To: All employees at Karp, MacKenzie, LLC
From: The thing that was once Frank Rust in Payroll
cc: Human Resources
Hi everybody. Now that I've survived that attempt with the hairspray and the lighter and you know I am impervious to fire, I thought we should clear things up. First, to state the obvious and just get it out there: Yes, I am not really Frank. I am a life form that inhabited that strange plant-pod with the Icelandic runes on the vase that Frank found in the supply closet while he was stealing markers for his home office. So... not to be snarky or mean about it, but I guess that's a lesson for everyone about treating office supplies with respect.
Yes, I have taken over Frank's body and integrated myself with his personality. No, Frank's not coming back. Even if you could find the extremely rare poison that could actually harm me (I'll give you a hint: It's an element that hasn't even been added to the Periodic Table yet.) Frank is already, for all intents and purposes, dead. I still get his 401k. But you'll be getting a secret Santa gift from me next Christmas (And that will be a relief to most of you who saw that godawful chia pet he gave. Since I can access his memory, I know for a fact it was a re-gift from his douche bag brother in law. That thing looks hideous to me, and I started out as a pod in a crawlspace!)
I propose a truce. Even though I am an alien, there's no reason I can't work the books at Karp Mac. I have absorbed Frank's mind, as you're aware. I've also absorbed his knowledge of Lotus Notes. You know what I haven't absorbed? His stupid FarmVille habit. His taste for that barbecue popcorn that stinks up the kitchen and spills out into the whole third floor. The way he jokes with the receptionist that always comes just shy of full-on sexual harassment. Let's not even talk about what you found on his web browser. Bottom line: I may be biased, but I think I can do a better job at being Frank than Frank could. Give it a week, and you'll agree.
Obviously you're worried that it won't end with Frank. That's why Todd tried to immolate me. I get that. I'm not mad. You're not going to find any of Todd's remains, but I didn't turn him into an unholy plant-thing -- promise. Let's just say I had a bit of a snack, and the grass median by the parking lot is going to stay green for a few months longer than it normally would. My promise is that I do have plans, but they have nothing to do with taking over a mid-sized real estate development company. (No offense, but I think bigger than that. At some point of course, you'll probably notice what has happened -- your federal government will become more efficient and bland and sort of creepy. But seriously, could that be bad?)
What won't happen is any interruption in office life here. Drinks at the Treehouse will be every Friday at 5:30, just like always. Sheila will still be griping about her kids, and Ron will still be flirting with Kendra, even though both of them denies there's something going on. Why don't you two just get a room! Kidding.
Anyway, my point is that we're still a family, and I want to be an addition to that family. And I promise not to bind myself to anyone's DNA and create an army of blasphemous walking hybrids. Not here, anyway. Now, stop trying to pour bleach down my throat and cut me with letter openers, and let's get back to work.
(FYI: You know how the zoning board in Tempe is giving us crap about the permits? Someone in that office is going to seriously wish they didn't. Call it a gift.)