From there, the weekend was really just a showcase from Schmidt to amazingly, hilariously, tirelessly, and -- natch -- fruitlessly work every ounce of game he had ever tried, conceived, and/or heard from some mumbling guy on a street corner. The full frontal assault began Saturday morning as he oiled up and dangled from his door in gravity boots. CeCe woke up and shrieked at the sight, which Schmidt took as his cue to call out "...and 4,000." You could almost believe he'd actually overexerted himself since he momentarily passed out minutes later, though I'm sure that was from hanging in wait for who-know-how-long.
CeCe headed to the bathroom, trailed by both Schmidt and Winston, who waited stalker-like while she showered with Schmidt's body gelato). Despite Schmidt's aforementioned feline phobia, the guys followed CeCe up to the roof deck. Schmidt carried on a blatantly fake phone call with some girl he was letting down gently even as she complimented his "god-like" skills in the sack. Winston, as per usual, watched and mocked, calling Schmidt's phone to expose his gambit. It's worth noting, of course, that Winston was also summarily shut down by CeCe all this time.
They headed inside. Schmidt pretended to work ("pulling in them ducats") until Winston came in and smacked Schmidt's horribly sunburned chest (damn baby oil), eliciting a girl scream as high-pitched and hilarious as Jess's cackle-shriek when she saw Nick naked last week. Schmidt claimed the burn was "just a little color" and would soon "be brown like you, CeCe." CeCe pressed him if even knew what her "brown" culture was and finally revealed she's Indian. Schmidt enthused about his love for Indian culture, thus walking right INTO Winston's trap: "Hey, Schmidt, why don't you tell her about all the things you love about India." Cue a laugh-out-loud bumblefest of the first 13 things Schmidt extemporaneously associated with India: "Well, you know, I love Slumdog... pepper, Ben Kingsley... the stories of Rudyard Kipling. I have respect for cows, of course. I love... the Taj Mahal, Deepak Chopra, anyone named Patel... I love monsoons... I love cobras in baskets. Naveen Andrews. I love mango chutney... really any type of chutney..." So. Good.
Amid all this, CeCe convinced Jess that Nick had a thing for her based entirely on how he pronounced her name. Jess justified, "He's from Chicago" where they talk funny. CeCe pointed out that Nick turns his feet toward Jess during conversation. I mean, obviously, he might as well have been shoving his hand down her blouse. Can I get a, "What?!" Note to Jess: Don't take dating advice from people whose boyfriends (or whatever that guy was) have face tattoos.
NEXT: Girl scuffles and "closing" arguments