You know, it’s Friday, and it’s been a very tough week for you and us both, emotionally speaking, so if ever there was a time for a little, you know, dancing —
— Hells no. In fact, he’s really in my doghouse right now (literally; I’ve got the opening shored up with an ironing board and some gorilla glue). And that’s because yesterday the little panzer rat nearly got me into deep shit with the feds by getting himself sloppy drunk on Jack and Gingers, then tried to hire an FBI agent posing as a computer hacker to break in and steal John Travolta’s downloaded gay porn collection. All part of some elaborate blackmail scheme that was supposed to end in a Grease 3, from what I could gather through the drunken babble.
Luckily for me, the cybercrimes guy had a sense of humor. And, strangely enough, his very own armadillo!