Theresa

I was waiting at the corner for the light to change when I heard a woman yelling at me from her car in an eastern European accent. Hey Vi-toria! You loooser! Vi-toria! Don't pretend you can't hear me! I looked up, afraid that this was who I thought it was. And then I saw her. She got out of her car and started right towards me with her horrible smile and that big insane hair-do of hers. She was carrying an umbrella to protect herself from the snow flakes, and wearing dark glasses that hid half of her face. It was Theresa. My boss from over eleven years ago. I froze.

The only appropriate thing thing to do when one encounters this woman is to run away or to hide. One time when I saw her at the bookstore I hid. Another time at the bank, while right in the middle of writing a deposit slip, I ran. This is the only thing to do. Because Theresa has a way of killing people so that they still appear to be alive, with their hearts still beating and everything, but they are dead. Believe me. They are mere human shells of what they once were after she's done with them. So, even though she had already seen me, I entertained thoughts of bolting. Unfortunately, as in so many nightmares I've had, I'd temporarily lost the ability to use my legs.

I was queasy and my heart was racing. I just stood there and awaited her punishment. And she was coming towards me fast, too. Looking like a too heavily made-up, little rough around the edges modern day Ingrid Bergman, it was Theresa: hell on wheels. I imagine she is as quick as she is because she's so accustomed to people running away from her. Because she can't, simply can NOT let any of her victims slip away. No. I braced myself for the worst. What could else I do, Theresa's particular knack for messing with people's minds is legendary (on Oak Street, at least), her favorite device being subtle insistence, a method outlined very eloquently by Hitler in Mein Kempf.

Of course she's also very capable of insulting a person outright. And she's not above name calling. She'll do what ever it takes to finish the job. So, at this moment I was ready for anything. And immediately, before I could even say hello, she asked me in a mock whisper if I was still waitressing. I feigned whiplash and handed her my card for frankenmonsterblog. I figured this was safe. It's worded so vaguely that no one could ever determine what it is that we actually do just by reading it. Though, I must say, while we were talking it started to occur to me that she would be great at frankenmonsterblog, and could bring to the table something quite rare in terms of the heartless revenge.

I mean, it would be priceless to sic Theresa on someone. And she would be perfect as one of our in house specialists. Who better to train our interns the fine art of gaslighting/crazy-making? And I already knew that there was very little that Theresa wouldn't do for money. While she appears to be no more than a well maintained, extra bitchy salon owner, there is no doubt in my mind that her youth was spent being trained by her government to be a secret weapon of some sort. I imagine her specialty was to slowly but surely breaks down the enemy.

I couldn't bring myself to recruit her, though, afraid as I was that she'd only wind up driving me crazy. Finally, I had to make up some kind of excuse to get away from her, as I could sense that she now had her proverbial big knives poised at me to go in for the kill. And, seriously, any person who would have overheard our conversation would have laughed out loud, I was so clearly defending myself. I was finally saying goodbye, and slowly backing away, when she said, Ya, see you later, loser. Just like that. Utterly no respect for any human being, not even one who just endured a round with her (and this had been a surprise attack).

I realize that people are really just her playthings, their misery being her one and only goal. So, I turned around and said, Theresa, do you mind if I ask.. what are you doing these days, are you still at the salon? She said, yeah, why..? I told her I felt that there was a world of opportunity for her at frankenmonsterblog, and that, indeed, there's no limit to what we could do for her, that is, if she was interested. She responded both incredulously and anxiously with, What Vi-toria..? (pregnant pause only a European could pull off) ..are you offering ME a job? And, fully aware that this was either pure genius or a colossal mistake, I said,
Yes, Theresa. I believe I am..

I can not buy this couch

It's the couch that has been evading me for over two years. The couch I love dearly. I've tried to buy it six or seven times. But it can't be bought. Believe me. I can not buy this couch.

The first time I saw it was at an antique store way up north. I was walking through the store and there it stood. Well made. Italian. Kitsch yet elegant. Perfectly proportioned and seeming to all but float on it's narrow chrome legs. It was just the right shade of the palest blue. A mid-century asymmetric wonder. Its upholstery was soft to the touch. Velvety. And textured with a not-too-over-the-top atomic fifties pattern. And it was pristine. The only explanation being that it must have been hiding beneath plastic slipcovers for the last forty years. It was a beautiful couch that had been released from it's plastic cage and was now ready to live and breathe as it should.

Now, I love furniture. I have seen a lot of furniture. But this was the best couch I had ever seen. And it was fairly priced considering all that it had to offer. I stood there looking at it for a very long time. I decided that it was mine. That I would forever refer to this couch as the divan, though secretly I would name it Laura Pertrie, because all great couches have names. I got totally swept away. But, then, some minutes later, I found myself pulling back away. I couldn't justify buying this couch. I remembered that I was trying to get rid of things. That I had a couch. That I was broke. Then, of course, when I got home I decided it wouldn't hurt to go back and take another look. And (of course) by the time I returned to the store in the morning, it was gone. Sold. And I admit, I was a little relieved. And I got on with my life, or so I thought.

Then, it was about six months later that I wandered into a local vintage clothing store. I had been searching all day for something to wear to a wedding. I was so caught up in this search that I almost didn't notice. And then I couldn't believe my eyes. There it was. The couch. Unmistakably the very same couch. They were using it as part of a display in the middle of the store. A mannequin, dressed in a gray and pale blue plaid pencil skirt with a gray sweater-set, sat sort of lounging on (and oddly color coordinating with) my dream couch. I had to do something. I just came right out and asked the woman who had been helping me about the couch.

She, behaving as if she had dealt with this query a few too many times, told me that it was not for sale. I asked if I could leave a message for the owner. Sensing my urgency, she informed me, No.. Bernice would never consider parting with the couch, and went on to tell me that it was rumored that the couch would soon be transported to Bernice's new house (after the house was finished being painted or fixed or floors refinished or whatever it was). I said, ok, but added that I'd like to leave a note for the owner anyway, you know.. just in case. Because now I was flooded with regret. The couch was even better than I remembered. The woman, saying nothing more on the subject, just took the note out of my hand and tore it up into little pieces. Needless to say, I bought my dress with it's missing belt and slightly torn hem, and left.

But this wasn't over. I decided I would go back and try to talk to Bernice myself. So the next morning I (armed with a purse full of cash) walked right over to the store. And when I got there I couldn't believe it. The store's windows were soaped over. I just kept trying to blink away what I was seeing, and checking to see if I was at the right address. I looked in the window where it wasn't quite soaped over, and I saw that everything except the couch was gone. The couch, looking quite abandoned, stood there in the center of the empty rubble (and millions of beer cans) of what I can only imagine must have been the hastiest move ever. I looked around to see if there was a note or something explaining where they had moved. Then I called. Nothing. No machine. And nobody, I mean nobody knew what was up with that store.

For a few days I just kept walking past, looking into the window at the abandoned couch. My couch. All sorts of things went through my mind. And the whole thing did indeed take on a life of it's own, as the people who knew about all of this started getting crazy ideas in their heads. I must say, there was more than one vodka and cigarette saturated night spent around the table where schemes concerning the liberation of the couch were discussed, hatched, planned. All the while the couch waited, only a few blocks away. Of course, it was all just a lot of talk. Pipe dreams. The kind of thing that gets people through the worst part of winter, I guess.

Then, if you can believe it, I forgot all about the couch for the better part of a year. I had a surprise personal adventure that led me far and away from my unanswered questions pertaining to the couch. And when I did think of the couch, which at this point was only rarely, I tried to imagine it in a better place. That is, not in a land-fill as I feared, but indeed in Bernice's living room where it belonged. It was the only thing that was acceptable, and this got me through.

Which leads me to last Friday. I was out with my mom, scrambling down Wells trying to get quickly to our destination without freezing to death, when I just stopped dead in my tracks. It was the couch. Again. And again it was being used as a store display. Only this time it was positioned in the store's window (where the sun was going to fade that perfect blue if they weren't careful). I was so shocked and hysterical that I could barely explain to my mother the whole thing. But somehow she got it. She sort of put up her hand like, say nothing more.

We went in. My mom said something to the effect of, just follow my lead.. or just act natural.. and, finally, seeing how keyed up I was, she said, just let me handle this. She seemed so dead serious, that for a moment I felt really confident about what was about to transpire. She went over and talked with someone named Paul off to the side. They had a lengthy, hushed conversation that looked from where I stood like a couple of people who were very genuinely, very politely, very heatedly trying to convince the other party something that neither party wanted to accept. It was clear. The couch was not for sale. Rather, I accept that I can not buy this couch. And, again, I feel almost relieved. It is out of my hands. I need not pursue this couch any further. Or any couch ever again. That is what I really want to believe.

coming soon

In the next issue of frankenmonsterblog:

A Day In The Life of Roman Grimiko..
Join us as we spend twenty four laughter (if not horseradich) packed hours with Roman Grimiko..

A Minute By Minute Breakdown Of Her Worst Hair Day Ever
For the first time ever Victoria speaks candidly about one of the worst days of her life.. It was one of the worst hair-dos in modern memory..

How Do They Do That?
Local tough guy reveals just how he instigates fights nearly every night of the week..

Gimme Two Dozen!
We asked a thousand people what they want from life. The answer? Doughnuts..

An Indepth Look At Winky Stanofowick: An Exclusive Interview..
A complex and surprising look at Winky Stanofowick: Her world, her way..

snack cakes, or something

I realized earlier tonight that I had a craving for something sweet. But it was already eleven pm, and it was cold and raining outside, and there was no way I was going to go anywhere. I couldn't justify going out late at night for chocolate alone. And there was nothing like a cookie, or hot cocoa, or a piece of a gingerbread house in my apartment. Because, believe me, I looked.

So I tried to forget about it, and started clearing all the junk off of my table. Which, by the way, is not a fair trade for chocolate. But there was three weeks of whatever-I-could-get-by-without-dealing-with-it collected into a heap on top of the table in my kitchen. (And as messes go, I have to say it was super contained, where I had given into slovenliness, yes, but for some reason only within the controlled confines of that one table). So, I got to work.

And there was a payoff. As I got to the bottom, I noticed some of these little Japanese snack cakes that my sister-in-law had given me as part of my Christmas present. I forgot I had taken them out of the box. There were two of them. They had come in a beautiful jewelry box that she had filled with all sorts of fun and exotic little soaps and things. I remembered that she told me that these two were cakes, and those two were soaps, and that one was an eraser, etc.

They were strange little cakes wrapped in cellophane with something brief and to the point written on them in italicized Japanese that, whatever it said, ended in an exclamation point. So they had to be good. And my sister-in-law had mentioned that they were good. So I was really thrilled.

I like Japanese food, but these were snack cakes I had never had before. Not knowing what to expect, I took one of them out of its packaging to study it. And, upon further inspection, it struck me as the kind of item that, if I added water to it, would grow to 500% its original size. And it really looked like this round eraser that I like to use. And a little bit like soap. And it smelled like both cookies and flowers.

Then I remembered something, went into my bedroom, and grabbed the jewelry box. In it I found four other items that looked exactly like these snack cakes. They too were white and round and were all packaged in a similar same way. But they were bigger than the ones I had just examined. So I was confused. I really needed to determine which of these things was a snack cake.

So, I took all of them out of their wrappers and lined them up on my kitchen counter to look at them under the light. All six were spongy. All six looked sort of like erasers. And all six erased #2 pencil quite cleanly. I spent an inordinate amount of time doing this. Finally I ate one of them. Then, all of them. And, although I have no idea what I've eaten, whatever they were, they were good. Really good.

next, the dry cleaners

I was doing errands today, and had no choice but to finally return some movies I'd rented over a month ago. I kind of braced myself as I made my way to the rental place, which is called Earwax, but what I refer to as La Maison de Mildew, or just La Mildew, as Earwax smells very badly of mildew. At least this is the case in the basement area, where the movies are located (the cafe upstairs smells ok). So, as I had already armed myself with some aspirin before I left the house, there were no more excuses. Earwax was the first stop on my list.

When I got there, I explained everything to the guy behind the counter, and he began pulling up my account. His computer was running a little slow, so we made some small talk. He told me that his name was Brian, and we talked about movies for a while. Finally, as there was no way to any longer ignore the topic, I just came right out and asked Brian if the mildew made him sick. He told me that sometimes it got so bad that it was difficult to keep his food down. But then he added that, so long as he smoked pot continuously throughout his shift, it was bearable.

That was when I went into my purse, flashed him my badge, and told him that he was under arrest. I said Freeze! and everything. And when I did this he jumped back a couple of feet and knocked right into some shelves. And he seemed genuinely panicked for a moment or two, despite the fact that what I had aimed at him was not a gun, but a bottle of hairspray, and that what I had flashed him was not my badge, but my wallet (which, in all fairness, does flip open like a police badge, but is pink, and has inside it not a police shield, but a Raggedy Ann sticker).

After Brian recovered from the initial shock of my arrest, we started laughing hysterically. We just kept reinacting the whole thing, over and over, and yelling freeze! at each other until I literally had tears rolling down my face. I've never laughed so hard. I mimicked the shocked expression that he had had on his face, which made him double over and yell, stop! And he then played out the whole thing for me a millions times, and to ever escalating degrees of ridiculousness, my arrest, how he jumped back into the shelves. All of it. About fifty times, to the point where one of the shelves finally came down.

At which point I realized that there was a line of people forming behind me (and fair to say, they were NOT amused). I wiped my face off with my sleeve and tried to compose myself. But it was useless, and Brian completely lost it after that shelf came down. And, just to make matters worse, from all the disturbance some movies started falling off of the other, still intact shelf. Not all at once, but slowly, one by one, like a domino effect. And I think it was this slow, inevitable dropping down of movies that was Brian's final undoing.

He was now in the fetal position on the floor, and was laughing that laugh where no sound comes out. He seemed to be begging for mercy, and it got so out of hand that I briefly considered calling an ambulance. Then the manager came in, took one look at Brian, and fired him on the spot (which immediately seemed to calm Brian down, as he got up off the floor, and, though still kind of laughing, this time it was a great deal less). Then the manager informed me that they had already charged my account $92.00, but that I could keep the DVDs, as in effect, I had already purchased them. Which was fine, especially since I realized after I got home that I had forgotten them on top of the DVD player.

your questions answered

I've received so many letters about this that I wanted to run away. I almost threw them all into the shredder. The sheer volume was daunting, to say the least. But, after taking a deep breath (then smoking a few cigarettes) I opened the mail. All of the mail. And it's clear that you guys have lots of questions. So, in response, I've decided to post this FAQ.


Question: What has frankenmonsterblog got to offer me?
Answer: Frankenmonsterblog offers both individuals and groups (i.e. large companies, local book clubs, sewing circles, and spelling bees) the best in frankenmonsterbloginess. We provide in house counciling, group motivation, large scale grief therapy, birthday parties.. You name it. We can arrange to spy on (spot) your employees when a reason is needed to terminate someone and none is forth coming.. as well as arrange for a host of other unfortunate events to occur in the work place. Such as our Humiliation Package, certain to make the target quit their job by the end of business hours. We plan weddings, as well as arrange for weddings not to happen. Whatever you need. You design the event or choose from one of our hundreds of pre-packaged menu items. Of course, we can also just come over to your house and hang out with you for a while. Help you straighten up the kitchen, assist in getting rid of that junk in the basement, hand you kleenex when you get sad. The real question is what can't frankenmonsterblog provide.

Question: What can't frankenmonsterblog provide?
Answer: Unfortunately, our fabulous MAKE ME THE FOOL FOR A DAY and our BRING YOUR SPOUSE TO THE OFFICE services have both been discontinued due to lack of interest.

Question: Is frankenmonsterblog a real person.. or what?
Answer: I'm pretty sure what you are really asking me is, Is frankenmonsterblog a real monster or not? And by you I mean about fifty people who wrote in and worded it as shyly as your "..or what" portion of this question. And I understand. It's because you keep hearing about the frankenmonsterblog in the media and you're getting a little nervous. Am I right? Let me assure you that frankenmonsterblog is a real person, with an unfortunate sounding name which, translated from the German, means "..charming young woman holding flowers and a basket of cakes". Nothing more threatening than that. Of course to our American ears frankenmonsterblog sounds far less benign. That's why our logo depicts a classic Greek female holding flowers and a basket of cakes. Funny nobody asked me about that..

Question: Where is frankenmonsterblog located?
Answer: I'm sure you've noticed us popping up all over the place. Downtown already has several locations. This neighborhood alone has two, with a third frankenmonsterblog scheduled to open after the first of the year.

Question: How long has frankenmonsterblog been in business?
Answer: Frankenmonsterblog was established a few days ago.

Question: What exactly is your business?
Answer: For a reasonable price frankenmonsterblog will plan events for you, be there for you and seem to care about you.

Question: How much does frankenmonsterblog cost?
Answer: There are several price packages to choose from. Starting at just six or seven dollars, we can do quite a few things* for you. This is a very popular price plan. We also offer a $12,000.00 package, which is a bit less popular. We can work with you on a sliding scale, and are willing to negotiate. Either way, at frankenmonsterblog, you get what you pay for. That's really our motto.

*mostly involving fake spiders.

Question: I want my girlfriend to really suffer and be humiliated at work this Thursday. But I'm torn between that or having her be humiliated in front of a small group of our friends here, at the apartment. Do you guys do "home" humiliations?
Answer: I sense that your question might really be Which of these services costs less? The office thing is much cheaper due to insurance issues. I know it seems like it would be the other way around. Of course we can humiliate your girlfriend anywhere you choose. Visit our site and start the planning process. It's fun. And Thursday is just a couple days away..

Question: How many individuals are employed at frankenmonsterblog?
Answer: We employ about eight million people, give or take. This number includes a wide scope of professionals who are outsourced for particular jobs as well as our full time staff. As I'm sure you can imagine, each job has a unique set of criteria. To meet your particular needs we employ party planners, menu planners, chefs, chocolatiers, engineers, actors, dry wallers, imposters, electricians, photographers, psychics, animal trainers, sad, scary and regular clowns, personal stylists, licenced dieticians, motivational speakers, mental health professionals, undercover spies, DJs, makers of gingerbread houses, florists, a team of crank-call professionals, stunt people, a woman who will pretend to be your mom for the day, makers of fake slime, vomit, spiders and goo, a bee keeper, and quite a few lawyers..

Ok. I hope that has cleared up a couple of things. If there was anything I didn't cover, please feel free to post your question here and I'll try answer them in a timely fashion. Thank you. To visit our headquaters please click here.

the smuck show

..not to be confused with schmuck.

Today we have with us one of our favorite guests, Mr. Roman Grimiko. Roman, welcome back.. (applause, Roman slowly gets up from where he was comfortably sitting to give a nineteenth century sort of bow)..

So, Roman, you look good. What's going on with you?
You know..it's been a long many years since I got out of this business, and I can truly say at this, the darkest of hour of my life, that I have no worries.. no indigestion, no complaints.. I hear the birds, I smell the flowers..

Fantastic! So what do you have for us today?
These are some old notebooks of mine.. my legacy, if you will. They reveal all of my methods, formulas, short cuts.. tried and true.. you will even find some of my mistakes in here, for future generations to learn from. I thought why not, now that I have moved out of the country, why not reveal all of my trade secrets here today..

Alright! So what are we looking at here?
These are some photographs of one of our more difficult jobs. As you can see in this photo, we placed no less than a thousand Wilma Flintstone collectibles, images, and what-have-you around this poor schmuck's office. And, believe me, gathering together such a multitude of Wilma Flintstone objects.. well, it proved to be much more difficult than we had anticipated.. being that there were only three of us working together at that time.. and with only one car between us.. (Roman laughs to himself as he remembers this).

What was this for?
As it turned out.. the target was particularly afraid of Wilma Flintstone. And, as so often is the case, that information fell into the wrong hands..

I mean, what did he do.. to deserve this?
Oh something about a missing stapler, or was it a stolen sandwich? These things get blown out of proportion. Especially in small office settings. I've seen it happen countless times.

But then.. you guys came right in to rememdy the situation!
Oh yes.. thank god for us.. We saved a lot of people the trouble of having to deal with these kinds of things themselves.

What about legal repercussions?
Well what happens is, one party hires us to do something to a second party, and then later the the second party contacts us to get back at the first party. And on and on. We were indeed perpetuating all of these peoples problems, and they were paying us to do it! That's why we opperated by word of mouth so well. And the law.. no, the law never got involved..

So one job naturally translated into two jobs..
At minimum. People getting back at each other.. there were things that went on for years, and it escalates..

For example?
Well, for instance, look at this case file here.. this all started with a small plastic spider.. now look.. (turning many pages) look what it resulted in..

My God!
Right.. a small joke became quite serious within a few short months..

Needless to say, you guys got no flak for any of this..
No, everybody loved us.. we got turkeys for Christmas, tickets to the opera, cases of Dom.. sometimes casserole dishes. And later.. the baskets of muffins. You know. Not just money, but respect..

ask frankenmonsterblog

Dear frankenmonsterblog,

It has come to my attention that my wife has been having lunch with an ex boyfriend once a week for the last three and a half years. I'm not certain if this is actually an affair. She hasn't mentioned anything to me about any of this. I found out through a mutual friend, and it has all come as quite a shock. Right now I know three things:

I don't like it.
I know the location of these lunches, and
my wife suffers from an unreasonable fear of clowns.

Any ideas you have would be greatly appreciated,
Sincerely,
DN


Dear DN,

I'm going to assume from your letter that you wish to get revenge on your wife by method of clowns. That is not a problem. But there are several things you'll first need to consider. Think of what you are trying to achieve. Mild humiliation? Loss of dignity?

Frankenmonsterblog can arrange for a small group of clowns to show up at the restaurant where she and her date meet for these lunches. The presence of these clowns might alone be unnerving enough to make your wife get the message. We can as well arrange for something like five hundred clowns to be waiting for your wife at your residence. You decide what is appropriate.

Also, you might want to consider what type of clown your wife finds the most disturbing. That information will be key in the handling of this matter. Then fill out all of the information on the attached forms. Or visit our site. We can have something arranged for you within the hour.

Thank you,
frankenmonsterblog

it's not just a job, it's a lifestyle

Part One:

For years, frankenmonsterblog and I had a standing date for lunch where we'd meet at this dingey little tea room up in his neighborhood. This lunch was our last. I started working for him the next day.

V: Hey..
F: I've been waiting here for twenty minutes.

V: Sorry about that.
F: No. It seems you're right on time for the arrival of the much anticipated menus ..Miss ..menus..

V: You ok?
F: We botched another job last night.

V: What Job?
F: I might have to leave town for a while.. Oh, and did you hear? They cancelled The Smuck Show..

V: The what show..?
F: The Smuck Show. ..Miss..?

V: I've never heard of it.
F: They cancelled it. ..an ashtray.. thank you..

V: When was it on?
F: Right after Carnival of Bitterness.. also cancelled.

V: Huh. That's terrible..
F: Miss.. Christ I'm getting a headache. ..Miss ..a bicarbonate..

V: So.. The Smuck Show..
F: Yeah. Mostly funeral hoaxes.. and some crank calls. Great stuff. Some of my best guys worked on it.

V: I want to work with you guys.
F: It's out of the question.

V: Come on..
F: The guys working for me.. some of them have been in the business for nearly thirty years.. and you want to just walk in and start working..

V: I have done some of the best crank calls. Did you listen to my tape?
F: No. The guys told me it was good, though.. well actually they thought it was alright..

V: You didn't listen to it..?
F: ..Miss ..menus.. what do I have to do.. pay her up front?

V: ..Oh? Before I forget.. did you finally put up your tree?
F: We've already got enough things going on right now. I don't need to draw more attention to the house.

V: Yeah.. but isn't it.. more conspicuous not decorate the house?
F: I don't worry about Christmas.

V: Did you get anything?
F: Not really.

V: Nothing?
F: Uh.. a bag of peat moss. And a box.. a box with a dog in it.

V: A dog? What like a real dog? Is it still in the box..?
F: And money. I gave money, too. I sent it through the mail.

V: Well, everybody likes money.. But the dog, is it ok..?
F: Right? ..they complain about this life, but at the end of they day everybody's got their hand out. And they all want to be fed too.

V: Are you refering to your wife and children..?
F: Yeah.. at last.. another pot of tea, the steak sandwich, medium well, with horseradich, and she'll have a turkey club, and water, please, just leave the pitcher..

V: Uh, no.. I will have the pasta.. What about New Year's..
F: I don't know. Maybe make some lobster or drag the puppet show up out of the basement. I hate midnight, though. No midnight.

V: Ever? Or just on New Year's..
F: I just want to get through this week without going to jail. Never ending Holidays..

V: Just water is fine, thanks.
F: That's good, warm cloudy water and the tea is ice cold. ..we wanted hot tea..

V: What is that?
F: I don't know. Why don't you try it and tell me what it is.

V: You are cruel.
F: (laughter)

V: Seriously, when can I work with you guys?
F: What about your job?

V: I could do both.
F: It's too dangerous.

V: ..dangerous?
F: I promised your mother I'd never involve you.

V: It's.. crank calls.
F: Keep it down. There's aspects of the business that.. it isn't pretty.

V: What? That one time you had to go to court? The guy didn't even show up, and the judge wound up being one of your best clients..
F: Keep it down. ..Miss, what exactly is this? This looks like it's still breathing..

V: So when can I start?
F: If you start it will be at the bottom. ..medium WELL.. and some steak sauce..

V: That's cool.
F: It would be mostly fake spiders and goo. It's not what you're thinking. It's not like in the movies.

V: So.. when?
F: I got a call this morning.. wait.. Miss.. can you tell me what this is? Please.. describe for me what this looks like to you..

V: What was wrong with it?
F: ..I got a call this morning from a woman who wants to scare her boss. ..no.. just the check..

V: Ok..
F: Only problem is, he used us to scare her in the first place. So the element of surprise gets a little..

V: So it especially challenging.
F: Right. This is her revenge. And he's probably expecting something. He might even be looking forward to it.

V: So what I have to do is catch him totally off guard.
F: Which will be hard to do.

V: What if I took it out of the work place?
F: That's good, but..

V: Wait! I know.. instead of targeting him, we target her again.
F: Only this time we make it something truly horrible.. something dead serious..

V: Right. And right away she thinks it's him again.
F: And he freaks.. he knows he didn't arrange for this. But it looks like he did. And he's afraid she's going to call the cops..

V: And there is already all of this evidence against him from the first time!
F: And he starts to panic.. that's good.

V: Oh, boy! I can't wait..
F: Then just before the police are called in we reveal the whole thing. We might have to go over budget..

V: We will be heros!
F: Alright, well see. But I'm not making any promises..