They are, in fact, just a bunch of attractive, caffeinated people with no self-censoring abilities, and they’re tied together at a well-dressed, classically insecure pole in the middle named Jeff Winger.

Jeff’s sheen seems crazy and corporate and unreal. Only when it all falls apart—and he becomes obsessive about foosball—does he ever really seem like us.

Nothing says 2011 like watching that facade of leather jacket-wearing cool fall down around you, only to reemerge a little bit cooler by being completely weird and broken and interesting. “Drive” did that at the movies. The economy’s kind of going through that process as we speak.