Rufus additionally reminds Dan that "deflection through sarcasm," i.e., "being a douchetard," is something else he can stow for awhile. Or forever. Dan "deflects" the subject to Rufus's booty call Claire, whose high heels on the concrete floor of their tiny, tiny loft this morning were like a clarion call for someone as judgmental as Dan. Rufus gives him a look and Dan promises not to be an asshole, again, for like the fifth time in this conversation. Jenny comes running out and, fearing vestigial Parent Trap blowback from the delusional Younger Humphrey, Rufus tells Dan to keep quiet about his late-night activities. Jenny, as usual, could not be less interested in their made-up lame-o drama and secrets, and simply asks to be let off school. OMG they should totally let Vanessa home-school her! They could set up a whole schoolroom in the Bedford Gallery, and Vanessa could get one of Jenny's dress forms and attach a bunch of tiny bells to it and teach Jenny Advanced Pickpocketry, combining Jenny's love of stealing with Vanessa's love of invading personal space!
"The first day of school is Draft Day, Blair and her merry band of psychos are gonna be on a tear. They categorize girls into two groups: Projects and Victims. Girls with the potential to become little mini-Blairites become Projects, and total losers -- and the girls who have the potential to threaten social order -- become Victims." Ah. See, this is why you can't keep a Humphrey down: it's not that Jenny sucks and is borderline retarded, it's because she's a fuckin' rebel! She's the Abbie Hoffman of the Upper East Side and simply refuses to let "the man" keep her "down," which is ever so threatening to the "social order" of the "upper class" puppetmasters. She don't need no education, Blairites! She's her own woman! "I was a Project last year, and we all know how that turned out..." She realizes Dan and Rufus are confused/don't care, and leaves, having pre-assigned herself "Victim." This morning, and every morning of her life so far.
Alone, the Humphrey Men immediately drop the half-assed act of understanding what she's talking about and reconfirm with each other that female human beings, with their primitive rituals, are nonsensical and beyond understanding, so why try? As long as they don't have those damned "thoughts" or "feelings" while they're giving you the blowjobs you hope someday to receive, let 'em do whatever they want!
Nelly Yuki is in charge of the binders; the rest of the Plastics surround them with mean, hungry faces, staring down. Blair's sitting in the spotlight on the steps, going through the files one by one while the juniors stare up at her in stark terror. "Melissa Murphy, junior. Let's see here. AP scores good... decent charity work... Young Women of the American Ballet Theater... season passes to the Knicks?" Melissa's dad is the team doctor, good, but she summers in... "The Adirondacks?" Blair shudders and makes a face, and even the Plastics are struck by the sudden chill in the air. "We'll be in touch." Blair is wearing a cape, with a little black velvet twist at the throat, and looks more than ever like the headmistress of a shady Home for Victorian Waifs where they beat you with sticks for taking off your clothes to bathe, and sell you to a fat man when you turn fifteen. Tell me you don't think that's an ideal job for Blair Waldorf.