It's November 7th, Election Day. Or, at this point, night. The electoral fairies are bringing stockings full of pork bellies to lay at the foot of our beds. I'm too excited to sleep. And a storm is raging outside the White House, perhaps to emphasize some dramatic point. Sam races through the bullpen and is told that twelve races are still too close to call. He tells Ginger, "Give me somebody in the Midwest, would you?" If I were Ginger, I'd dial a random number in the 309 area code and hand the phone to Sam. Sam shouts out, "I want to see everybody on telephones!" He stops to look around, and realizes that everyone is already on the phone. In a smaller voice, he says, "Okay, good. Just like that." He goes into his office, and suddenly realizes Tom and Sarah are waiting for him there. He apologizes for being late. Sarah hisses, "It was no problem coming, Sam. Turns out there was really no reason for us to stay in our district on Election Day." Yowch. Sam dissembles, "You've seen the exits? You're gonna lose, Tom." Sam says that 42 percent is a respectable amount. Tom remains passive while Sarah notes that their district is 49 percent Democratic. Sarah also notes that they had absolutely no support from the White House. Tom tries to calm Sarah down, although he doesn't try very hard. Sarah tells Sam, "Any time in the future we have an opportunity to screw you, count on getting screwed." Sam responds, "Good luck with the baby." Sarah and Tom exit. Lightning flashes. I appreciate that they tried to make this even-handed, sorta, but it would have been better if we'd known for sure that Tom was being unfairly maligned. As it stands, we just think, "Oh, poor Sam; his old friend's a racist who married a harpy."
We cut to the reception for radio talk-show hosts. C.J. is being bored spitless by a couple of DJs. The taller guy says that he heard that Howard Stern was going to show if Don Imus was coming, but Imus wasn't going to come if Stern was. The shorter one declares that he was Dave in the morning before Imus was Imus in the morning. C.J. wonders, "Isn't Don Imus in his seventies?" and laughingly asks how that could be. Dave says, "It's very painful. I don't like to talk about it." C.J.'s smile fades, and she excuses herself to check the exit polls. A smiling woman in green enters as flashbulbs go off, and C.J. asks another guest who the woman is. "Jenna Jacobs," she's told. The woman mentions that twelve races are still too close to call, and C.J. says she's going to check in.
Toby enters the residence, and the Prez declares, "I'm drinking the most fantastic thing I've ever tasted in my life!" Oh, I love it when the Prez is whimsical.