On to Bradford. He recalls punching someone and robbing him, only to hear Washington apologize for the violent act. "He's a saint," Bradford grins. The convict explains his lawyer convinced him to roll the dice, gambling that no one would pick him from a line-up. As such, Jimmy Washington got screwed because Bradford couldn't admit to his alibi. "I couldn't have been killing nobody in no Upper East Side Speedy Burger," Bradford explains, leaning forward and glaring somberly over his supersized upper lip. "Reason is, I was in Williamsburg that night cappin' two other fools." Wallace leans back in his chair, dumbfounded. A triple negative sighting is truly rare. As the words "Emmyâ„¢ Clip" flash across the screen, Bradford superfluously adds, "Oh, you want nothing but the truth? BOOM. There it is." Drums of Grim Realization sound loudly as Wallace, aroused by the sheer size and score of Bradford's pink kisser, wonders how many licks it would take the felon to get to the center of his Tootsie Roll Pop.

Commercial. Ignoring the companies who paid to bring you this show, I will instead share the thoughts of Northwestern University journalism professor David Protess, who told MediaGossip what he thinks of Deadline:

"It's completely implausible," Protess said. "No one who knows anything about journalism would believe this show. I watched it with my wife, teenage son and dog and cat, and the dog seemed to be the only one who liked it. But he likes to eat cat shit, too."