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You thought I missed this little discrepancy, didn't you?


...well, I did. But then I decided to run with it. Cheryl's phone alarm was messed up, so that explains that. (Cheryl's kinda like me, in that it takes about sixty seconds after regaining consciousness for her eyeballs to fully boot up.)

There will always be malfunctioning alarm clocks in one form or another. Myself, I have an old clock-radio that sits on my dresser, far enough away that I have to get up to turn it off. In theory, it has a battery backup, but the D-cells in there are long dead and I haven't replaced them, so if there's a blackout in the middle of the night, I guess I'm gonna be late to work.

So now we've had Nicole and Cheryl both unknowingly sassing Ellen's decision-making, I think that's more than enough sass for now. Let's go hear from someone a little more grounded.

(Thursday morning, INT, Capsaicin Lounge kitchen.)

ChA: Sorry I'm late, Mister Orange. My phone updated in the middle of the night and apparently it decided my alarm clock had teleported to the birth of Christ.
GO: Oh thank fuck. Is Halligan with you?
ChA: No. Is he not here?
GO: He called in sick.
ChA: ...Wait, if Jamie called in sick, why would he be with me?
GO: I assumed you two were playing hooky to fuck each other's brains out.
ChA: What? No, no, Greg, Jamie and I are just friends. We're... interesting... but entirely platonic friends.
GO: Oh, bullshit. You and him are always either whispering in secret together or bickering like an old married couple.
ChA: Yeah, and how many old married couples you know that have all-day ugly-bumping sessions?
GO: Heh. Fair enough, fair enough.
ChA: Besides, you've seen Jamie. I guarantee you, no woman in her right mind is gonna give up eight hours' pay for sex with that.