RE: TIM ROGERS

Nancy is in my office right now, threatening to moon me because I screwed up so bad last night. She wants me to apologize better.

I’m sorry! What else can I say?

“I want you to apologize better on FrontBurner,” Nancy says. “Say: ‘I’m underqualified for this job because I have the foresight of a warthog.’ Say: ‘Nancy is hot s— and I’m not!”

I’m underqualified for this job because I have the foresight of a warthog. Nancy is hot s— and I’m not!

RE: TIM ROGERS

I feel bad about blowing Nancy’s cover. But the deal was thus: Mom and I walk in. There’s Nancy. I say, “Nancy, meet my mom. Mom, this is Nancy.” So Nancy knows who my mom is. She’s my mom. But Mom has this look on her face like, “Who the heck is Nancy, and why are you introducing me to her?” It was awkward. Like we’d run into a lover of mine, and I was afraid to divulge contextual information about her. And that’s when I IDed Nancy.

Sorry, Nancy. Ranch up.