Damn it, Jerry.
Such sentiments seem, in one way, fitting. Jerry—wearer of plaid, taker of naps, frequenter of a dinosaur-themed restaurant named Jurassic Fork—has a way of angering people by virtue of his very blandness.
Who has been on the receiving end of more outright, unexplained cruelty? There’s the jar Jerry's coworkers put money into every time he does something mockable—funds they use, in a tradition known as “the Jerry Dinner,” to finance a nice meal that purposely does not include its namesake.
There’s the time Leslie, pointing to a poster she’s mocked up of her colleague, declares that “Jerry’s face is the symbol of failure.” There's the time Andy, in extreme slow motion, smashes a pie into Jerry's face. There’s the time Jerry has a heart attack (an event proceeded by a string of Gergichian flatulence)—which is also the time Tom, rather than expressing concern for his coworker, bemoans people's failure to make a joke about a “fart attack.”
Ron once described Jerry as someone who "shrivels up when you shine a light on him.” While he may hide in plain sight, he is well worth the effort to discover. Jerry started out as the guy you know, but don’t really know. And he ends as the mayor of Pawnee. In other words, validated and vindicated. Soaring.
"And the Meek Shall Inherit Pawnee"
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