Carol tells C.J. she handled the briefing beautifully. C.J.: "A little tough love's what these people need. If that doesn't work, I'm moving on to Molotov cocktails." Carol shows C.J. a wire story from some guy named Gordon: "C.J. Cregg Touts Her Right To Adopt." Gordon's waiting outside C.J.'s office, and she strides over to him, saying, "Let's talk about your story, since you've stumbled onto...uh, we can do this on the record, if you like." He sits down and pulls out his notepad as C.J. launches into confessional mode: "At a certain point -- I don't know when, exactly -- the Press Secretary job just wasn't...fulfilling. Maybe it was...and then there was that spiritual vacuum, do you ever feel that in your job?" Gordon: "Uh...." C.J.: "First I thought it was Western materialism, then the mantra stopped working, and are you getting this down?" He doesn't appear to be. She sits down near him saying, "Anyway, I already got the crib. I painted one room pink and the other one blue, 'cause I wanted to live with both -- they're such different sensibilities." Gordon tries to interrupt with a question about adoption laws. C.J.: "That's the thing, I don't want to adopt. I'm looking for a donor." She gives him a sincere, slightly hopeful look. Gordon: "A donor?" C.J.: "Uh...close the door." He glances at the door and finally seems to grasp what she's getting at, and he's all "whoa, whoa, whoa." C.J.: "Are you out of your pencil-ridden brain? This is the United States government. We've got a two-trillion-dollar budget. We're the largest creditor, the largest subcontractor, lifeblood of the global economy with a nuclear arsenal that could blow this planet into fifteen billion pieces! I shouldn't have to tie you to a chair and shove a spoon in your mouth to get you to write about it!" Gordon: "So you don't have a crib?" C.J. shouts, "Get out!" He vamooses. Yeah, you'd better run.