Archer's Interview

"How's it going?" Ray asked as he and Cyril walked into Lana's office. "Any luck?"

"Yes, all bad," Lana groaned. "I called several government agencies, including the Secret Service and got laughed at before they hung up on me. Apparently, our reputation precedes us."

"I'm guessing that televised event at the UN didn't help, did it?" Cyril winced.

"No, it did not," Lana groaned.

"What about private security firms?" Ray suggested. "Maybe we can go work for one of them?"

"I called some of those too," Lana admitted. "Some of them are getting disbanded as well. And the ones that aren't…The ones that have government contracts…"

"I see where this is going," Ray winced.

"Down the drain," Lana groaned.

"So we have about…" Cyril looked at the calendar. "Twenty-eight days left before we get officially disbanded and completely disgraced. And start a long, depressing decent into the gutter."

"Health insurance was nice while it lasted," Ray sighed.

"So was having a roof over our head," Cyril added.

"I'M WORKING ON IT!" Lana shouted. "It may not even come to that. The UN ban isn't technically legal yet. The majority of countries have to ratify the article on yet another vote."

"So, what was the vote for?" Ray asked.

"The vote was to vote if they were going to vote to pass a ban in the first place," Lana remarked. "It's a resolution but not ratified. Yeah, I know. UN in action."

"So, we may not lose our jobs?" Ray asked.

"Maybe, I don't know," Lana sighed. "Where's Archer?"

"He said he had a job interview," Ray remarked. "Believe it or not."

"I don't," Lana was stunned. "Who would be crazy enough to interview Archer? Let alone hire him! It can't be the CIA."

"Nope," Ray shook his head.

"Interpol?" Cyril asked.

"Not even close," Ray said.

"Well then who?" Lana asked.

Somewhere across town…

"I know what you're thinking," Archer sat smugly across from a desk in an office somewhere. "You can't believe that Sterling Archer, the world's greatest spy is actually applying for a job at the FBI!"

A thin man with a beaklike nose and balding black hair looked at him from the other side of the desk. On his desk was the nameplate Argos Spencer. "I can honestly say that phrase has crossed my mind," Spencer remarked. "Several times. In these past few minutes."

"And you're wondering why would Sterling Archer want a job at the house J. Edna Hoover built," Archer added.

"Edgar Hoover," Spencer corrected. "J. Edgar Hoover."

"I know what I said," Archer gave him a look. "Who are you kidding?"

"I'm about to ask you the same question."

"It turns out, if you think about it…" Archer remarked. "Me and the FBI would be a good fit."

"Okay I'll bite," Spencer sighed. "How?"

"For starters," Archer smirked. "We both hate the CIA. I mean come on! Those guys are dicks! And most of the stuff they do is illegal anyway! Why aren't they getting blamed for half the damage that was done? Which, spoiler alert, they did!"

Spencer paused. "Continue."

"Also," Archer paused as he took out a flask from his pocket. "I've been a highly trained spy for decades. I bet I could fit into the FBI…"

"Like an alligator fits into the Arctic Circle," Spencer quipped.

"I'm the world's greatest spy," Archer told him as he took a drink. "How hard could it be being an FBI agent?"

"Well for starters," Spencer paused. "We don't drink on duty."

"Seriously?" Archer asked. "At the office then…"

"No."

"What about wine coolers?" Archer asked.

"No," Spencer shook his head.

"In other words, I'll have to stick to bourbon gummies," Archer remarked. "Got ya."

"I don't think you do," Spencer groaned. "Also, we don't dress like we're models for Armani."

"Yeah you guys really need to up your suit game," Archer remarked. "What's your clothes budget like?"

"We don't have one."

"That explains the bad suits," Archer paused. "And why the best dressed FBI agents are actors on TV. You should look into that."

"And in your mind," Spencer paused. "Insulting the agency you want to get a job at will work why?"

"Look anything you FBI people have done, I've done it and better," Archer told him. "Wiretapping. Check. Undercover work. Check. Surveillance. Check. Honeypot missions…"

"We don't do that," Spencer glared at him.

"What do you mean you don't…?" Archer did a double take. "Oohh. I get it. You can't say that anymore because of the Me Too movement. Gotcha."

"Okay I'm going to stop you right here," Spencer groaned. "Before any lawsuits can be filed. Archer there is no way in hell that the FBI is going to hire you. Or any of your cronies from whatever the hell your agency is called now. But especially you!"

"Why not?" Archer barked. "I'm the world's greatest secret agent!"

"That is highly debatable," Spencer looked at him. "Archer you are an alcoholic, narcissistic, reckless dinosaur! A relic of a different time which honestly no one wants to repeat."

"Good luck with that," Archer remarked. "Because we all know a certain Russian dictator wants to revive the Soviet Union like Dr. Frankenstein resurrected all those body parts from the dead."

"Speaking of resurrecting a corpse from the dead, there's also the matter of your age," Spencer added. "You're too old to be a field agent. Honestly with all the injuries you've gotten over the years I'm amazed you're still alive."

"Then put me in management!" Archer told him. "Look I have experience up the wazoo! My record speaks for itself!"

"That's the problem. Mr. Archer as I look over your files a few words do spring to mind," Spencer remarked as he took out a large file. "Checkered is one. Troubling is another. Unusual…definitely…"

"Well unusual is good!" Archer protested. "It means I've done things that no other agent has done before."

"That's one way to look at it I suppose," Spencer said. "Still troubling is a better adjective. As well as disastrous and catastrophic. Those three are the ones that tend to stick in my mind."

"Try not to dwell on that," Archer said. "Because let's be honest, who hasn't had a bad mission where everything goes wrong…?"

"True. And your file is full of them," Spencer said. "A very big file."

"But I always bounce back from defeat and disasters!" Archer told him.

"You do. A shame the same can't be said for many of the people you worked with," Spencer remarked. "In fact, your kill rate is unusually high."

"That's good right?"

"Not when it's in the columns of partners and people you are supposed to protect, no," Spencer said. "Which are ironically higher than your actual assassin figures."

"It is?" Archer blinked.

"Yes. The percentage of people you were supposed to kill and yet are still alive is much higher than the percentage of people you were supposed to protect and are now dead," Spencer said. "You do realize that's a bad thing, right?"

"Uhh…" Archer blinked.

"I withdraw the question," Spencer groaned. "Archer I'm going to be straight with you. You have no chance in hell of getting a position with the FBI. Or pretty much any other job in any other government agency ever."

"But I…"

"Never. Ever…" Spencer interrupted him. "Even the TSA wouldn't take you! We asked! And as we all know the bar for that group isn't that high."

"No offense but I don't want to pat down some guy's junk all day," Archer remarked. "Maybe if it was Pam or Ray…?"

Spencer went on. "We even asked members of drug cartels and terrorist cells if they would hire you just for a laugh and they all said…And keep in mind these are organizations dedicated to breaking the law and promoting mayhem…They said never in a million years. You are…And this is a quote from several people…Too much of a loose cannon."

"Okay so I bend the rules a little…"

"Bend the rules?" Spencer shouted. "You don't bend the rules! You don't even break the rules! You completely demolish the rules! When it comes to rules you are like a hit and run driver! You drive over the rules and then go on your merry way without stopping and run over more rules!"

"Hey! I'm Sterling Archer! Greatest secret agent ever!"

"Well maybe the greatest at spreading new forms of venereal diseases," Spencer quipped. "But greatest agent? No, I hardly think an agent with only a thirty five percent record of success would be called the greatest agent ever. In fact, we have agents in training that have only been on simulators that have had higher success rates!"

"Now listen…I…" Archer blinked. "Thirty five percent? That can't be right!"

"I know. I had my team triple check it," Spencer remarked. "I was sure that number was much lower."

"Oh come on!" Archer barked. "How can my record be only 35 percent? That doesn't make sense!"

"Well let's go over the highlights of your…career for lack of a better word," Spencer opened the large file. "Starting with your year of Cocaine, Country Music and Coups. That's an interesting place to start."

"Oh that," Archer shifted his eyes. "That was more of an experiment."

"An experiment on how not to run a drugs for arms trade?" Spencer asked.

Archer defended. "That was the CIA's idea! Not mine! I just went along with it because my mother made me! Okay and maybe I was living out some kind of Miami Vice fantasy?"

"As opposed to what happened in real life," Spencer looked at him. "Not only did you and your team not sell any cocaine. You lost, ate or blew up most of it. Then you ended up in the middle of a coup twice! And you were responsible for Calderon being eaten by a tiger!"

Archer waved. "That was Cherlene. Or Carol. Or Cheryl. Or whatever she goes by now."

"That leads me to your other little side project during this phase," Spencer remarked. "Turning Ms. Tunt into a one hit wonder only because Calderon bought most of her albums…with a bounced check!"

"We still hit Number One!" Archer protested.

"Number One of the Arson Squad!" Spencer gave him a look. "And that was just one of your more colorful failures."

"But you can't judge me based on one year," Archer said. "I'm nuanced. You have to look at my records as a whole."

"Oh I am. Your arrest records. Your traffic ticket records. Your debt records…" Spencer flipped some pages. "Your medical records. Your school records. And your records of your past missions. Out of 253 assassination missions…96 of your targets are still alive. Including the infamous Crash McCarren who was just recently spotted killing someone else."

"Hey I shot the guy and buried him in an avalanche!" Archer protested.

"Which you caused and destroyed a valuable chateau owned by a high ranking Swiss diplomat who was none too happy about what happened," Spencer said. "And three high ranking Interpol agents died as well."

"And how is that my fault? They were obviously off their game!" Archer protested.

"And were you on your game with the incident with the Durhani Royal family?" Spencer snapped. "Or the incident with the murdered Albanian Ambassador?"

"You know about those?" Archer blinked.

"Yes."

"Ooohhh," Archer winced.

"Were you on your game when you assisted that human trafficker you were supposed to stop in Texas?" Spencer asked. "Or the time you were supposed to save that sea lab and it blew up?"

"Well those were…" Archer started.

"Were you on your game when you recently blew up almost an entire town in South America?" Spencer asked.

"Technically they were all involved in a drug running scheme," Archer protested. "Blame the world economy!"

Spencer gave him a look. "Were you on your game when you blew up that hospital in Costa Rica?"

"That was an assassination mission," Archer winced. "That got slightly out of hand. But that hospital was doing illegal makeovers for criminals! Okay maybe not technically illegal if you go by Costa Rican law but still…"

"Or were you on your game when you were supposed to protect the Skytanic and ended up bombing Wales?" Spencer went on. "And speaking of which the infamous incident with those Welsh separatists and the kidnapped MI6 agent comes to mind!"

"Okay that was not my fault!" Archer protested. "And we did actually save Skytanic!"

"By bombing Wales!" Spencer glared at him.

"Okay so we blew up a farm or some sheep…" Archer waved.

Spencer interrupted him. "You blew up the entire garment district in Swansea!"

"We did?" Archer blinked. "That explains why the price of Welsh cardigans went up that year."

"What about the incident with the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, the terrorists, and an ocelot on a train?" Spencer asked. "Or the space station you were supposed to save but ended up stranding an enraged murderous cyborg that was the head of the KGB at the time? Who ended up killing fifteen scientists and astronauts? After you killed all those other scientists and astronauts!"

"Yeah I see where you're going with that…" Archer began. "If I can explain."

"And speaking of the KGB, how about your mother's forty-something year affair with the head of the KGB and rumored to be one of many possibilities to be your father?" Spencer asked. "And when he defected, you were supposed to protect him but failed? Letting him get killed by that insane cyborg who let me recap, ended up as head of the KGB for a time and killed a lot of people!"

"You know about that too?" Archer gasped. "How?"

"We have a lot of sources overseas," Spencer told him. "Especially within Russia. They told us about you. A lot."

"Ohhh…" Archer winced.

"They also told us about current head of the KGB who is also a cyborg and you almost married!" Spencer added. "And still have some kind of weird friendship with."

"I know how that looks…" Archer began. "But Katya is…"

"You do know she's the one who planned the entire Albanian ambassador debacle right?" Spencer asked. "And set you idiots up to take the fall."

"I do now," Archer blinked.

"She was also responsible for that Cyborg Barry army factory you took down a few years ago," Spencer added.

"Which we destroyed!" Archer snapped. "You're welcome!"

"Considering Krieger and your agency is technically responsible for creating Katya and Barry…" Spencer added. "It's more like you cleaning up your own mess! Unlike what happened recently in that South American town. And the entire country of San Marcos!"

"Okay but…" Archer began.

"The several incidents in high society where you caused riots," Spencer added. "The other riots you caused at various bars. The other-other riot you caused at a zoo! The shootouts at several of Ms. Tunt's hotels. The theme parks you wrecked! The several other buildings you wrecked!"

"Those were off the books," Archer protested. "Technically we did that on our own time!"

"The riots in New York not even a month ago?" Spencer looked at him.

"That was Lana's fault!" Archer protested. "Well that and Mother's for not explaining about Blackmail Bribe Day."

"You almost got the pope murdered," Spencer added.

"Almost doesn't count!" Archer snapped.

"Like when you almost completed half of your missions but failed!" Spencer snapped.

Archer winced. "Okay I admit I walked into that one."

"Like you walked into Columbia trying to sell cocaine?" Spencer shouted. "Again, very unsuccessfully!"

"Okay I admit when you list everything all at once it kind of sounds bad…" Archer coughed. "Wait! How do you know all this?"

Spencer looked at him. "It's this new thing called intelligence gathering. You should look into that."

Archer glared at him. "You know…?"

"A lot more about your career…" Spencer quipped. "Again…lack of a better word than you think!"

"I thought Mother bribed people not to talk about these things!" Archer was confused.

"She didn't bribe all of them," Spencer added. "And some of the people she bribed took the money and blabbed anyway. After we bribed them."

"Ohhh…" Archer winced. "You know most of this was my mother's fault! She was the mastermind of everything!"

"Are you seriously blaming your screw ups on your mommy?" Spencer looked at him.

"I was…" Archer realized. "But I just realized that doesn't look good on my record, does it?"

"No."

"Thought so," Archer winced. "Yeah, I admit if I was the one doing the interview, I'd take off points for that."

"I will however give you points for your ability to seduce women," Spencer looked at his files. "Your completion of three hundred and thirty six honey pot missions out of three hundred and thirty eight is very impressive."

"The two I didn't do were dudes so…" Archer shrugged.

"And you were only blackmailed by twenty three of your targets so for you that is a relative success," Spencer added. "Congratulations. You are a successful gigolo."

"Well thank…HEY!" Archer snapped.

"Seriously you might want to honestly consider being a male prostitute as a profession," Spencer said. "It seems to be the one thing you are good at and it's not like you haven't been paid to screw around all these years."

"You know…?"

"But let's go back to your records of your…Well I can't call them accomplishments," Spencer went on. "Like the mission to save Dr. Kovacs AKA Operation Shrinky Dink. That was a disaster! Not only did he not survive, several other people were killed as well!"

"Well yeah…But…" Archer began. "Hang on! How do you know about that? That whole incident was top secret!"

"The CIA has more moles than that golf course in Caddyshack," Spencer told him. "Some of them told us what happened. As well as several of your misadventures."

"Uh oh…" Archer blinked. "That's…problematic."

"We also interviewed some of your former co-workers," Spencer added. "Who told us about some other incidents of yours. Like the Fourth of Ju-Luau!"

"Oh boy…" Archer winced in shame. "Okay I admit that one was bad. But in my defense I was really, really, really drunk!"

"Then there was the Rona Thorne incident. The Nellis Air Force Base incident. The Drug Farm in Ferlin, West Virginia Incident with your friend Gillette. The Drag Racing the Yakuza incident with your other friend Poovey!" Spencer went on. "The Utne incident…"

"That was also Mother's fault!" Archer barked. "Who invites assassins to be caterers?"

"Then there was the time you chased a criminal through the streets of Paris and not only did you not catch him, you ran over a couple of mimes!" Spencer added. "The time you disrupted the Monte Carlo Grand Prix…"

"That was a successful mission! We killed a couple of really bad guys!" Archer protested.

"Correction, one really bad guy and one snooty Belgian hotel clerk," Spencer gave him a look.

"Who stole our money!" Archer protested.

"Which your mother stole from your fellow employees' 401 Ks in order to pay for her sex tape," Spencer said. "And you in turn stole and gambled them away!"

"But I got it back!" Archer said.

"After a lot of death and destruction to personal property," Spencer grimaced. "You also got into a fight with Kenny Loggins. Kidnapped and went on a car chase with Burt Reynolds…"

"Those were some misunderstandings," Archer protested.

"And how many of those 'misunderstandings' got your fellow agents harmed and or killed?" Spencer snapped. "Or in Gillette's case crippled? More than once I might add."

Archer frowned. "You're one of those people who bitch about little things like that aren't you?"

"Let's skip over the fact that some of the people you were supposed to protect died because of your carelessness. And even skip over the fact some agents died because of your carelessness," Spencer went on. "Let's even skip over the fact that some of those people injured included your own mother and the mother of your child. But what you did to Gillette…That's beyond the pale. I've known psychopathic villains that aren't that cruel!"

"How long are people going to go on about that?" Archer threw up his hands.

"How long do you think people are going to equate icebergs with the Titanic?" Spencer asked. "Or Waterloo with Napoleon? I could name several other disasters but I think you get the point."

"If I'm such a disaster, why did you agree to interview me?" Archer asked.

"Honestly," Spencer shrugged. "There's a betting pool going around on how much of an idiot you really were. This was just a way for us to gage that. On a scale of one to ten. I had you down as an 11. I think I just won three hundred bucks."

"WHAT?" Archer shouted.

"Also, we're taping this interview and are going to show it at the office holiday party," Spencer smirked. "Going to get a lot of laughs with this one."

"Laugh while you can Dick for Hire! I'll have you know this isn't the only agency I've applied to!" Archer barked. "I sent out a resume to Sector 7!"

"That closed down last year," Spencer looked at him. "Due to budget cuts."

"Oh," Archer blinked. "Okay there's still Omega Sector."

"That closed down earlier this year," Spencer told him. "Turns out there wasn't much of a following."

"Really? But it had so much potential," Archer frowned. "What about the Department of External Security?"

"DXS?" Spencer asked. "That shuttered decades ago when that one guy that did most of the work retired!"

"What about Alpha Protocol?" Archer asked.

"That's from a video game!" Spencer shouted.

"That explains why I had trouble finding their address," Archer blinked.

Spencer remarked. "Something tells me you're going to have trouble adjusting to reality."

"Yeah well…" Archer paused. He then punched Spencer in the face. Tipped over his desk and then took out his lighter. "In the immortal words of Cheryl and/or Carol Tunt…YOU'RE NOT MY SUPERVISOR!"

He then set the desk on fire. "I gotta admit," Archer grinned. "Sometimes Cheryl does know what she's doing."

Just then several FBI agents burst through the door and tackled Archer to the ground.

The next thing Archer knew he was tossed out very violently onto the sidewalk. "AND STAY OUT!" Spencer was heard shouting. "THE ONLY REASON WE'RE NOT ARRESTING YOUR INCOMPETENT ASS NOW IS THAT WE DON'T WANT TO FUMIGATE OUR CELLS!"

"OH YEAH?" Archer shouted. "WHO WANTS TO BE AN FBI AGENT ANYWAY? I'M STERLING ARCHER THE WORLD'S GREATEST SPY AND I'M NOT GONNA SETTLE! AND ANOTHER THING, YOUR MOVIES SUCK! THEY'RE DUMB-DA-DUMB-DUMB!"

"Okay," Archer brushed himself off and got up. "I admit it. The FBI was a long shot anyway."

"Damn it. I really wanted to be part of Omega Sector. Could have had a lot of fun with those guys."

"Of course!" Archer snapped his fingers. "Why didn't I think of that in the first place? I know exactly where to go!"

The following day at the soon to be closed Agency…

"Twenty-seven days until we're closed," Cyril sighed as he crossed the date off a calendar. "Don't throw out any cardboard boxes people. We might need to live in them."

"Not necessarily," Krieger remarked as members of the Agency lounged about in the bullpen. "I know some excellent real estate in the sewer system."

"Look I'm spit balling some possible job ideas," Pam pointed to a whiteboard with some writing on it. "Treasure hunting. Mink breeding. Bail bondsmen. Running our own bar. Just not in Philadelphia. Someone else is doing that."

"Ooh," Krieger perked up. "The mink breeding sounds like it has potential."

Ray drawled as he played solitaire on a desk. "Potential to start as a horror movie."

"Okay screenwriting," Pam wrote that on the board. "I mean with the new phones out now any idiot can make a movie."

"And we're just idiot enough to do it," Cyril remarked.

"That's the spirit!" Pam grinned.

Lana walked into the bullpen. "Has anyone seen Archer?"

"No," Zara said. "I've been having a relatively pleasant morning."

"Me too," Cyril grinned.

"So have I," Lana admitted. "And that's what worries me."

"What do you mean?" Zara asked.

"Wait for it," Ray rolled his eyes.

"Wait for what?" Zara asked.

Just then the elevator dinged open. The next thing they knew, Archer was thrown on the floor, bound and gagged and looking a little beaten up. "That," Ray told her.

"KANE!" A man wearing a pale western outfit who looked like Jeff Daniels bellowed. "We need to talk."

"Hello Champ," Lana addressed the head of the Statesmen. She acknowledged the other man with her. "Tequila."

"Kane," Tequila nodded.

"I was going to ask what you're doing here," Lana looked at Archer. "But I think I can guess."

"It's bad enough you idiots have screwed up the entire spy industry," Champ growled. "But the worst thing you've done is let this idiot run wild like a jackrabbit at a cat show." He kicked Archer in the behind.

"What did he do?" Lana groaned.

"He broke into our distillery looking for a job interview," Champ told Lana. "Instead, he found half a crate of our best bourbon!"

"He made such a mess on that floor," Tequila groaned. "We're gonna get ants."

"Of course, he did," Lana groaned. "Sorry about that. Obviously, he wasn't authorized to do…Well not that it matters to Archer. He's never authorized to do anything but he just does it."

"Look we have enough problems without you idiots causing more," Champ snapped. "Fortunately, The Statesmen are grandfathered in under a clause so we're technically not an independent spy agency. And no we're not hiring!"

"And if we were," Tequila added. "We're definitely not hiring you. And especially him!" He pointed to Archer.

"Yeah, the Kingsmen pretty much said the same thing," Lana admitted. "And several other agencies. Including the FBI who called me yesterday."

"What did he do there?" Tequila asked.

Lana admitted. "He punched a guy in the face and set fire to his desk."

"Yeah, that sounds like Archer's usual interviewing strategy," Ray drawled. "You know how much he loves to make friends."

"The only reason Archer's not dead and we're not going to blow this place up is…" Champ paused. "Well, you've kind of already done that to yourselves. And pretty much every other spy agency out there."

"Hey! IIA was the one that sent out the killer drones!" Lana pointed out.

"Yeah, we had nothing to do with that," Ray said innocently. "Absolutely nothing at all."

"We're not exactly thrilled with those dicks either," Tequila admitted. "The one thing we respect about you, is that you guys took Fabian down."

"By destroying his agency," Champ remarked. "Which seems to be a pattern with you."

"You're not the first to have noticed that," Pam admitted.

"Look I don't believe in kicking a man or an agency when they're down," Champ remarked. "But…" He then proceeded to kick Archer again.

"MFFFF!" Archer protested.

"Point taken," Lana sighed.

"I'd say see you around but…You know?" Champ shrugged. He and Tequila left.

Cheryl grinned. "That was a fun cameo!"

"Archer," Lana glared at the trussed spy. "What the hell were you thinking? Stupid question. You never think!"

"MFFFHHHH!" Archer tried to protest.

"Oh, don't use that old excuse on me," Lana glared at him. "Archer, we have enough problems, especially within the spy community without you causing more!"

"Yeah Archer!" Cyril couldn't resist piling on. "Thanks a lot for making things worse for all of us!"

"So selfish," Ray sniffed.

"He is!" Cyril added.

Zara shrugged. "I'm going to have to agree with them on this one."

Cheryl spoke up. "I am however willing to give him points on the use of fire."

"No surprises there," Cyril groaned.

"So uh…" Pam coughed. "Are we gonna untie him or…?"

"We'll untie him after lunch," Lana told the others. "Everybody else, Pita Margaritas! Lunch is on Archer's expense account!"

"MFFFFHHH?!" Archer tried to sputter.

"The password to your account is password," Krieger told him. "You really should change that."

"Come on," Lana said to the rest of her staff. "Let's have a good lunch at Archer's expense."

"I love days like this," Cyril grinned.

"Me too," Ray admitted as they left.

"MFFFHH!" Archer protested.

"Hang on buddy," Pam went to get something. "I gotcha."

She came out with a bowl and a bottle of scotch. She poured the scotch into the bowl and set it on the floor in front of Archer. She took the gag off his mouth. "Better?"

"Much!" Archer let out a grateful breath. He took a lap out of the bowl with his tongue. "Thanks! Uh Pam…You might want to put some newspaper on the floor. Just in case."