You’re a son-of-a-bitch, you know that? She bought her first new car and you hit her with a drunk driver. What, was that supposed to be funny?
“You can’t conceive, nor can I, the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God,” says Graham Greene. I don’t know whose ass he was kissing there ‘cause I think you’re just vindictive.
What was Josh Lyman? A warning shot? That was my son.
What did I ever do to yours except praise His glory and praise His name?
There’s a tropical storm that’s gaining speed and power. They say we haven’t had a storm this bad since you took out that tender ship of mine in the north Atlantic last year. 68 crew. Do you know what a tender ship does? Fixes the other ships. Doesn’t even carry guns, just goes around, fixes the other ships and delivers the mail, that’s all it can do. Gratias Tibi ago, domine.
Yes, I lied. It was a sin. I’ve committed many sins. Have I displeased You, you feckless thug? Three point eight million new jobs, that wasn’t good? Bailed out Mexico, increased foreign trade, 30 million new acres of land for conservation, put Mendoza on the bench, we’re not fighting a war, I’ve raised three children… that’s not enough to buy me out of the doghouse?
Haec credam a deo pio? A deo iusto? A deo scito? Cruciatus in crucem! Tuus in terra servus nuntius fui officium perfeci. Cruciatus in crucem.
Eas in crucem!
You get Hoynes.
One of the finest hours from one of the finest seasons from one of the finest shows ever created for television, and that says something because there are several fine episodes in season two (17 People is a perfect hour of tv), and seasons one, three, and four are pretty damn killer themselves.
I’ve taken my time (re: haven’t had time) rewatching season two of The West Wing. Eventually some day when there’s not new tv and work and a social life and dating and girls and drinks and beaches and driving and books and movies I’ll rewatch season three.
You get Hoynes.