She stomps by Jonathan, who squaks something about how she can’t make a 10:30 appointment at 10:32. She flings her diet Coke at his head to shut him up, and he yells “LIZ! That wasn’t EMPTY!” as she slams Jack’s door behind her.
“GILF, Jack. GILF. This is a gigantic mistake, like that time you promised Kenneth he could run the wardrobe department for a week. Remember how he had Kim Kardashian dressed in a habit? This is like that. Say it out loud. GILF. It sounds like an STD. Which given the subject matter is actually pretty appropriate.”
“So, you got my memo?”
“Oh. I got your memo. And I think you should leave the jokes up to the comedy writers.” Shit. She just walked into that one, didn’t she. “Not that I’m going to be writing any jokes for this garbage, so save it. I have my own show.”
“No, Lemon,” Jack cuts her off. “I want you to join the cast.”
“What.” She goes to gulp at the soda she threw at Jonathan, then fixes her glasses to cover the movement of her empty hand.
Jack nods gravely.
“Haaaaa. Is this one of those things you do, where you teach me about pumping up your subordinates so they remember that you can crush their pathetic dreams? Because you did that last week about the Barefoot Contessa doing a special guest appearance on the show. And don’t think I’ve forgiven you.”
“Of course I’m serious. You have the wide hips and the foul mouth of a classic Guidette, with the eccentric sartorial inclinations of an eighty-year-old Hungarian farmer. You’re a reality television natural.”
“How many insults did you pack into that one?”
“Several, but don’t worry, I have a few more in my pocket.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want you to burn out on this lovely Monday morning. You have another four days and ten hours to ruin my life some more this week. You should really savor these things."
He waits until she’s looking to theatrically pop a peanut into his mouth. “I do. Savor.”
“Are we done here?”
“No, we are not done here. I need your input on GILF Island as a producer, and your terms for acceptance of your role.”
“I didn’t think reality television had roles.”
“That’s ridiculous, Lemon. They’re all playing roles. That Nina Garcia lady from Project Runway was a pre-school teacher when we found her.”
“That explains Jillian Michaels.”
“No, actually, she’s for real.”
“All the more reason for me not to do this, Jack.”
“You’re the first person I thought of, Lemon.”
“Really?”
“No. You’re six hundred years old in television years. But I did still think of you anyway.”
She rolls her eyes at him.
“It’s okay, Lemon. You’ll look fantastic. I know this amazing makeup artist.”
Guano. Guanoguanoguanoguano. “No. Thank you.”
“Think about it, Lemon. I am the most dedicated mentor you could hope for. Have I ever let you down?”
30 Rock - Jack/Liz - this can't be reality, part ii
She stomps by Jonathan, who squaks something about how she can’t make a 10:30 appointment at 10:32. She flings her diet Coke at his head to shut him up, and he yells “LIZ! That wasn’t EMPTY!” as she slams Jack’s door behind her.
“GILF, Jack. GILF. This is a gigantic mistake, like that time you promised Kenneth he could run the wardrobe department for a week. Remember how he had Kim Kardashian dressed in a habit? This is like that. Say it out loud. GILF. It sounds like an STD. Which given the subject matter is actually pretty appropriate.”
“So, you got my memo?”
“Oh. I got your memo. And I think you should leave the jokes up to the comedy writers.” Shit. She just walked into that one, didn’t she. “Not that I’m going to be writing any jokes for this garbage, so save it. I have my own show.”
“No, Lemon,” Jack cuts her off. “I want you to join the cast.”
“What.” She goes to gulp at the soda she threw at Jonathan, then fixes her glasses to cover the movement of her empty hand.
Jack nods gravely.
“Haaaaa. Is this one of those things you do, where you teach me about pumping up your subordinates so they remember that you can crush their pathetic dreams? Because you did that last week about the Barefoot Contessa doing a special guest appearance on the show. And don’t think I’ve forgiven you.”
“Of course I’m serious. You have the wide hips and the foul mouth of a classic Guidette, with the eccentric sartorial inclinations of an eighty-year-old Hungarian farmer. You’re a reality television natural.”
“How many insults did you pack into that one?”
“Several, but don’t worry, I have a few more in my pocket.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want you to burn out on this lovely Monday morning. You have another four days and ten hours to ruin my life some more this week. You should really savor these things."
He waits until she’s looking to theatrically pop a peanut into his mouth. “I do. Savor.”
“Are we done here?”
“No, we are not done here. I need your input on GILF Island as a producer, and your terms for acceptance of your role.”
“I didn’t think reality television had roles.”
“That’s ridiculous, Lemon. They’re all playing roles. That Nina Garcia lady from Project Runway was a pre-school teacher when we found her.”
“That explains Jillian Michaels.”
“No, actually, she’s for real.”
“All the more reason for me not to do this, Jack.”
“You’re the first person I thought of, Lemon.”
“Really?”
“No. You’re six hundred years old in television years. But I did still think of you anyway.”
She rolls her eyes at him.
“It’s okay, Lemon. You’ll look fantastic. I know this amazing makeup artist.”
Guano. Guanoguanoguanoguano. “No. Thank you.”
“Think about it, Lemon. I am the most dedicated mentor you could hope for. Have I ever let you down?”
“More ways than I can count, Jack.”
But she promises to think about it.