Five reasons that Liz could never be Jack’s date, that no one could ever believe it (because she’s so grotesque)--
He catches her in the middle of a heated discussion with the writers concerning what the smoke monster on Lost might be. She swears adamantly that it’s the physical manifestation of the past wrongdoings of the castaways, coming back to plague them.
As a rule, the women Jack dates (openly – Condi and Maureen and Martha don’t count) don’t use words with five syllables. Nor do they watch Lost for reasons other than to ogle the shirtless men.
So there’s that.
“So, what do you think?” she asks as she tromps gracelessly into the elevator after him. “That whole physical manifestation thing sounds pretty good, huh?”
“Lemon, do you honestly believe that I devote my time to theorizing over the mediocre plot twists of a cult television show that will only maintain another year of popularity at best?”
She just stares at him.
“A scientific experiment gone horribly awry,” he says brusquely, and walks out of the elevator.
She makes no apologies about her eating habits. Namely that she actually possesses some.
Rather than recording mind-numbing pop albums whose popularity is fueled by the risqué music videos that accompany them, she warbles out Broadway showtunes along with her iPod when she thinks she’s alone. On the plus side, he supposes you haven’t experienced true horror until you’ve witnessed her rendition of Think of Me from Phantom of the Opera. It’s the sort of thing that builds character, should you escape unscathed, and when it comes to building character, Jack Donaghy is unparalleled.
Being seen with her in public again is out of the question.
Although, to be truthful, she’s reasonably attractive beneath the countless layers of frumpishness and wasted potential. He fleetingly contemplates telling her that red is a good color on her before coming to the realization that it’s doubtful she’ll do anything about it. If she’s determined to subject herself to a lifetime of navy blue, so be it. It doesn’t affect him; it’s not like he’s looking.
Most of the time.
She dates beeper salesmen and third cousins and, on occasion, other women (accidentally). It’s obvious that she has no idea she deserves better, and should she ever actually chance to find a man who’s worthy of her, odds are she’ll wind up running as fast as she can in the opposite direction.
Figuratively. He doubts even the prospect of a functional relationship could motivate her to exercise.