Hey, everybody. Did you have a nice holiday? It's a whole new year! My New Year's resolution: I'm bringing the sexy back. Not mine. Just random sexy. Hey, clean thongs! Seeeexy.
The (sexy) new episode begins with a pretty hot nighttime view of the Metropolis bay-line. Oh yeah. This is smokin', people. An elevator door opens, and a woman wearing a pair of sexy black boots walks out. She strides silkily down the halls of the Daily Planet. I like where this is going! Too sexy! We get other views of the woman. She's wearing a long white-and-black coat and carrying a stack of folders. She's a blonde. Hey, that's all pretty sexy so far. Jaunty music plays. The woman throws down the folders in front of (sexy) Chloe's desk and says that she needs eleven copies of each before her macchiato goes arctic. We finally see her face. NOOOOO! It's Tori Spelling! The sexy has died! So quickly! My New Year's resolution! Finished! Ah, well. I didn't think there was any way I could keep this going once Lois appears later, anyway. Tori Damned Unsexy Spelling whispers under her breath that assistants just don't have the stamina they used to. Chloe goes around her desk to stand up and tell "Ms. Lake" that she's not an assistant. She's a reporter. Tori turns her evil head and bears down on Chloe. She says, "Unfortunately..." and then looks down at the "Chloe Sullivan" nameplate on the desk. She snidely calls Chloe "Sullivan," and tells her that what matters is that she can see Gotham from her new office and that Chloe is below sea level. Chloe sighs that she'd rather snorkel for the rest of her life than destroy a man's life based on a rumor. She holds up an ugly high school newspaper-looking Section B front page that reads, "The Daily Dish with Linda Lake." It features a photo of a young man and the word "STEROIDS" with the "I" in the shape of a needle. This is really, really bad page design. A guy I know from work, G.W., would throw up if he saw this. Tori grabs the paper and throws it on the desk. She says that she only prints the truth, and that it's on the front page of section B every week. I don't know of a lot of major newspapers that would print a gossip column on a B section front. Even the New York Post puts their stuff inside, Page Six. Tori storms out. The camera zooms in on the photo of the athlete.
Outside, Tori is walking down the street and telling someone on the phone that she knows the guy is a "juicer" and that she can smell the fresh ink of tomorrow's paper. I guess what Chloe was holding was an early print run copy, then. Tori tells the person on the phone that they wanted her to have her finger on the pulse of the city; she just hit an artery. This town needs a proctologist! A man walks up to Tori as she finishes her conversation. It's the athlete from the newspaper story. "Well if it isn't the steroid stallion," says Tori, unsympathetically. She stands under an umbrella as he, all wet, stands miserable in the rain. She asks if he doesn't have some muscle cocktail mixing to do. "You ruined my life!" he bellows. She makes an annoyed kissy face. The Sexy just rolled over in its red silk-lined grave. The athlete notes that Tori doesn't even care. She "Oh, puh-leeze,"-es him, and says that if he didn't want to get "red-rovered" by the media, he shouldn't have stuck that needle in his tush. This lady talks dumb. There's an extreme close-up on the guy's pale face as he says she's so quick to get high and mighty. She's destroyed enough lives and he's not going to let her destroy any more. Before he so much as extends a pinky, Tori drops her umbrella and runs. The guy just watches her coldly and follows her. Very slowly.