Masters of Sex

Episode Report Card
admin: A+ | 43 USERS: A
A Day Called X
Margaret: "Always?"
Ladies: "Always."
Margaret: "Maybe I shouldn't get a divorce, then. Or just go live in Peggy Lippincott's bomb shelter and read some Shakespeare with my tall ass."


Chrissy Seaver -- aka the little lesbian from What Women Want, starring notable nutsack bigot Mel Gibson; or as the kids know her these days, "that random girl from The Avengers" -- shows up at Bill's office, which terrifies him because he doesn’t want people interfering with his study of people. He tries to make her leave, but she speaks right up.

Flora: "I can tell you're going to keep bitching until I cut to the point, because I know you well enough to know that you don't respond to social or facial cues, so here is the headline. I am three months pregnant."
Masters: "That's very interesting! Just kidding, it isn't. Tell your husband congrats when you leave immediately."
Flora: "I don't have a husband. Or a boyfriend."
Masters: "If this is a Jesus thing or an abortion thing, I can't help you. Those are my two least favorite things, in order."
Flora: "Wrong again."
Masters: "Then what the fuck do you want? And why are you acting like we've met before?"
Flora: "We did. Three months ago. Are you kidding me with this? I don't know how else to spell it out, bro."
Masters: "I seem to have gotten you pregnant through science."


Virginia: "I need you to sign checks for some equipment and also Lester Linden."
Masters: "Fuck you, bitch! I gave you authority over the checkbook. And my heart!"
Virginia: "You need to chill, lady."
Masters: "That girl was pregnant! I got her pregnant on accident!"
Virginia: "Yikes. Well, let's figure out who the dude was, and..."
Masters, verbatim: "Anonymity is the bedrock of our work. I am ethically bound to safeguard the privacy of all participants. Hers included, if the roles were reversed."
Virginia, verbatim: "You mean if the man had gotten pregnant."

Which is the heart of the matter, really. When you're on top, or otherwise insulated by naiveté, you have the privilege of seeing everything and everyone as interchangeable: The concept of "reverse racism," the scourge of female rape, gender as performance. In every case, we happen to define as equal those situations in which we coincidentally come out winners. Privilege never presents as what it is, because nobody thinks of themselves as the villain of the story: You're always getting there by another -- safer, kinder -- route, which just happens to justify your existence as the protagonist, while erasing the reality of people unlike yourself.

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Masters of Sex




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