Back at his desk, Dwight is on the intranet, going through internal postings for Jim and whispering at him, "Transfer...transfer...". Like Jim would ever take that sales job in Stamford. Michael comes out of his office and announces how they're going to resolve this: cage match!
Michael THs to us, like we're the idiots, that of course cage matches work. "If they didn't work, everybody would still be in the cage." He is never more infuriating than when he's making sense.
Michael starts going through the giant stack of Dwight's complaints against Jim. You'll pardon me if transcribe each one, because this is my favorite sequence in The Office history, if not sitcom history.
Someone replaced all my pens and pencils with crayons. I suspect Jim Halpert.
Everyone has called me Dwayne all day. I think Jim Halpert paid them to. Jim nods, and laughingly THs, "Five bucks each, and it was totally worth it."
This morning I found a bloody glove in my desk drawer, and Jim Halpert tried to convince me he committed murder. I think he may be the real murderer.
Jim Halpert said there was an abandoned infant in the women's room. When I went to save the child, I saw Meredith on the can. Michael cringes in sympathy, as does Jim. He might have gone a little too far there.
This morning I knocked myself in the head with the phone. Michael looks at Dwight with obvious puzzlement as to how Jim could have had anything to do with that, but Jim explains that he gradually put more and more nickels in Dwight's handset and then just took them all out. Would have liked to see that one.
Every time I typed my name, it said "diapers." "Just a simple macro," Jim THs. I don't know, reassigning Dwight's keyboard values probably would have been simpler. Not that I've ever done that to anyone. "You know, these actually don't sound that funny, one after another," Jim confesses, a bit shamefacedly. He has never been more wrong.
By the end of the day, my desk was about two feet closer to the copier. Jim admits that he moved it an inch every time Dwight went to the bathroom. "And that's how I spent my entire day that day." Why so sad, Jim? Dwight's the one who has to pee two dozen times a day. Clearly his urologist did not deserve that tip.
Angela enters the kitchen to get something out of the fridge. Phyllis, who is just ahead of her, slams the refrigerator door, nearly taking off Angela's fingers. You guys, I'm worried about what this means for the party planning committee.