Episode Report Card
Miss Parker: A+ | Grade It Now!
Jon Favreau = yummy with a spoon

She asks when she'll get to read Christopher's "opus," and Christopher tells her he "flushed it a long time ago." Amy's all "Mob-themed stories are always hot," and Christopher's all playful "you should learn to keep your mouth shut." Christopher gestures to Greg with his cigaretted hand; there's some hardy-har-har snigger faces from the guys, a smug look at Amy like "what a catch I got" from Greg, and Miss Parker runs to the bathroom and hurls. Amy asks what Adriana does. Adriana's all stuttery and embarrassed and says she's in the food service industry right now. Oh, Adriana. We love you -- don't be embarrassed of your hostessing career, especially in front of these assholes. Amy's face does an incredulous pause and then she gets bumped pretty hard by the Morgan Stanleys. Christopher gets up and does his open-up-a-can-of-whoopass strut, disregarding Adriana's warning tone. He tells Mr. Bumpy to get on his feet. Adriana makes a worried "this is how Christopher is" face, and Mr. and Mrs. Suity are all bedazzled by him. Mr. Bumpy says, "Hey, Bridge and Tunnel Boy, chill out." Christopher whispers something in Mr. Bumpy's ear, and Mr. Bumpy becomes scared shitless. Amy's all hot and bothered by Christopher's power, and gazes open-mouthed at him when the Morgan Stanleys decide to leave for greener TriBeCa Grill pastures.

The Moltisanti love grotto. Back at home, Christopher leans back in his black pleather easy chair and smokes. "She seemed so down-to-earth for a Hollywood person," Adriana insists as she gets undressed in the living room. Christopher plays the "I'm not impressed" game. "What's with those clothes, is she in the fuckin' Addams Family?" Adriana throws her skirt at him and reminds him that Amy's suit was Prada. "If I was Greg, I wouldn't allow it. I mean look at you, you look like a fuckin' woman, not a bellhop." Adriana gets all excited and emphasizes with her stilettos. "Jon Favreau, he's great! He's also a writer. You should show him your script." "Swingers? He can suck my dick, that swings too." That's one of those funny yet disgusting quotes. Yuck. Adriana's prancing all over the apartment in her undies. "That acting class really rubbed you the wrong way," she points out. "I love movies, but I just want to be a player, I don't want to fuck around with all this other shit." You're in for a rude awakening, Christopher. Ninety-nine percent of the movie business is "this other shit." Adriana instructs him to be a player, then; go to the set and slip Favreau the script. "That's what they call it. Slipping the script." She's very jazzed to use the industry lingo. "Who knows? Would it be so fricking horrible to attend a premiere?" She gets her robe, finally, after what seems like hours of booty-cheeks programming. Christopher tells her he doesn't even have a script anymore to slip. Adriana's face gets all cat-that-ate-the-canary and she saucily swings her belt around. Adriana kept a copy. Christopher's all "I'm still not interested," but Adriana sits in his lap and is all "I believe in you." Thus the macking begins. Mack mack mack.

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