The staff of the Yale paper is in nervous conference when Rory comes in. They confirm her previous fears: Paris has been ousted by the board. Thing is, no one has told Paris, who won't come out of her cardboard cave. "I interrupted Her Highness," one staffer says, "and got a five-thousand-word lecture on Robert's Rules of Order." Rory says that Paris has got to be told about her ouster, and volunteers to be the one to do it: "It's probably better that the person delivering the news doesn't chuckle with glee while doing it."
Rory finds Paris in her bunker on the phone with Mr. Weisner, an angry advertiser. She placates the guy and, when Rory comes in, complains about the editorship being a 24/7 job. She says that Weisner was threatening to withhold money he had pledged to the school because his ad was messed up in the paper. "Can he even do that?" she asks. Rory nervously says she doesn't know as Paris heats up a can of soup on a hotplate. Cleary, the madness has taken full hold of Paris, and I have to ask again: where the frick is Doyle? Her boyfriend? With whom she lives? Who has done this job before and could be of help? Has she killed him and put him in a box? Because I think it's a weird oversight of the writers to think we've forgotten he exists and that he would let Paris go down in flames like this. Rory starts her speech. Unfortunately for those of us who were just starting to tolerate Rory again, she makes it all about herself, reminding Paris how long they've known each other and all the things they've been through together. "We supported each other," she says, as Paris continues to mumble over her soup, "through good times and bad. This is a not-so-good time, Paris." The brilliant Liza Weil, totally getting the shaft in this storyline, says she knows: "If the hurricanes don't kill us, the bird flu will." No, Rory says, clarifying that she means that this is a bad time for Paris, here at the paper: "The board voted you out." Paris looks confused for only a moment before coming to a resigned acceptance. Rory says that she's sorry -- that she just found out. Paris says it's not like she didn't know it was a possibility. "So," she says, nodding to the staff room. "Are they all out there excitedly awaiting my perp walk?" Rory pshaws: "Who cares about them? You don't perp-walk. You're Paris Gellar, you walk tall! You're better than all of them." So true. Rory adds that Paris doesn't need this dumb job anyway -- she's going to be a doctor. "Surgeon," Paris corrects. Rory nods, and says she's also going to be a lawyer. "Judge," says Paris. Rory agrees that it will be a hell of a workload: "And the workload here -- the indignities -- smoothing the ruffled feathers of advertisers; covering sports as if they matter -- you are exhausted, Paris. Stretched thin. Eating soup out of a can!" Paris is beginning to buy all of this. Yes, she says, she is pretty tired: "And I'll be damned if I'm gonna give those people a perp walk." Rory says that's a good attitude. "Let's get out of this spider hole and take care of this right now," Paris says, suddenly energized. Rory says she's with her, and follows her into the staff room.