I saw the wave of pain course through Frank Frank's face, then run down his spine and his pants legs, until finally his shoes overflowed with dread. Dorkass' husband had just accidentally e-mailed my credit card information to a bunch of people, each of whom thought it was just hi-lar-i-ous to reply-all "Thanks for the plasma TV, Frank!" or "I'm going to Disney World!"
Was Frank Frank pained because he had compromised my credit card? That he had done something so, well, stupid? Perhaps. But when the pain finally manifested into words, those dejected words were the following:
"Daaaaaaaamn. There's no way I'm not going to be in tomorrow's post." He actually hung his head.
And then he got an idea. An awful idea. Frank Frank got a wonderful, awful idea.
"DORKASS TAUGHT KELSEY TO PLAY LEFT 4 DEAD THIS MORNING!" he blurted, delighted to know that he'd just blown himself off this page.
Yep. Just that morning, Dorkass had taught their three year old daughter to shoot zombies in the head with a pump-action shotgun and make the heads explode. Start rehearsing that Mother of the Year acceptance speech.