But the showís sponsors have put their money in and so we have to endure another eighty minutes of The Apprentice. And even when you think itís over, Donnie will throw in a twist. And itís not one of those good twists that makes you gasp in delight or anything.
Then we get a look at Randalís team. He and Marshawn are trying to make their beds look like theyíve both been slept in, but itís not working. Randalís team gets the call telling them that rain is coming. They did not prepare for rain. Randall and Josh head down to the stadium to figure out what to do next. On the way there, they get a call from the autism charity spokesperson. That doesnít sound right, does it? A spokesperson for autism. Whatever. She wants to know what they are going to do and Randall says, ďRelax. Iíll just pull something out of my butt and everything will be okayď. They meet up with the head groundskeeper of the stadium and he informs them that there is no way they will be able play softball if it keeps raining. Mudwrestling is briefly discussed as an option, but that idea is set aside. So, Randal takes a look at the spaces inside the stadium. The best room they have to work with looks like somebodyís poorly maintained basement, cockroaches included. At that time, Plan B is drawn up. Plan B is to have a live auction as a replacement for the softball game. Hmmm. A random auction for hundreds of people who were expecting a softball game held in a cruddy space within sniffing distance of a menís locker room. All of a sudden, Randal looks like he could be in trouble, too.
We have a brief interlude where we catch Trump diddling himself in front of the mental patients and then we go back to Rebecca. We see that she has found a new emcee. He isnít very funny. Kind of like this summary. Somehow, Rebecca and her team have decided that not only arenít they going to ask the guests at their charity event to pony up some cash, but the guests are actually going to receive ďgoodie bagsĒ. These goodie bags donít contain what you might think. If they had, Rebecca could have made a small fortune from selling munchies to the suddenly laid back crowd. In addition to whatever the goodies are, the guests will find in their bags a simple brochure letting them know where they can donate should they choose to do so anytime in the future. In other words - Rebecca is not going to raise one penny for the pediatric AIDS foundation. Sick kids who are hoping for any little relief may suffer a while longer because she would rather be a typical corporate suck-up than actually do the right thing. Nice girl. Since raising money is one of the requisites of having a successful event - the other requisite is getting everybody naked and drunk - then you have failed. Automatic, no exceptions. Unless, of course, your opponent is socially unacceptable to the person who will be picking the winner.
You may back away from this summary now, if you want. Itís not going to get any nicer.