There's No "I" In Team

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: B | Grade It Now!
Lesson Two: Leave It On The Playground

Free Expression: On a piece of 8½ x 11" paper, lined or unlined, express your current career situation. You can draw a picture, write a poem, even doodle mindlessly while a total freak regales you with his tales of mistreatment at the hands of every single damn person he's ever met in his entire stupid life! Bonus points if your doodle includes a man choking on a gibbet with his eyes popping out and a tiny arrow pointing to his head labeled "Stupidface."

In the suite, Chris and Josh have a private circle-jerking session on the best way to talk shit about Markus in the Boardroom and shore up any doubts Chris might have about he did as a PM. It's not pretty, even though I like Chris and Josh the best. They ultimately agree that the best spin is that Markus is "out of his league." Which is true, but not as true as "out of his tree, plus totally sucky." Meanwhile, Markus is lecturing Toral about nothing at all, and she's bored as shit but being a good sport. He lectures us in interview about the Green With Envy thing and how it sucks and should have been fixed "even if you use that weak campaign," and that bugs me, because: "Smooth As Silk"? Lame doctor, heal thyself. Toral nods boredly as he harangues her about how he's not about "fraternity" or "exclusion." Neither were they, jackass. You did that. Toral nods boredly some more with that "I'm clearly just being nice" half-smile. I do no such thing as he interviews that he's not worried about the Boardroom because he "looks forward to the dance." God, what a plug of a person.

Let's talk about Mean Girls for a second. Chris and Josh are being mean. Yes. Because somebody was mean to them, once, and it made them better, more acceptable, cooler, more successful, more socially able. I'm thinking it was when they were young, because they're quite good at it. And this is where frat boys like this come from: intelligently-applied pack meanness. But not just frat boys: senators, trustees, moguls. Act the fool, get slapped, you stop acting like a tool. You start looking around at other people, realize that acting normal and boring and superficial doesn't mean you have to change your insides, and that you can still think whatever you want, and then you fucking shape up.

And then the beauty part, where you realize the majority of all people are doing the exact same thing, playing the "I'm boring" game, and that the most put-together looking, shallow-seeming, Happy Hour-going, Oahu-vacationing, Express-wearing, hour-a-day exercising, forensic procedural-watching, beautiful mannequin of a person that sits in the cubicle next door? Bites her toenails, or is a Xena freak, or only eats the white part of candy corn and has a two-year-old yellow and orange pile of gross in her top left desk drawer, or named her dog "Glomer," or knows all the words to "Buffalo Stance" and will sing them without provocation after a single minty mojito, or whatever awesome thing, and you are missing out on a great new friend if you believe in the existence of iPod People with no souls, because there is no such damned thing.

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