I do not own The Office: U.S. version.

I do not strangle.

The Scranton Strangler

Satan's Anus

It's Toby's fault, really, that's who's fault it is.

He's been so obsessed with following all the little details about the case.

". . . -ually strangled in one location and the body dumped in another-"

"Ugh, sounds like too much work to me."

And Jim's been bored.

So bored.

So, Toby.

And Michael Scott . . .

"Toby, yes, Toby The Devil, Satan's Anus himself-"

"Michael-"

. . . would completely back him up on any blame-staking of Toby, every bad thing to be had in the history of the world-

". . . pretty sure he killed JFK-"

"Michael, Toby hadn't even been born yet-"

"I mean, he's the one that blew up the Hindenberg-"

"Michael, you're actually going further back in history on this one-"

"Well, he's definitely the real reason that . . . that sports team you like sucks, right?"

"Michael-"

Toby.

Yeah.

That's it, that's got to be it.

But Pam, wonderful, beautiful, darling Pam . . .

"You know you got yourself into this, right, Jim?"

. . . isn't having any of it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"I mean, sure, it got you out of work for the day and you obviously have never even frowned at a puppy-"

"I shooed that dog away one time-"

"-I'm sure they'll send you on your merry way pretty soon, I mean, they can only hold you for forty-eight hours anyway-"

"Just enough time to grab a nap and get my prison tat first, don't you think-"

"Yes, but I'm not sharing you with some guy named Buster, I'm a pretty jealous woman, Halpert-"

It really is Toby's fault after all.