"Five minutes," mutters Mr. keckler, grabbing the stain stick, "and I already object to this whole show." Overruled. The jury will watch the show because the cats need shoes!
Wading through her friend's raging hormones, Riley tells Anna she asked her over for a special favor, and she doesn't want Anna to get pissed. "Soda?" Riley offers hopefully. I'm sure everyone is supposed to be flummoxed by that offer and the beer offer. Not me, I'm smarter than that -- I know the soda and the Dos Equis are all a part of an elaborate favor that Riley apparently asks of her friend all too often. The writers are just trying to be crafty -- getting us right to the collective edges of our seats, they are. What would a can of soda and a beer in the morning have to do with a favor asked of a friend? Let's puzzle it. Anna looks weary. "Not again," she says. "Please?" "Riley." "Please?" "Riley." "Please?" "Riley." Oh, please. Weird: typing it that many times, the word has lost all meaning and it looks really foreign now.
Two actors pretending to be first-year lawyers and roommates come down the lavender halls. "All I'm saying is that I could spot you five points. It's something nice I could do for you," says a shag rug in human form. "You're talking a lot of trash talk, five foot nine," says the spitting image of PlasticMan. It's "talking trash," you goober.