(no subject)
The man who doesn't notice he's bumbled through the front door is wearing the expression of someone caught in the headlights of a vengeful eighteen-wheeler. Josh Lyman went on Capitol Beat yesterday -- wait, was it yesterday? He hasn't actually slept since the show. But, you know, it wasn't supposed to be a thing. Going on a political Sunday morning talk show and defending the president's agenda against nutjob lobbyists is all part of a day's work for him. It's a relaxing weekend of showing off, kicking ass and taking names.
Josh should have seen it coming. He should have anticipated Mary Marsh losing her cool when he had the upper hand. He should have realized what was happening when she said it. Those fateful, fatal words.
Well, I can tell you that you don't believe in any God I pray to, Mr. Lyman. Not any God I pray to.
He should have controlled himself. But oh no, he had to win.
Josh blinks at the Bar, but surely this can't be as bad as the reaming he's going to get back at the White House.
Go on. Ask him. Ask him what he said on national TV.
Josh should have seen it coming. He should have anticipated Mary Marsh losing her cool when he had the upper hand. He should have realized what was happening when she said it. Those fateful, fatal words.
Well, I can tell you that you don't believe in any God I pray to, Mr. Lyman. Not any God I pray to.
He should have controlled himself. But oh no, he had to win.
Josh blinks at the Bar, but surely this can't be as bad as the reaming he's going to get back at the White House.
Go on. Ask him. Ask him what he said on national TV.