As they arrive at their lockers, Grace says, "You have to nip this in the bud. People who use smiley faces in their email do not deserve that much power." Adam and Iris are hanging out near his locker. Iris is standing two inches from Adam, sketching a bad picture of him. Her hair's sort of wavy and pulled back. I guess it's an improvement. (The hair, not the sketching. I still think she's a barnacle.) Adam overhears Grace's comment. He asks, "Are you talking about the panty shot?" I think if anything, I hate the phrase "panty shot" more than I hate the word "panties." Why? Why are they doing this to me on my birthday? I've been nice, haven't I? Joan throws her hands up and bangs her head against her locker. Grace glares at Adam. Iris gives him a look, too. Adam: "I deleted it, like, immediately!" I totally didn't buy that at first, then I remembered his eidetic memory, and I figured he's for real -- since it makes no difference. Joan reels a bit, saying that this is a nightmare. She notices two chumps leering at her and talking about her, and adds, "An actual nightmare, that I've had in my sleep!" Adam asks why they hate her so much. Joan: "They were picking on this pathetic Hat Girl in the locker room." Two more cretins walk by, leering. She adds, "I should have just kept my mouth shut." Grace: "And your clothes on." Geez, she was in gym. It's not like she went to the prom and did a drunken strip show. Iris: "You stuck up for someone in gym? That's like the front lines. Kudos. Rave on." Joan looks irritated and disgusted as she asks Iris, "Is English, like, a second language for you?" Adam: "Chill, Jane." Grace asks what she's going to do. Joan makes a joke about going into a witness protection program. Adam: "It'll blow over." Iris, like the little barnacle she is: "Definite blowage." Shut. Up. You, of all people, are not allowed to speak on my birthday. Grace announces stridently, "That is not the point. An act of retaliation is in order here. And peaceful protest went out with Gandhi." Adam: "He went around naked, and he's, like, an icon." The three girls just look at him, puzzled and/or incredulous. He says he's just trying to help. Iris grabs him and drags him off. Grace leaves Joan standing at her locker, pissed off. Somebody calls out to Joan, "Hey, you got any videos?" Joan just pulls her jacket around her and folds her arms tightly, her face scrunched up with annoyance. Girlfriend desperately needs to learn how to flip the bird. I'd be happy to teach her the fine points.
Will and Toni are at the hospital. Some elderly guy has driven his car right into a farmer's market, injuring a bunch of people, several fatally so. The ER is a busy, bloody mess. It's jammed with victims, families, and health-care workers. Will speaks to a guy we'll call Poor Man's John Carter. Frink: "Just promise me John Wells isn't going to take over this show, too." Me: "Do I look like I have any say in the matter? You think I wanted The West Wing to be any shittier than it already was?" Will can't believe all these people were involved in twenty seconds. PMJC says the farmer's market draws a large crowd. Will and Toni want blood, urine, and breathalyzer results as soon as possible. PMJC says the guy is seventy-two. Yeah? So? Once you're behind the wheel of the car, there are no excuses. PMJC wants to make sure he's okay. Will doesn't much care at the moment. We see the guy being attended to; PMJC asks them to give him a second. Will, surveying the carnage, remarks, "Shrink finally gives me the green light to get back on the street and this is the first thing I see." Toni wonders if he's okay. Will: "No. I'm horrified. And kinda pissed off." Just then some angry guy busts in and starts shouting at the grey menace about how he killed his wife and left his three kids motherless. Cops tackle him and drag him out, crying and shouting. Will orders PMJC to get Old Guy upstairs. He forgets to say, "Stat!" though, so I don't know if PMJC will comply.