… And she was proven wrong yet again.

After finding Trevor had 'accidentally' spiked every unalchoholic drink in the house, thus leaving them with absolutely nothing remotely drinkable that wouldn't cause them to sink into a stage of temporary insensibility, Paris and Kirk had ended up in two very different stages of drunk. Paris being she was hiding in the closet reciting the Periodic table and something incoherent about the sniveling liars at Clean and Clear acne control. And Kirk's boozed up being running around the house, still painfully in the nude, and singing, more like screaming, really, lines from Can't Touch This. Courtesy of MC Hammer.

And ten minutes into this surreal state of hell and five minutes into Kirk's ear-piercing screeching of 'NANANANA NANANA NANANA CAN'T TOUCH THIS!", Rory, whom she could guess was the only sober one left in this house, had finally had enough. Thus the decision of resorting to locking herself in her room with cottonballs stuffed in her ears and throw-pillow over her head.

Unfortunately, the plan had backfired. Greatly. Seeing that Trey… Terry… oh jeez what was his name?... was lying on her bed, half naked, rose in mouth and… oh god were those candles?

"What in the—

"Hello there…" he trailed off as he shot a hasty glance at the notes scribbled incoherently on his hand, "Rory Gilmore," he recited, pronouncing her name 'Roe-ree.' Neither of which went unnoticed by a very pissed off Rory.

"Out." She demanded, pointing a vindicative finger at the door.

"But—

"I'm crabby, my boyfriend's being a dolt, I have no coffee in my system, and my mother is off having missionary sex with hot British actors, don't—mess with me. Out."

He obliged this time. Whether it was out of fear or the fact he poked his mouth with the rose thorn was beyond her. All that mattered as she was alone and it was nice and quiet and—

"Hello Lorelai!" Kirk's voice rang through the door, "No I don't know where Rory is… No I am not boozed up… No I am not- no wait, yes I'm naked… No, she cannot come to the phone."

Cursing all forms of cellular communication, Rory flung the door open, startling Kirk and taking the phone from his hands.

"Thank god," Lorelai's voice sighed from the other line, "I thought he was going to try to describe to me the form of undress he was in."

"He's naked, mom."

"Don't scare mommy, evil child."

"He's naked. Naked naked naked na—

"Yes I heard you the first five times. But Kirk, having been raised by wolves and dropped on the head many many times as a child, has various forms of undress. One being completely nude all except for a sock covering his unmentionables, two being--

"Now who's describing his various forms of undress?"

"Manipulator. So, what's wrong? Why did you call and interrupt mommy in the middle of her conquest of prostituting through Great Britain?"

"No reason."

You could practically feel the pout over the phone, "So you're going to make me guess huh?"

"I'm not—

"How's Paris?"

"Drunk. But that's not--"

"Kirk? No wait. Don't answer that."

"Mom—

"Trevor?"

"Who?"

"Hm. Oh! Jess?"

"I don't know."

"So it's Jess," Lorelai responded smugly, "So how are you and Jess doing?"

"We've kind of hit a… curb."

"A… curb."

"Yeah. Made a wrong turn, hit a curb, and now we're… bent."

"That's great honey. Now in English, please."

"I think we've broken up."

There was a crash and a few obsurities muttered as Lorelai dropped the phone with a distinctable clunk before she came on again, "So…" she trailed off.

"Try and contain your excitement mom."

"What? No, no… no excitement whatsoever. None at all. Nope. Nada. You… you think you're broken up."

"It's what I said."

"Honey, I don't think you know how this works. You're either broken up or you're not, there's no in between."

"There is for us."

"Oh no no no… see, the thing was guys is you leave the breaking up decision up to them and they'll do a horrible job at it. That's why you always gotta dump 'um first—

"But that doesn't make any—

"Nuh uh uh don't interrupt your mother in the middle of an important lesson. Anyways, thankfully, in all my years of dating—

"And being dumped."

"What did I say about interrupting? You're staying after class young lady."

"Oh joy."

"You're crabby when you're dumped."

"I wasn't d—

"Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, guy lingo. When they say 'let's just be friends,' what they really actually mean is either you're ugly, or you're a—

"But he didn't say—

"Number two," Lorelai cut in loudly, "is 'We've grown apart.' Ha. We've grown apart my ass. Now what they really mean by that is you're ugly or/and there's another chick in the picture that just gave him—

"Virgin ears."

"—bl…ah…um-- black t shirts."

"So you're saying if we all gave our boyfriends black t shirts we'd never get dumped, OJ wouldn't have brutally assassinated his wife, and the world would be in perfect harmony?"

"No fair! You rushed me!"

"You were about to describe to me the different forms of sexual positions a flavored contraception provides!"

"Sure when you put it that way it sounds bad…"

So in the end, talking to Lorelai didn't really help at all. It just ended up littering her brain with variously disturbing images.

So in the very very end, or at least after Kirk finished his rendition of Whitney Houston, Rory finally gathered enough guts to call Jess. And talk. After calling and hanging up two times of course.

Jess was, to say the least, not surprised. Or maybe he was. This was Jess, it was hard to tell anything, "Hold on just let me mark my page."

"Dirty," she supplied unhelpfully.

"…No it wasn't."

"And so it wasn't."

"You've been talking to Lorelai again, haven't you?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I could've just watched American Pie 2."

"Let's hope not. For the sake of your intelligent being. So what's up?"

"The sky."

"I'm laughing."

"And I'm bored," she settled back on the couch, "Kirk's in the middle of belting out 'Mony, Mony.'"

"Why would—

"Tribute to Billy Idol."

"Ah. That explains everything. I take it the surreal life isn't too great?"

"I just found Tr… whatshisface attempting to seduce me with a red silk bathrobe."

"…on you?"

"On him."

"Oh god."

"My point exactly.

"Are you going to have sex with him?"

She almost choked on her breathing there. Somebody was blunt. "Well that all depends."

"On…"

"You."

"Huh."

"The way I see it, if we're together, plain and simple no. But if we're broken up, it's an unwritten rule for reality tv to have rebound sex all over the house with anything with a male reproductive organ that walks by."

"What if it's Kirk?"

"Okay almost anything."

And from there, their discussion went off course. Trailing from her questioning of their relationship status to the ever-stimulating bantering on whether Sylvia Plath had stuck her head in that oven because she was insane, or just as a stunt to publicize her books. Jess has a talent of turning subjects away like that.

Soby the end of the day, her relationship was still undefined. Paris was still drunk. Kirk was still nude. And Trey… Terry… Ah forget it, was still a self- pronounced manwhore with no respect for personal space whatsoever.

OOOOOO

Wow. When she said no respect for personal space, she meant it.

Because the next morning, she woke up. Yup. No that wasn't the disturbing part. It was actually the fact that Trevor was lying on top of her that was freaking her out. She frantically checked him over. Fully clothed, thank god. He reeked of beer, but he was fully clothed.

Okay. What to do, what to do?

Option number one. Screaming.

So she did. She screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

No answer. Where was Paris and her marital kickboxing skills when she needed it?

Okay. Don't panic. Don't panic.

Okay panic a little.

She was in the middle of the forementioned panic-fest when the phone rang. Huh. That was funny. She didn't remember putting the phone beside her pillow.

Then again she didn't remember having a big huge lug lying on top of her either.

Rory picked up, "Please tell me this is Erin Brocovich because I would really like to file a sexual harassment case right about now. And could you maybe add a restraining order to that while you're at it? That would be great, thanks."

"Hey, having fun?"

Rory froze from her spot under Trevor, "J-Jess."

"I just thought you might want to know, watching you on lying under another guy, live on national television for that matter, doesn't bother me at all."

Rory suddenly found it very hard to speak, she gulped, "Um… I'm going to hope that that wasn't sarcasm."

"Sorry to disappoint then. What the hell are you doing?"

"In case you haven't noticed," Rory responded dryly, staring lasers through Trevors limp body, "He'd drunk. And on top of me. And—

"Oh jeez. Don't tell me that! God this is—

"-and unconscious. Which was what I saying before you butted in. And I could use a little help here."

"Lots of people could use a little help. The kids in Africa, half of which are infected by AIDS and shoeless, could use a little help."

"Jess!"

"All right all right. Jeez, I'm coming. It might take a while to drive all the way to New York City though…"

"At the moment, I have a 170 pound male specimen crushing me to pancakes, where Paris and Kirk will gladly down me with a bottle of wine for breakfast. Thus I give you permission to speed."

"I'll keep that in mind when the cops pull me over."

"Oh don't act like you've never gotten a speeding ticket. I've seen the way you drive, it's like The Fast and the Furious all over again."

"So two hours?"

"Three."

"I thought you told me to speed."

"Speed, not kill yourself, Tyrese."

"You're going to have breathing problems if he stays on top of you like that any longer."

"Yes but I think my breathing problems are a tad less important than if you died colliding head on with an ice cream truck."

"Okay fine. Two and a half or nothing."

"Good boy."

Meanwhile, the network executives were watching closely, mentally patting themselves on the back for sneaking knock out pills in Trevor's drink and dragging his unconscious body on top of Rory while she was sleeping.