"Colin Mochrie!?" this individual exclaimed, only drawing the man's ire further. It was only at that moment when they noticed a desk off in a distant corner, behind which sat a Drew Carey who was stifling his own laughter.
"I've directed turds who could act better than you," the imrpov legend continued, practically spitting in Jon Gibson's face with every syllable.
"I-- what--" Jon had no idea how to even find words. To say that this was unexpected seemed an extreme understatement.
"It's the pants," Mochrie continued. "Too many people wearing pants! You!" he pointed a finger right in Jon's face, "Do the scene over, but this time do it while wearing a skirt."
Jon blinked, and when he opened his eyes he found himself sitting on a familiar wall, Karyn in her familiar green jumper beside him. A wooden box was in his hands on his lap.
A lap which was covered with a knee-length pleated navy skirt.
About twenty feet away, Colin Mochrie had his hands spread out in front of him like he was mimicking an open alligator's mouth. Two words escaped his lips as he brought his upper hand down to clap against the other: "And action!"
