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

I do not strangle.

The Scranton Strangler

Under Pressure

"I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Dwight."

"No, it has to be now. This is important."

"What, Dwight?"

"Has Jim seemed . . . off lately?"

"I don't know. In what way?"

"Does he seem . . . under pressure?"

"We have an infant daughter, Dwight. She poops and pees and cries and eats constantly. And Jim works all day to provide for our family. Yeah, you could say we're under pressure."

"Does he ever disappear on you, at night? Go out for a jug of milk and take his time getting back?"

"Dwight, I don't make him clock in at home."

"Maybe you should."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Pam, that your husband has been acting weird lately and I think he might be . . . engaging in extracurricular hobbies outside of the house at night-"

"Dwight, I'm not talking about my sex life with you-"

"Not that. Ewww. Like . . . two crippled flamingos fighting over the last mollusc-"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"And now, thanks to you, your daughter, your only child, Jim, is visiting her father behind bars."

And Jim Halpert . . .

"Aww, Pam, . . ."

. . . finds he has no defense left.

". . . come on."

And Pamela Morgan Beesley Halpert, long-suffering wife of her jailbird husband . . .

"'Don't come on, Pam' me, mister. You're the criminal here. They're going to fingerprint you soon. We'll be destitute, out on the street-"

"Pam-"

. . . refuses to back down.

"We'll be on Hard Copy, Jim. Do you know what that will do to Michael? He will lose his mind entirely and I'll have to put up with it. He'll probably even tell them about the-"

"Hard Copy's not even a thing anymore, Pam-"

"Jim,-"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I should have been satisfied with the Morse Code thing."

"Yes, you should have."

Silence reigns between them for a moment or two.

Long enough for Jim to consider the snoring of the drunk in the next cell.

And the restless shuffles of his baby-stroller incarcerated . . .

Yeah, you and me both, kid.

. . . offspring.