“But you’ve been late every night this week.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve had a lot of work at the office. The Peterman contract, you know.”

“The Peterman contract? Then how did that make-up get on your collar?”


“And what’s that red stuff on your shirt?”

“I can explain.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’ve been hanging out with the KISS again!”

“Well, just for a little while.”

“So the rumors are true?”

“I couldn’t help it. I was all set to leave work at 5:30, but Gene was waiting for me in the parking lot.”

“Gene! I should have known.”

“And he had some really neat firecrackers. M-80s.”

“He always was a troublemaker.”

“And then Paul Stanley showed up, and the three of us ran around the neighborhood, bagging up dog-doodie and putting it on doorsteps.”

“Then I suppose you set it on fire, rang the doorbell and ran.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Just you three?”

“That’s how it started. Then Bjork and ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic joined us, and we went downtown and spray-painted stop signs.”

“What am I going to do with you? You say you’ll come straight from work, but you always end up with Josh Todd, matchbox twenty or The White Stripes. You know those musicians are up to no good. They’ll only get you in trouble.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Sure. You said that last week. Then you and Bret Michaels spent the next night tipping cows.”

“I know, but I will make it up to you. Promise.”

“Yeah, right. And I suppose you’re going to be late tomorrow. What’s it going to be? Dropping water balloons from the overpass with Bow Wow? Putting potatoes in car exhaust pipes with Super Furry Animals?”

“Aw, come on now, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? What could be worse than hanging out with musicians?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m hanging out with their agents.”