At the first meeting of the people behind the new Stuckeyville High TV station, Carol asks whether anyone has any ideas for programming. MegaMark suggests that he and Diane do a morning show, because they have this wonderful love-hate relationship going on with sexual tension you could cut with a knife. I agree. He loves munching on sides of beef, and she hates him. Carol asks Warren what he'd like to see, and Warren goes off on this whole patriotic post-September 11th spiel about returning America to warm and comforting TV shows because it's television's obligation to let America know that everything's going to be okay. Carol sees through Warren's bullshit like it was plexiglas and asks what he really wants to see; he shamefully admits he'd like to do a show with a talking dog. Carol spots Molly standing in the doorway looking all glum and frumpled, so she tells the students to brainstorm while she goes and hangs out with Molly rather than do the job she's paid by state taxpayers to perform. I don't mean to sound bitter, but if I could somehow gain back all of the wasted hours that my teachers would spend gallivanting around the school hallways with their buds to chit-chat or smoke weed or rub genitalia or whatever the hell it was that teachers did when they left me alone to get pummeled on by my fellow classmates, I may have stood the chance to carve out a decent career opportunity for myself rather than having to resort to writing coffee table books for a living. Tell me something, people: who the hell actually reads coffee table books? Wait, don't tell me -- I've got the answer for you already: NOBODY. Coffee table books are for decoration, not for reading. Don't think I don't know this. I'm fully aware of my complete and utter unimportance in this world. It's just that I...oh...oops. Heh heh heh. Sorry for having a public meltdown like that. It's just...well...there's a lot of stress in the hectic world of coffee table book writing right now...that's all.