Episode Report Card Sars: C- | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Keyser Snore-ze
By Sars | Season 4 | Episode 8 | Aired on 11.21.2000
Smalls clarifies for those of us without cortical function that Pacey accompanied Doug to look for the very dog he's accused of stealing. Pacey appeals to The Flash, saying that it's obvious he's not responsible for Pooldoggate, "so why are we still here?" Smalls says eagerly that a "fresh detail" has come to light, so Pacey has to account for all of his whereabouts the day before. Pacey realizes aloud that they found out about the dumb pact with Dawson. Smalls busts on him for remembering it. Pacey retorts that of course he remembers it, "it was [his] idea," but points out that Dawson has probably tried to implicate Pacey in order to divert suspicion from himself. Smalls then must deliver the following line with a straight face: "Mr. Witter, justice is blind. If Dawson is responsible, we'll nail him. Just as we'll nail you." The Cymbal Crash Of The Tightening Noose delivers us into the comforting bosom of commercial.
Sars: Who do you think did it?
Wing Chun: I don't care!
Sars: But if you did care.
Wing Chun: I don't!
Sars: I don't either. But if I did, I'd think that it's Drue.
Wing Chun: It's all three of them. Not that I care.
Fade back up on Dawson in the interrogation room, his hair wilting like moldy hay over his forehead: "How is it possible that we're still doing this?" Principal Smalls explains all the reasons why he thinks Pooldoggate is "an inside job." A shot of The Flash, nodding off. Dawson appeals to his father. The Flash tells him that if Dawson can account for the hours between five and ten, "we'll be done with this." "We'll be done with this when I've got my man," Smalls snaps.
Dawson at the Brookshaven. Mr. Brooks is surprised to see Dawson. Dawson says he works there. Mr. Brooks says he doesn't. Dawson says they had an agreement. Mr. Brooks says that they did, but Dawson broke it and is therefore fired. Mr. Brooks blah blah blah "floozy" blah blah blah "hormonal adolescent." Dawson's nostrils wonder what Mr. Brooks could hope to gain by insulting his friend. Mr. Brooks couldn't give a fiddler's fart about Dawson's "lady." Dawson's nostrils flip inside out and squall at Mr. Brooks about "abandoned dreams" and how they don't give Mr. Brooks "license to inflict [his] pain on [Dawson]." Hey, whatever it takes. And shut up, Dawson's nostrils. Mr. Brooks asks how dare Dawson presume to know him, where he's been, what he's done, and orders him to "get the hell out" of his house. "Fine," Dawson pouts, and flounces out, slamming the screen door behind him. Shut up, Dawson. Shut up, nostrils.