by BREANA BACON
Buenos tardes Gladiators and welcome to rehab!
Just let me say, I know, y’all. I know. Shonda has played with us, she has toyed with our emotions, she has violated our trust and restored it all in the timespan of a week. This woman is wretchedly good.
I had to rewrite my letter to Ms. Rhimes because it just wasn’t strong enough to exemplify my stress level between last week’s episode and this week’s. It just makes no sense that one single woman can control the emotional trigger of millions of people. She can pull it when she wants, she can put the Scandal gun on safety, or she can throw it over the bridge. People, the point is that it ain’t right that she can control our Friday morning emotional state. Shonda Rhimes needs to be sued for emotional distress. I can’t handle this.
Anyway, on to the juicy stuff, yes?
First of all, JAKE FROM STATE FARM IS ALIVE, Y’ALL.
That man is alive and breathing, through a tube and with a punctured lung, but he LIVES. God is real, Shonda is cruel. I was left last Thursday disgusted, outraged and in utter distress. My suitemate and I stared at our television for about 10 minutes in complete silence after the final credits rolled. Shonda, you’re really going to have an episode where everything seems to fall back into place for the first 55 minutes and then have that fine black man come in and make an assassination attempt on Jake Ballard? Unforgivable.
But anywho. The fine black man may be easy on the eyes but he couldn’t get the job done. And we thank God again. Of course, there are to be no ambulances called because in true B-613 fashion, a sketchy Russian doctor has to patch Jake up and make sure he doesn’t die. The only problem is that the sketchy doctor comes with a price. And I’m not talking about the kind you can slide your Discover card for.
Our Russian medical practitioner knows that Liv is the ultimate fixer and wants her to get one of the most ruthless KGB assassins out of the trouble she’s now in. The Black Sable is known for being one of the worst there are when it comes to Russian spies from the Soviet Union. She’s cold, she has nothing to lose, and when Liv and Huck get to her house they see that she’s….a grandma. That is right, folks, The Black Sable has locked down her arsenal and opened up her cabinets. She is a cookie baking, puzzle playing, full time grandmother and thinks that her time as a hired shot is over until she receives another call to duty.
Meanwhile, Mellie is traveling the country fighting misogyny and trying to pick up votes for Senator, but there’s one problem: Sally Langston. When is Sally Langston never the problem? That Bible-toting, forked-tongued, hypocrite never ceases to hold her peace when someone in power steps across the threshold into the 21st century and breaks the mold of roles concerning things like gender, namely the role of the First Lady as the “pillar of support” for the president, but she didn’t hesitate to call Olivia Pope to keep her career off life support when she murdered her husband.
I am digressing yet again about things that are none of my business and you all are allowing it. Shame on you.
Moving on, Liv sees that the assassin formerly known as The Black Sable is trying to live a normal life and protect her grandchildren because they are all she has left. Olivia confronts the KGB handler and proposes to buy him off, but his loyalty to the Soviet KGB runs deep and no amount of money can change that.
While all this is going on, our homme fatale returns to Rowan after failing to finish the Jake From State Farm job and gets a nasty shot to the arm to give him a little motivation to do things right the first time. He may be gorgeous but he’s not the brightest crayon in the box. You’d think that with Huck pulling teeth like a dental surgeon and Quinn drilling holes in people like she’s a certified carpenter, Russell would at least know enough to hit at least one vital organ when you’re trying to kill somebody. Do better, boo boo.
Unfortunately, that wound takes him straight to our dying State Farm agent/B-613 spy, thanks to a naive Liv. Once Russell realizes he’s Jake’s roommate in the warehouse hospital, he tries to finish the job. Obviously, Jake From State Farm was not there for Russell’s foolishness and almost kills himself trying to alert Liv and company that he was about to be diced like a pineapple for a second time in a matter of days.
Believing that Russell’s gunshot wound the fault of her father, she offers The Black Sable’s handler her father’s head on a plate in exchange from the former assassin’s formal retirement. But because this is Shonda Rhimes and she refuses to dethrone the King of Shade, Rowan gets the one up and kills The Black Sable, the handler and the poor kids, all execution style. I am not here for it. The kids, Shonda? The babies? This is the last straw, I am really about to call CPS, the police, Barack Obama, all of them because the amount of dead kids in this show is outrageous.
After all that blood, Daddy Pope has the nerve and audacity to call Olivia and basically tell her to accept defeat or she and all her friends are going to die. The thing that got me is the fact that she did just that. I’m not even mad at Olivia because the amount of literal shots fired was preposterous. NOT HERE FOR IT.
Liv shuts the whole B-613 operation down and at the same time, Dr. Russia closes his medical practice in the warehouse, claiming that Liv couldn’t deliver on her side of the deal. She orders Jake From State Farm to be taken to a real hospital and demands that Russell come with her. Liv is fed up with the foolishness and so am I.
Russell is clearly feeling a lot better when they get to Liv’s house and is on the phone with Rowan, who initiates operation Foxtail. SKETCHY. He hangs up thinking that he’s in for a long night in with “Alex,” which, now that I know that Russell tried to murder my beloved Jake From State Farm, makes me throw up a little in my mouth. The fact that he’s sleeping with his boss’s daughter and the fact that his boss TOLD HIM to sleep with his daughter is gross. Tom-foolery at it’s finest. I don’t have the time nor the patience to process that anymore. I’m going to just give it to God to handle.
Homeboy truly believes in his heart and soul that he’s about to get the goodies, but what he gets is a Glock to the forehead. I was unprepared. I almost fell out my bed and lost my mind. Y’all, when I tell you I screamed “SHOOT HIM, HE HAS GOTTA GO!” I’m serious. I probably woke up my whole school, but ask me if I care? NOT EVEN THE SLIGHTEST BIT.
It turns out that Liv wasn’t so naive after all. She put the pieces together after The Black Sable was killed and figured out that the only one in the warehouse who wasn’t sworn into the Alliance Against B-613 was Russell. Well, snitches do get stitches. You should’ve kept your mouth shut Russell.
You’d think that this fool would know that if you have a fully loaded gun held by an infuriated black woman pointed at your head, it’s most likely not the time for you to deny anything. She already knows everything, boo. He must have forgotten that women are better investigators than the FBI and the CIA combined. Liv has questions and that gun, for Russell’s sake, better give her answers. She is not playing and neither am I.
I’ll miss you all, but in two weeks, I’ll be back here ready to attempt to lower your blood pressure after Shonda raises it to a dangerously high level.
Be easy, Gladiators.