One Hit Blunder

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: B | Grade It Now!
Lesson Nine: Your Life Is Not The Truman Show

Of course Randal immediately starts in with the hair shirt and the flagellating and the "I deserve to die" about the poster he screwed up, and he's so wrong I make that sad frown you make when you can't do anything for them. He says it's a "Boardroom issue," though, and I think he's right about that. Really, spinning Clay's useless ass out of there comes down solidly on Rebecca's shoulders, and it's my hope that her fuckup here was so complicated and multivalent that Trump will just jump right over it like he usually does, giving her the opportunity to save Randal. Which -- somewhat contrary to what we see her do -- is, I think her plan. She knows how far she can criticize Randal without resulting in a firing, I think. But God forbid I not give her some kind of bonus for being my favorite. Rebecca and Randal mourn because it was such a good song, and it had "edge" and "vibe." Embarrassment at hearing them say these things does not distract from the sting that essentially they're right: comparatively, it was a kick-ass song, and I wouldn't kick it off my podcast if it showed up. Rebecca interviews that if they'd worked alone, just Rebecca and Randal, they "probably would've produced a better outcome," and I honestly can't say. She's right that Clay was nothing but "a distraction," but I don't know if even Randal really agrees that Clay's the actual reason. Hell, I don't know if Rebecca honestly believes that: she immediately thereafter scratches a stress rash, without breaking step once. Damn, it's hard to be Rebecca. Welcome to the Suck, darling.

Rebecca hops into the Boardroom, and you've gotta wonder if she does this on purpose every week: hops in there all unescorted and wounded, still fighting, still strong, and I hope to God she is, because that's what I expect of her. She even fucking holds the door open for Clay. That's my girl. They all sit down, and the intensity starts shooting all over the place from the team and from the Viceroys, and Randal looks scared to death. Trump comes in, no shirker of intensity, and we get down to the shortest, in some ways most interesting, and definitely one of the most effing satisfying Boardrooms of the season.

"So, you lost." Dribbling strong, Clay immediately returns, "Hard loss." Trump asks who was responsible for the actual songwriting, and Rebecca flints, "We together as a team wrote the song, Mr. Trump." He's not buying it, and normally he'd be right, but A) they actually did all fight for the song, and B) he's clearly gunning for "creative" Clay, and it bugs him that she doesn't serve him up immediately. Randal clarifies that it's true, "it was a group process" and each of them had input. Not to be thrown off the scent of ill-mannered, tacky blood in the water, Trump tries again: "Clay, weren't you the creative member of the team?" Clay agrees, but since we never saw that, it comes across like when I started at my first job and was immediately assigned the window and in-store displays. I keep my cooking, decorating, and event planning/design skills fucking close to the vest, and concentrate solely on publicizing my ability to rebuild a carb engine or AK-47 blindfolded precisely because of this shit. Kissin' dudes doesn't mean I'm responsible for your fucking artistic notions.

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