"Hello. This is Ya' Heard? with Perd, where the story of today's news is that there is an interview. That interview will be led by me, Perd Hapley, where I will speak to a woman, and that woman's name is Liz Lemon. Tell us, Liz Lemon, what have you come on our program to be interviewed about?" the newscaster reported, confusingly as always.

"Hi Perd!" Liz shook his hand as she sat down. "Yes, my name is Liz Lemon and I'm a head writer on a little show called The Girlie Show, otherwise known as TGS with Tracy Jordan."

She smiled as genuinely as she could, trying to remember various tips Leslie had supplied to her. Why did there have to be a binder for each individual journalist? She had been on a talk show before… although her most recent attempt with Toofer had been a complete mess. "It's an hour-long sketch comedy show that airs on Friday nights, led by Tracy Jordan, with the fabulous Jenna Maroney and Danny Baker. What makes TGS different from other sketch comedy shows? We're really, really funny. The New York Times called us "creative geniuses" and Rotten Tomatoes said we have "really smart comedy."

She did not add that the New York Times had really said, 'why would they presume themselves creative geniuses when their comedy is all fart jokes and teenage humor?' Rotten Tomatoes too, wrote, 'Tracy Jordan is constantly making what was once a somewhat intelligent show into a hour of chaotic five-year-old jokes, lacking really any smart comedy.'

"Because we love our fans so much," Liz continued, "we're going around the country, specifically in the midwest, because you all don't get enough attention, and we're re-airing episodes in public movie theaters for the whole month of July. We'll have popcorn and tons of snacks every day, and we'll be selling merch from our most popular sketches."

She opened her jacket to reveal a "Dealbreakers" shirt, and grinned, "it's the event of the summer. Don't forget to tell your friends! Now, check us out at these locations!"

Throughout the day, Liz had sat through a number of interviews, each one improving upon the next. She was polite with a hint of sarcasm on Joan Callamezzo, calm and poised on Thoughts for Your Thoughts, silly and immature on Douche Nation, facts-driven with Shauna Malwae-Tweep, praiseful and smart on Buddy Wood, and bubbly and promotional on Perd, most recently. Hopefully it had all paid off.

With her head on the table in Leslie's living room, Liz put a fry into her mouth.

"You did it!" Leslie grinned down at her. "I can't believe it! I honestly thought I would have to take over halfway through, but you proved yourself, Liz. How are you feeling?"

Liz looked up at her friend. "Really great, actually. It was hard! But much better than Right On, that Black-voices-driven talk show I bombed. At least if this fails, my plane takes off in six hours. I think. I still don't have a watch," she frowned, looking at her bare wrist. "Anyway, all the interviewers here seem really calm. Everyone I've been around is calm. I mean, except you. You're too hardworking and helpful to ever be calm," she laughed.

Leslie's smile wavered and she looked away. "I wish," she said quietly to Liz.

The writer raised an eyebrow. She looked worriedly at Leslie and asked as casually as she could, "Hey Les, you ok?"

"Oh, it's nothing." Leslie bit into a Nutri-Yum bar and slumped back in her chair. "It's just that I realized I've always been a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad friend my whole life."

"What?!" Liz replied in disbelief. "You saved my job, you know every one of your staff members' breakfast orders, and you know when to tell me to stop listing things!"

"I only need three examples." Leslie said.

Liz gave her friend a concerned look, "How can you say that to yourself? I don't understand?"

Leslie recounted the story of her self-realized shame, deeply inhaling at the embarrassing parts. As she ended, she immediately began to tear up, and wiped her fingers under her eyelid to prevent the clear salty liquid from rolling down her cheek.

"The truth is, I'm not nice. I do nice things to trick people into being my friends, but I don't listen to what they actually want," the blonde explained. Leslie slumped far down on the couch, and lay her head on Liz's lap. She flopped her arms out on the cushion, and her legs splayed onto the couch armrest. She sighed miserably, and threw an elbow, almost dramatically, over her eyes.

Liz bit her lip. She didn't like getting involved in other people's personal relationships - being the personal servant to Tracy and Jenna always left her drained and grumpy by the end of the day. This would be yet another "Liz to the rescue" that she hated. On the other hand, Leslie had never hesitated to help Liz in the few days they had spent together. And… they were friends. Real non-work friends who got lunch and drank hot cocoa and talked about their lives. Leslie was looking for a lifeline, and Liz maybe actually wanted to extend it to her.

She began, "Leslie, you're being too hard on yourself. Yes, you probably did kind of manipulate Ann. But you're recognizing it now! You have an opportunity to change! All you have to do is apologize… and also eventually stop forcing her to do whatever you want."

Leslie Knope looked at her with heavy eyes. "Are you sure she'll forgive me?"

"I'm sure she'll forgive you, seeing how depressed you look." Liz gave a half-smile, and opened her arms for a hug.

Leslie embraced her. "Oh, Liz, you're so perfect! You're like a magical problem-solving Chronicles of Narnia lion, and I just want to hug you forever and never let go."

"Sorry, buddy, but we've got business with a certain Ann Perkins. You need to apologize and start shaping up."

Leslie groaned. "Fiiiiine," she stretched the word. She blew a breath of air towards the floor. "Okay, let's go. Her address is 5655 Kavalier Place."