Thanks to everyone who read this one, it was a noble experiment and I have only the highest praise for all three of you.
Phase THREE: Modern Life Is Rubbish
Dwight: Jim has launched a revolution in the office. Why? The same reason anyone starts a revolution: because they're wrong and they're evil.
Dwight shakes his head in contempt.
Dwight: Jim's revolution was successful only because he struck while the King was away.
He smiles evilly at the camera.
Dwight: So what am I going to do?
----
Fearing the repercussions should his betrayal become known to Jim and his followers, Dwight opted to make his phone call to Corporate on his mobile phone from the ladies' restroom in the Denny's down the street. He was certain this was the best choice as Jim seemed less likely to be willing to track him for the last leg of the journey. Jim was, after all, an idiot.
When he finally got through to Jan's secretary Sherry, he demanded that she interrupt the meeting Jan was taking with Michael and the other managers, what he had to say was so important Michael would want to hear it right away. it was that important.
"Jan isn't in a meeting," the voice on the other end was slow and tired, as if addressing a child who had kept her up all night attempt to transmogrify her, "and Michael isn't in the building, either."
This gave Dwight reason too pause. He had assumed that Michael's reason for being absent was genuine, but... perhaps he and Jan were off somewhere making coitus. "Is Jan in her office?" he asked with what he was certain was subtlety.
"Yes, she is," Sherry replied curtly.
Dwight could feel his face collapse into itself like a supernova. So much for that lead. "May I speak to Jan?"
There was a pause on the other end like Transatlantic telephone call. "Who did you say this was again?"
"Dwight. Schrute."
It seemed the first pause was unavailable, but was kind enough to send a slightly larger relative in its place. "From Scranton?"
"Where else," Dwight smiled lizard-like.
The largest pause in the family, a decorated military hero of no small renown, made his entrance only to introduce the curiously rapid reply "Jan's in a meeting."
"But you just said..." Dwight tried argue, but was greeted by another of the many dial tones he had made the acquaintance of over the years.
----
Dwight: Now I know where Michael is not.
He smiles and nods his head with the confidence that only comes from being utterly clueless.
Dwight: Which gets me one step closer to finding out where he is.
----
"Okay," Jim addressed his collected female coworkers, "the Party Planning Committee will be undergoing a little realignment," he cut long strides across the conference room, but it was less nervous pacing than surveying his territory like some great jungle cat. "From now on you will be know as the Party and you guys will meet regularly to discuss the laws."
"I absolutely refuse to be a part of this immaturity," Angela hissed with an air of moral superiority. After a pause, she added "and I want to be judicial."
There was something about the idea of putting Angela in charge of law and order that removed all desire in Jim to ever sleep or eat ever again. "No..." he rebutted quickly "...I'm sorry legal matters will be decided by a tribunal made up of Pam..." he looked out the window into the office and searched wildly for absolutely anyone. "...Stanley and... um... Creed?" Recovering quickly (to do otherwise would be to grant Angela an opening) he turned to address Pam with mock pomp. "Needless to say, you'll have to step down from the Party. I hope you can make that sacrifice."
The smile that illuminated Pam's face than was composed of equal parts gratitude and amazement. "I understand," she said simply.
"Excellent," Jim nodded in a manner he hoped seemed stoically political.
----
Dwight, speaking very rapidly as he makes his way through the building: Clearly, what Michael would want me to do now is trying to bring Jim's revolution down from the inside. So, I'm going to go back to the office and bide my time.
----
Dwight strode purposely into the room and was nearly in his chair when Pam's voice called him back to reception. "Excuse me, sir!"
More than a little confused, Dwight made slowly retracted his steps. "What?"
"I'm sorry, sir," Pam was doing her very best to keep her voice completely even, going so far as to bite her inner lip to stave of the impulse to laugh or smile, "but I'm going to need to see your passport."
Dwight reacted in typical Dwight fashion. "I don't have a passport. Why would I want to go to another country?"
"I'm sorry, sir," Pam continued, barely able to keep from breaking, "but we've had an influx of insurgents lately and I'm afraid I can't allow any undocumented persons into the country."
"This is ridiculous," Dwight fumed, "I've been working here for years."
"I'm sure you can understand that there's been a change in power here lately," Pam nodded without sympathy, "and we need to take certain measures to ensure stability."
Dwight stood in silence, seemingly absorbing Pam's words and the message behind them... than started running for the perceived safety of his desk.
"Security!" Pam cried out. "Security!" And Dwight immediately changed directions and disappeared out of the office, despite the fact that he should ostensibly be aware that there should be no security member within earshot.
"Nice work," Jim smiled as he approached the desk, perhaps a bit more in love with Pam than he had been mere seconds ago.
"Thank you," Pam tried in vain to fight the slight blush that was suddenly coloring her cheeks. "I've been working on the money, too," she explained as she handed him a few rough sheets of paper.
There was a caricature on the bill: a great, thin-faced man with massive lips and a nose like a squalshed fruit. "Who is this guy?"
"That's you," Pam answered, sounding perhaps a bit disappointed that he hadn't known instinctively.
"I'm on the money?" For Jim this was (perhaps understandably) an unexpected revelation. Unlike George Washington, he had never dreamed of seeing his face on any form of currency.
"Of course," this also seemed to Pam like it should have been obvious.
Again Jim cast his eyes towards his cartoon doppelgänger. While she had unquestionably exploded his physical imperfections, she hadn't been cruel in doing so. In fact, in his mind, it was an affectionate portrait, with a hint at something undefinable in her gentle lines.
That's what he told himself, anyway.
"Nice," he decided, earning him another thousand-watt smile from Pam.
----
Pam waves the flag she hastily painted on an old white sheet as Jim stands boldly in front it, looking like nothing so much as a the Fifties Superman or a World War II plea to buy bonds.
Jim, with stoic, square-jawed masculinity: England made me.
Pam bursts into a fit of laughter so powerful that she loses her grip on the flag, which proceeds to cover Jim like a low-budget ghostie.