Michael's no-guns-allowed improv class, the IT guy who is most certainly not a terrorist, Pam's revelation that Dwight and Angela just might be making with the hanky-pank folks, my comedy cup runneth over. Not to mention Michael's impromptu damage control when the staff learns he's been snooping through their in-boxes: "The problem is that when people hear the term Big Brother, they immediately think it's scary or bad, but I don't. I think, wow, I love my big brother." (Aw, great, now I miss Howie and Janelle.) And while I'm sure the notion of corporate e-mail surveillance probably scared the bejesus out of every last Cubicle American from sea to shining sea, the terror was clearly worth it just to hear the boss man say the word "e-vitation." But hey, who says you have to be e-vited to show up to the after-work party and make everybody feel all awkward? This may speak more to the fullness of my home life than to the particular brilliance of the scene, but I'm pretty sure I've never been giddier than the moment Jim stepped in to save Michael's floundering karaoke rendition of "Islands in the Stream." From one lover to another, uh-huh indeed.
Last week I mentioned that the camera eye contact was getting a little too frequent, but now I understand that it was simply paving the way for the monumentally satisfying Lassie maneuver. As this week's episode so deftly illustrates: Dwight's eating a Baby Ruth is the new Timmy's trapped in the old mine shaft. Nice work, faceless mockumentary crew. You get a Milkbone.