"Didn't those founding f***ers ever hear of an odd number?" Myer spits at her campaign team as they try to strategise their way to victory through America's convoluted and near indecipherable election tie-break rules.
Equally troubling to Team Myer is the sudden appearance of an angry "stress pimple" on her cheek. Caustically dubbed "Zitzilla" the angry spot is causing her to appear less-than-presidential in her television appearances. An absolute disaster at such a crucial time. Subsequently the zit is being blamed for everything from Wall Street's financial meltdown to Myer's own tumbling political stock.
The jokes arrive at such a relentless and frightening pace that it can sometimes be hard to keep up.
Brilliant as Louis-Dreyfus is, Veep's ensemble cast is also incredibly strong and no time is wasted getting their various subplots buzzing around the main action.
The baby adoption news of Mike, her communications director, is met only with scorn. "We are in the middle of a tied election," Myer tells him. "There is no time for a Chinese baby. Cancel it and see if you can get your money back."
Her demotion of the weasely White House liaison Jonah sets up a future revenge plot. "How dare she put you in charge of me?" he rants to his former assistant, now boss. "She's got the great wizard Harry Potter living under the staircase. But what happens in the books? He rises up and kills all the muggles."
And the organisation of a vote-encouraging symposium on race relations disastrously finds itself with an all-white panel. More disastrously Myer's request to "round up some blacks, fast," is almost broadcast. Even more disastrously the symposium descends into anarchy when Sue, Myer's African-American personal assistant, ends up on the wrong side of the security team's guns.
In sharp contrast to the snappy onscreen chaos is the breezy, self-assured confidence that delivers it all. The show is tremendously funny and knows it.
They make it look easy but Veep is not chilled out entertainment. It's dense and crammed with searing putdowns and zings as cutting as a packet of razorblades.
The jokes arrive at such a relentless and frightening pace that it can sometimes be hard to keep up. By the time you've heard, registered and laughed at one joke, two more have whizzed past.
For example, in an early attempt to escape the camera of her daughter's insider documentary, Myer fabricates an urgent need to discuss confidential foreign policy.
"Honey, it's Yemen," she shrugs as her assistant shuffles her out, "Life gives you Yemen, you got to make Yemenade."
Turning to her worried campaign manager she mutters, "There's not going to be a film. The only thing Catherine ever finished was an entire ice cream cake."
It's a comedy that demands you keep your wits about you. Half-assing it simply will not do. Not only because you're liable to miss a bunch of one-liners, but also because the show deals with the arcane absurdity of America's ruthless and byzantine political system.
If you've ever wondered how in real life a chump like Donald Trump got to be standing anywhere near the precipice of world power, tune into Veep. It will explain a lot.
