If a Shonda Rhimes show jumps the shark after the heroine’s fallen for every fine fella in the forest, does is it make a sound?
But seriously, what’s up with Scandal? The last two seasons have looked a whole lot like those soft-core foreign flicks from France teenagers watched late at night in Montreal, in the 1980s, on Bleu Nuit (with the sound off, of course).
Everyone on this show seems to find an excuse to have sex on a desk. Which is fine, I guess. But the excuses are often weird and random. She’ll be like, do you have a stapler, and he’ll be like, do I ever, and then she’ll be like, wanna show it to me, and he’ll be like, you bet, and then—bow chicka wow wow—they’re gettin’ it on again, on a perfectly clean desk.
—John Faithful Hamer, The Goldfish (2016)