Props to Miss Alli for covering the previous two episodes for me, especially the feculent bigotry of "The Stormy Present." I hope by now you've been able to wash the taste out of your mouth, Miss A.
2:47 AM. Toby's in bed -- alone -- and unable to sleep. It's raining, and it's also unusually bright outside. I immediately start wondering if Toby's in the dream house, because this room -- with its huge window and incredibly substantial window frames -- really looks like it would belong in that house. If it's not, this is one pretty fabulous apartment Toby's got. Would he really have moved into that huge house all alone, especially after Andi spurned him? How depressing. I still would like to know how the hell he afforded it. He gets up out of bed. Toby wears a t-shirt to bed, for those who are keeping track. It is not, so far as I can tell, a TWoP T-shirt. Loser.
Toby arrives at his office. It's 3:06 AM. Geez, that was fast. Nineteen minutes? Come on. It probably takes the President that long to get dressed, brush his teeth, and walk down to the Oval Office from the Residence. Longer, if Abby's there to harangue him about something. It's not like Toby threw on trainers and a t-shirt, TWoP or otherwise -- he's dressed for work, in a business suit. Whatever. His monitor's already on as he enters the office, with a White House logo screensaver on it. But from a distance, it looks like something else. Frink: "Hey! He's watching American Idol on his PC." Toby puts a tape in his VCR; it's Jed's State of the Union address. Frink: "Whaddya know, POTUS is just as boring on TV." ["But is he about to bust out 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,' by Beyoncé?" -- Wing Chun] I guess since Toby couldn't sleep, he knew where to go for a little soporific. Toby fast-forwards it to a section where Jed boldly suggests raising the minimum wage: "So that work always pays more than welfare." A bunch of very well-paid old white guys applaud; one guy even stands up. Damn, that's conviction. Toby pauses the tape and stares at it.
The phone rings, waking Josh -- also sleeping alone, and wearing a t-shirt, for those keeping track -- out of a sound sleep. Also not wearing a TWoP shirt. Loser. I realize that the brights lights who produce this show now seem to think that what it needs is "eye candy" like Swimtern (meh) and Rina (whatever), but I do think they underestimate just how much many viewers would like to see Brad Whitford with his shirt off. Maybe they're saving that for the big consummation with Donna. If it ever happens. (Actually, if/when it does, I expect it will be about as explicit and racy as a Baptist picnic -- despite Josh and Donna's chemistry. And yes, I know from Baptist picnics.) Also, Josh has got one godawful ugly comforter. It's one of those where the graphics look like something you'd see on a Kleenex box. Yecch. He throws the pillow off his face, knocking something over, and answers the phone. Toby instantly blurts out a question about how much money some guy named Gaines had in the last FEC filing period. Here's a tip: phone me in the middle night and ask me something like that, and the answer's going to be something like "Go fuck yourself." I suppose that's just the sort of thing keeping me from making those big public-servant bucks, though. If you phone me in the middle of the night, somebody better have died, and better still, left me a pile of money. Josh mumbles that he had $310,000. Toby: "Almost nothing." Toby lapses into thought and absently hangs the phone up on Josh as Josh is mumbling that it's not an election year. Yeah, I think the next time Josh sees Toby, he should punch Toby right in the mouth.