Disclaimer: I declare bankruptcy. So only sue me, NBC, if you're looking for all ten seasons of Friends on DVD and a clarinet, 'cause that's about all I'm worth. Oh, and if you're a creator of the movie Superbad, please don't sue me either.

Author's Note: I thought I made it clear in the summary, but just a reminder: this is SO AU IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY, and some dirty-ish things are implied (really just after the last page break), so please stop reading here if "stuff" makes you uncomfortable. Okay.

Deer Jerky

(From Performance Review)

Dwight: I'd also further like to talk about my merits in the workplace.

Michael: Okay, third wheel, why don't you do that?

Dwight: For instance, the time I brought in deer jerky for the whole office.

Michael: That was deer? Gross. Oh, god.

Dwight: You liked it.

Michael: Did not.

Dwight: Jan, have you ever had deer?

Jan: No.

Dwight: It's a delicacy. And, you know what, it's an aphrodisiac. So when we're done here, you guys could go over to the Antler Lodge, sample some deer, and talk about my raise.

Michael: What do you say, Jan?

Jan: Okay. Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to step outside, collect my thoughts, and I will return in about 10 minutes.

Michael: Okay, you just, uh, clear your head.

(Dwight holds the door open for Jan)

Jan: Thank you, Dwight.

(Not From Performance Review)

Dwight shut the door gingerly behind Jan as she rushed out of the office. He turned to Michael, who was fidgeting idly with a toy from his desk. His furrowed brows betrayed the regional manager's deep thought. Finally, Michael picked up his head, drew breath, and addressed Dwight:

"Do you think the Antler Lodge delivers?"

Dropping his acrostic poster, Dwight snatched the phone from its cradle and grinned menacingly. "There's only one way to find out."

Jan leaned against the wall of the building, smoke trailing from her mouth. She watched a delivery boy approach through the haze and squinted to read the text on his nametag: Mclovin, The Antler Lodge.

She did a double take. The Antler Lodge!? What the hell!?

The cigarette toppled from her slackened jaw as the delivery boy passed her and entered the building. She turned to watch him retreat, swinging two plastic shopping bags emblazoned with chunky red letters reading, "Thank you for coming!"

That's what she said, Jan thought to herself. Realizing how much Michael had rubbed off on her, she spent a few moments mourning the loss of her sanity and then promptly proceeded to contemplate various methods of suicide.

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam," said Pam in a monotone. The delivery boy entered the office and set his plastic shopping bags on the reception desk. After one quick look at his nametag, she calmly told the person on the line, "Hold, please," and buzzed Michael.

"Mclovin from the Antler-Lodge is here," she informed him, resigned.

Michael bounded out of his office. "Excellent!" he cried, clapping his hands together and running to check out the delivery.

Dwight marched over to reception and poked around in the bag that was not occupied by Michael's head. He withdrew his hands looking surprised and satisfied. "You guys really do deliver in five minutes or less."

"Hover crafts," said Mclovin, seemingly by way of explanation.

Pam raised her eyebrows at Jim. Dwight just looked awed. Michael withdrew his head from the bag looking oblivious…so, no change.

"Wow, this smells great!" he gushed.

Dwight puffed out his chest proudly. "Thanks. It's Eau de Betterave. Mose's homemade cologne."

Michael snorted. "Not you, moon face. You smell like road kill. It's the deer jerky that smells awesome."

By now, Jim had left his desk to join the small congregation at reception. "Deer jerky?" he echoed, both amused and befuddled.

"Yaysh," said Michael. "Everyone has to sample some for lunch. It's from the Antler Lodge."

"It's an aphrodisiac," Dwight added.

"Oh, God…" Pam muttered.

"Forty-seven ninety-five," said Mclovin.

"What?" said Michael.

"Pay me," the delivery boy clarified.

Michael ignored his outstretched hand and snatched the bags off the counter. "You got this, Dwight? I need to go call Jan."

Dwight sighed, but yanked his wallet out of his pocket anyway.

Jim turned to Pam once more. "This should be good," he grinned.

"You have no idea," the delivery boy said ominously, counting his money as he exited the premises.

Intense sunshine beat down upon her upturned face. Wind whipped through her hair and sent chills running down her spine. Her eyes closed, she sighed, content (and wholly untainted by Michael Scott and his terrible sense of humour) for the first time in a long time. With a smile on her face, she bent her knees to jump when…her pocket started to sing.

Her eyes snapped open and her smile dissolved. Ruefully, she stepped down off the ledge of the Scranton Business Park complex roof and yanked her phone out of her jacket. Ignoring the caller ID, she flipped it open.

"What?" she snapped testily. When Michael Scott's voice replied, she scowled and stepped back up onto the ledge.

"Jan! Jan! Come quick!" he shouted.

"What is it, Michael?" she demanded through gritted teeth, letting one foot dangle over the edge haphazardly.

"Stanley has a BOMB!" Michael screeched. "And we're ALL GOING TO DIE! You're the only one to convince him to not blow up the entire office; he's demanding a pay raise!"

Jan sighed, surveying the hard, black pavement below her wistfully. Save fourteen paper people from being blown to smithereens, or break every bone in her body and die slowly and painfully in a handicapped parking space?

It was tough call.

When Jan entered the office, it appeared deserted. Pissed off, she bee lined for the conference room. Sure enough, Michael stood near the door, Dwight behind him, and the rest of the employees slumped lazily in their seats.

Jan stomped into the room, hand on hip. "There's no bomb, is there, Michael?"
He snorted and tried to suppress a smile.

"Of…course," she seethed under her breath.

"Why are we here, Michael?" Stanley demanded from the back.

"What's in the bags?" Kelly wondered, gesturing to where they sat in the middle of the table.

"Deer jerky!" Dwight sang. Michael glared at him for stealing his thunder while everyone either rolled their eyes (Jan), exchanged knowing glances (Jim and Pam), looked way too excited (Creed), or seemed confused (everyone else).

"Are you serious, Michael?" Jan fumed.

"Again?" Phyllis said. "Didn't Dwight bring that in a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah," Dwight confirmed. "But that was homemade. Shot that doe myself."

"That explains the metallic bullet bits," Kevin whispered under his breath to Oscar, who looked slightly ill.

"And this stuff," said Michael, "is the real deal! From the one and only Antler Lodge! And, most importantly – "

"It's an aphrodisiac!" Dwight interjected again, eliciting another death-stare from Michael.

"The jerky was gross the first time," Ryan declared. "I am not eating that stuff."

"Well, too bad," Michael said stonily, "because everyone has to try some. It's mandatory."

"You can't make people eat anything against their will," Toby piped up.

"I'll make them eat you if you don't shut up," Michael threatened menacingly.

Toby shut up.

Michael, chipper once more, cried, "Okay!" He clapped his hands together once. "Who wants to sample some first? Jan?"

"No," Jan said, her voice like ice. Michael misread her tone as one of pure excitement.

"Awesome! Dwight, fetch the lovely lady some deer jerky!" Dwight rushed to oblige. Jan adamantly crossed her arms over her chest.

"This is ridiculous, Michael." She turned to the rest of the employees. "You guys don't have to eat this."

"Too late," Kevin said, mouth and fists full of meat. A bag lay at his feet, the containers inside partially open.

Oscar rolled his eyes at him. "You're gross."

"Not gross, just hungry," Kevin declared. "And actually…this stuff is pretty good!"

"Better than last time?" asked Creed, who was drooling a bit with anticipation.

"Like, a million times better," Kevin announced. "It tastes like…M&Ms and Cup-O-Noodles."

"How can that taste good?" Oscar demanded.

"Try it," Kevin pressured, much to Michael's approval.

"Don't have to tell me twice!" Creed cried, scrambling for some jerky.

Hesitantly, Oscar picked up a strip of meat. He eyed it disdainfully, gulped, and nibbled. His eyes lit up immediately. "This is amazing! It tastes like California rolls!"

"Not true," said Creed with his mouth full. "Tastes like mongoose."

No one heard him, though; with sparked curiosities, they were too busy tucking into the meat.

"Mmm…beets," Dwight crooned.

"Sex on the Beach," Meredith moaned, smacking her lips.

"Why does this taste like Mixed Berry Yogurt?" Pam asked Jim.

"It doesn't. It tastes like Fruit Loops," he answered. They frowned at the meat, befuddled.

Toby saw Michael eyeing Jan and tried to intervene on her behalf. "Don't pressure her to eat it, Michael," the HR rep warned.

Michael glared at him. "Get out!" he ordered.

Sighing, Toby obliged, with Stanley and his crossword puzzle hot on his heels.

"I was talking to Toby, not you!" Michael said to Stanley.
Stanley threw Michael a quick, disgusted backwards glance before sidling out of the conference room.

Shrugging, the boss turned his attention back to the others. He sidled over to Jan, dangling a strip of jerky in front of her face. "Your turn, Ms. Levinson!" he crowed.

"No," Jan repeated.

"Come on," Michael leered. "You know you want to…."

"I really, really don't," Jan said dangerously. Michael ignored the note of warning in her voice, and pounced on her anyway. She clawed at him, jaw clamped shut, as he tried to force the meat into her mouth. He won in the end, pressing the corners of her mouth until her jaw unhinged and shoving the meat down.

Jan choked for a second, bent in half. When she straightened, she looked for a moment as if she wanted to murder Michael (per usual), but then…she started to chew the meat…and her eyes glassed over…and she made yummy noises…and then…she swallowed.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "This tastes like chocolate!" She dove onto the table and fought the rest of the employees, who were now all over the meat, for more.

"Score!" Michael cheered to himself, proudly watching his boss and employees beat each other up for deer meat.

Michael reclined in his desk chair, toying with his false teeth. He dropped the toy as Jan burst into the room.

"Hey," he said casually. "Are you heading back to New York?"

She didn't respond – just stood there, looking feverish as she stared him down. She panted loudly. Sweat started to bead on her lip, and her left pinkie finger began to twitch.

"Are you…okay?" Michael asked, eyes flicking from her livid face to her dancing digit. She ignored him. A short pause…and then she lunged forward and launched herself over the desk into Michael's arms, attacking his face with her lips.

"What are you doing!" he cried, surprised but by no means resisting the onslaught.

"Don't talk!" she demanded. "Just kiss me!"

"Sure," he said. "I think I can do that. I mean, I have a lot to tell you but…."

Jan pulled her cigarette lighter out of her pocket and flicked it on right in front of Michael's nose. "One more word and you burn," she hissed.

He conveniently forgot what he had to say.

Phyllis's phone rang. Again. And again. After the seventh unanswered call in a row, Stanley started to get annoyed. Looking up from his crossword puzzle to yell at Phyllis, he realized she wasn't there. He turned her phone around to disconnect it and noticed a note stuck to the receiver: At Bob Vance Refrigeration to…run an errand? Be back…soon…maybe. Love, Phyllis.

Stanley sighed, picking up his crossword puzzle again.

Dwight fiddled with the toaster oven in the kitchen.

"Monkey," he hissed. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," Angela whispered, annoyed. "This is stupid, Dwight."

"What's stupid?"

"Talking back to back! Look at me!"

"Then…people…will…KNOW!" Dwight enthused.

"DO IT!" Angela demanded.

Hesitantly, he turned. When he laid eyes on Angela, his deer-jerky-filled belly plunged to his knees. He placed a clammy hand on his chest, realizing his heart was beating super fast. He gulped, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks.

Was Dwight…losing his cool? Hell froze over.

"I, uh," Dwight stammered, "I have…um…a radioactive light saber…in my, er, trunk…you think you could check it out? See if it's too…."

"Toxic?" Angela breathed, eyes shining.

"Yeah," Dwight agreed. They looked at each other for a moment. Suddenly, Dwight was sprinting out of the kitchen, Angela hot on his heels.

Toby sat in the annex, elbows on his desk and head in his hands. He sang to himself in desperate attempt to drown out the sounds of Ryan and Kelly macking it in the next cubicle. The couple was, unfortunately, louder than usual; oddly enough, Ryan seemed to be enjoying things as much as Kelly.

"Oh, Ryan, you're hotter than Brad Pitt on the sun!" Kelly sighed.

With a taste of your lips….

"Your new chap stick tastes AWESOME!" Ryan shouted.

I'm on a ride ….

"Mmmmm!" one of them moaned.

You're toxic, I'm slipping under…oh, I give up, thought a defeated Toby, smashing his head repeatedly against his keyboard.

Jim was ferreting through the fridge in the kitchen when he heard the bathroom door open. He looked up; Pam was exiting the ladies' room.

"Oh," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "Hey."

Watching her, Jim had to struggle to contain himself: all of a sudden, his neck was hot, his pulse was racing, and he had this insane urge to grab Pam and…well, do really inappropriate things to her.

Pam cleared her throat and toyed nervously with her necklace. She held Jim's gaze for a moment, and then looked away. She clutched her shoulders, shivering a bit.

"Is it cold in here?" Jim asked. She looked up, and realized the he suddenly had the chills, too.

"Yeah," Pam agreed. She crouched down and placed her palm on the floor. She gasped and pulled her fingers away quickly. "The floor feels like ice!"

"Weird," Jim said, his breath puffing out in a cloud in front of his lips. "Hell must have frozen over," he joked.

"Yeah," Pam laughed nervously. "Or maybe the thermostat is broken."

"Yeah…" said Jim. "Where do you think the thermostat is? We could…like…fix it," he offered intelligently.

"I have this feeling," said Pam, "that the thermostat is in the women's bathroom."

"Wow," said Jim, "I was thinking the same exact thing."

Pam turned on her heel, pushing her way quickly back into the restroom. Jim was right behind her.

Oscar, Kevin, and Creed stood at the water cooler. Oscar bent down to refill his cup, but when he pressed the button, nothing came out; peering into the blue jug, he realized the contents had turned to ice.

"Look!" he cried.

"It is so cold in here," Kevin announced, teeth chattering.

"Angela must have tampered with the thermostat again," Oscar muttered, turning to the device behind him and jacking the heat up as high as it would go. "It's going to take a while to heat up."

"We could always…you know…go warm up in my car...and maybe drive to...I dunno...a STRIP CLUB?" Creed offered.

"You have a car?" Kevin wondered.

"No," said Creed. He pulled something long and shiny out of his pants. "But I have a crow bar and a knack for stealth."

The three men looked at each other for a moment.

"Let's go," said Oscar.

They hurried out of the office.

Pam entered the main part of the office, which was finally warm again, tugging at the hem of her shirt. She sat behind reception and fussed with her hair. Willing the flush to leave her cheeks, she began to answer the phone as calmly as possible.

A few minutes later, Jim strode from the kitchen into the office. Noting that Dwight was absent, he sighed, relieved that he wouldn't have to invent some story to cover up his long absence. He sat down at his desk, scratched his chin, and set to work.

Dwight returned after a Jim had completed one sales report.

"I wasn't doing anything!" Dwight told Jim defensively.

Jim looked up at the salesman and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Ohh…kayy?" he said. Jim was about to return to his work when Dwight gasped.

"Ew," said Dwight.

"What?" said Jim.

"My bobble head is wet," said Dwight. "What did you do to it?"

"Nothing," Jim said honestly.

"Why is my bobble head wet?!" Dwight cried.

Meredith heard him yell as she walked past his desk en route to the copier. "Oh yeah," she said to Dwight. "That's my fault."

"What did you do to it?" Dwight demanded.

"What didn't I do to it?" Meredith drawled, winking at him before continuing on her way.

"Oh god," said Jim, pushing his chair away from his desk.

Dwight dropped the desk toy and sprinted for the bathroom.

Author's Note #2: Someone pointed out that this wasn't clear -- it gets cold because hell froze over after Dwight "lost his cool." Yeah.