AP Chem. Ms. Lischak has some kind of glitzy yo-yo. She throws it out and yanks it back, saying, "Woo! It's a yo-yo! Yo!" Joan's throwing bits of paper at Friedman's 'fro. Lischak goes on about how easy it is to operate a yo-yo: "Nothing to do with chemistry, right? What have we been talking about for the past five months, people?" She whams the desk next to Friedman. Where's Glynis? Lischak keeps prowling around with the yo-yo, yammering about energy: "Potential, kinetic. Potential, kinetic. Potential..." Friedman suddenly turns around, holding up a large print of the digital photo of Joan in her underwear. Joan: "Potential..." She throws a pencil at his head, adding, "Kinetic." Friedman frantically checks himself for blood as the bell rings. I'm a little confused here, as Joan's again wearing the brown pants and off-white sweater she was wearing a couple of days ago.
With Friedman's arm around his neck, Luke helps Friedman down the stairs, probably to the nurse's office (and if she's attractive, Friedman will no doubt try to hit on her). What a dork. Joan, Grace, and Adam follow them down the stairs together as Joan says, "So much for nipping it in the bud. This has gone way beyond the bud." Grace: "No problem. We escalate. I vote for physical pain." Adam: "Violence begets violence, yo." Grace: "Back off, Siddhartha. You're out of their league, here. You have to go for their Achilles' heel: vanity." Joan: "What, like spike their cosmetics or something?" Grace suggests asking Luke what chemical cocktail would make their hair fall out. Now I'd think that'd be a homework problem Grace could really apply herself to. Joan: "Wouldn't that involve breaking and entering? My dad's a cop." So get him to teach you the fine points. Adam: "I could whip up a cartoon...kind of be, like, a social satire." Joan stops walking: "You'd do that for me?" He replies, "I'd even sign it." Grace: "Yeah, the soapheads are really going to get that. She's in her underwear, dude! Bad underwear." Joan winces and groans. I didn't think it was all that terrible. Some posters called them "granny panties," but they weren't nearly as bad as that, unless you think anything with more coverage than a thong constitutes granny...you-know-whats. I'm not typing it again. Picture the uproar if she'd been wearing a thong. Joan tells them, "The humiliation part is good...it has to be something doable. And very mean." Grace suggests they have a conference call tonight and work it out then.