This is a 30 Rock fic, because 30 Rock makes me happy. It's also my first 30 Rock fic. I am not sure if I like it though, Although I really do like writing from Frank's perspective, because he interests me a lot. So yeah. I down own 30 Rock, Jack, Liz, Frank, Toofer (who there hasn't been enough of), or anything. I'm not sure if this spoils anything.

Frank is actually pretty perceptive. He's pretty smart. He just happens to look like an idiot, so people maintain that he is an idiot.

Also, as Toofer points out, he didn't go to Harvard. (He actually graduated with honors from Princeton. He doesn't spread that around, though. Tries to keep it on the down low. He doesn't want to )

Also, Frank likes to eavesdrop. Which is how he happened upon this little exchange.

"Lemon."

"What, Jack."

"There happens to be lettuce in your hair again. Right above your left ear."

"Yeah. So? What are you going to do about it? You've already said that you find it endearing, Jack."

"This is true. However, considering that we are currently involved in intimacy, finding slimy lettuce in your hair- and by extension, my fingers- is rather disconcerting."

"So was you asking me to dress up like Sarah Palin, Jack. The election's over. She can just… go back to Alaska and cook moose burgers for her spawn. She's getting blamed for so much anyways. Ha. Ha. Hahaha."

"You're avoiding the point, Lemon. We were talking about the lettuce. And- dear god, is that a condiment? How did you get mustard there- no, don't tell me. I have a feeling that the knowledge of those particular events will greatly disturb me."

"Like you're so perfect, with your stupid hair that you get cut every two days. I pay attention to my hair too. I got avocado shampoo at that health food store with all of those weird grains that you have to buy in bulk. Anyways. The lettuce and mustard happen to be in my hair because the writers were having a food fight. I went home and changed out of mayo and hamburger covered jeans but why does it matter if I have mustard in my hair? Who knows, maybe it's even good for it."

"Lemon, if you want to bring food into our intercourse, I'm not saying that isn't something I'd want to pursue-"

"Argh. Fine, here, look, the lettuce is out."

"The mustard isn't."

"Yeah, so, what're you going to do about it, Jack? I don't think that brushing it out's gonna work."

"You don't even have a hairbrush in your bottom desk drawer. You have microwave popcorn and doughnuts that you try to hide from me."

"…did you have Jonathan look through my desk again? I told you, I'd tell you if I thought I was pregnant."

"I'm merely trying to keep well-informed, Lemon."

"By snooping? Typical.

"Sometimes, Lemon, I think there is really only one way to make you stop talking."

"Fwhaha- oh."

That was when Frank had planned to run like hell out of the writers room, hands clenched over his ears as tight as he could make them. Except that he was pretty sure if he alerted Liz Lemon to his presence, she would either throw him off of the roof or Jack Donaghy would eat him alive.

Or maybe he'd get Tracy to do it.

Either way, it seemed a pretty unpleasant way to die. Almost has embarrassing as the way- well, Frank tried not to think about that.

He liked his mind intact-ish.

Also, Liz was terrifying, although a pretty good boss.

The door to Liz's office creaked open a little, possibly because two people were leaning rather heavily on it, making out. Intensely making out.

Frank ran.