Eric wants to axe Chuck for help but Dan automatically knee-jerks about that and then Eric points out that A) Chuck loves Lily, very true and very important, and B) Chuck is technically on their side as long as the war is still going on. They don't have to pick a side, they can just pretend that there's a third side of the war, and it is them. And nobody has the heart to tell them that they're not actually part of the conversation, because they wear adorable costumes -- Eric is wearing plaid, like, all the time now -- and don't much matter either way. So they get down to work, and the first thing they do is make a sign with Blair's picture and she has a little Hitler mustache on her and it says KEEP YOUR FUEDAL MONARCHY OF MY MEDICARE. Nobody knows what it means, but it gets like a million hits on the HuffPo and now Eric van der Woodsen is a minor celebrity among the smug hard-left. (Dan, of course, was already famous for having the most posts on the HuffPo. Of all people, him the most.)

Waiting for Blair and Chuck to arrive, for a reason that is going to be awesome in a second, Nate noticed that Serena is wearing her just-got-fucked face, also known as her face, and asks if by any chance she just got fucked. "No, but in another way yes. I got my brain fucked. By a sex seizure. During my professor's office hours." Chuck and Blair arrive, along with a court stenographer, because get this: Nate and Serena have decided to create a peace treaty between them and have it notarized. I love this show so much. It's like, can you imagine if you didn't get the basic joke of this show and this happened? You'd be like, "That's preposterous!" Pity. No: Compassion.

"We know you both. You have nuclear capability. Sooner or later, one of you is gonna press the other's button, and we're gonna end up with nothing but cockroaches." And Carter Baizen. You know, I'd happily live through any old apocalypse if it meant unfettered Carter Baizen access. What is he, like four six? Somewhere around there. God, I'd just carry him around on my shoulders all day, looking at interesting rubble and shootin' at trash and cockroaches. Hittin' the bowtie section at what's left of Macy's; stockin' up on some real nice bowties. Then when the sun goes down, it's time to climb up to the treehouse, Carter Baizen's tiny arms around my neck like a sloth on its green-bellied mommy's back, sing some Christmas carols in a round, and tuck him in.