Words to Your Moms... Volume 2

It's kind of sad that the Olympics - the revered and time-honored institution that it is - can only pull its weight every four years. Words to Your Moms comes at you weekly. "Lazy" is the first word that comes to mind. Keep it real, Olympics. If you want to stay relevant, you'll learn a little something from johnatron. Weekly's where it's at. Oh, and if you think you're off the hook, Special Olympics, think again. You're not that special.

apoplectic (adj): (a-poh-PLEK-tik) inciting rage up to and including causing a stroke

Paco closed tight the last of the drawers. "I can picture it now. When Dr. Undermuck comes in on Monday, he's gonna completely freak out! He hates finding frozen lab mice in his desk drawers!"

Despite the already disturbing nature of the prank, Pam was growing concerned at the demented pleasure Paco seemed to be deriving from it. She detested Dr. Undermuck as much as Paco - at least she thought so - but an innocent cryomousing was quickly becoming an unsettling act of terrorism.

Paco grinned devilishly. "What do you think he'll do when he sees them?"

"He's gonna go apoplectic."

"I know, right?" Paco's eyes couldn't have been wider. He crept delightfully around the office like a thief that really took joy in his profession.

Pam considered a compromise she could live with. "Do you think maybe we can just leave one? Did we have to leave all eighty?"

"Pam - you said yourself he'll go apoplectic. That's the goal, right?"

"But - what if he actually has a stroke when he sees them? How will we live with ourselves? If he suffers apoplexy we're toast."

"Pam." An exasperated Paco put his head in his hands. "Let's look at it this way. How bad would it be if he died of apoplexy? Do you know who died of apoplexy? Geez, only Pope Martin V, Woodrow Wilson, and Warren G. Harding."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I'm off-put by how much you know about apoplexy."

"Pam. Consider me irked. Kill the lights and let's go. This isn't a threat, but if you keep it up, who knows what kind of frozen rodent you might find under your pillow tonight." Paco turned and headed for the door.

Pam stood still, more confused than angered. "How is that not a threat?"

The next morning

Dr. Undermuck was the foremost authority on a controversial practice called "just messin' around with lab mice" that garnered him more industry derision than he liked. Mice aren't protected by the USDA Animal Welfare Act. Dr. Undermuck knew two things inside and out - the Animal Welfare Act, and mice.

The good doctor swung open his office door and carelessly tossed his hat towards a hat rack he hadn't yet bought. He fell to his chair, still sleep-dazed, and in for the surprise of his life. Ten minutes passed while he checked email and played Snood. Nutri-Grain, he thought. He reached down and to the right, and pulled a drawer to reveal a cubic foot of mid-thaw rodent carcass. The doctor broke into uproarious laughter.

When at last he caught his breath, he shook his fist in feigned outrage and said aloud to no one present, "Paco and Pam!" Then he leaned back in his chair and fell silent, transfixed by the near-musical nature of the names. Paco and Pam. He repeated: Paco and Pam. Once more, but now with an ampersand: Paco & Pam. The Broadway legend, Gus Undermuck, was born.

He died moments later of Hantavirus pulmonary syndrome.