Carol is finishing up the preparations for the faculty Christmas party while Drunk-Ass tries to focus his blurred vision on a streamer. He asks Carol if she can pick up the Christmas cake, and Carol says yes in the most flirtatious voice I've heard since Mae West choked to death on a jug of sailor semen. Drunk-Ass thanks her for helping out, and Carol brings up the "kissing thing" they've been doing. Drunk-Ass is all ears (and diseased liver) and willing to listen to her. She says it's great that they haven't let the whole kissing thing get in the way of their professional relationship. It could have, but it hasn't. She asks what the big deal about kissing is anyway. It's two people with their lips touching. It's no different than a handshake, patting someone on the back, or a handjob in the back of a principal's Chevy Nova. Carol says that kissing is nothing to panic about. Drunk-Ass agrees with her. The concept that she's not about to be swept off her feet in a drunken liplock finally smacks her upside her bleached blonde head, and she leaves the office.