“It won’t ever get better than this. Look at that.” I point at the phone. I grip my face and drop my jaw open, like Edward Munch’s The Scream. “It’s like my ex is melting from the pain.”

Josie reads out loud the response my ex, Katrina, wrote earlier this week on her page: “Is nothing sacred? Does anyone know how much spoilers hurt? Might as well take a knife and rip it through my chest.”

Nick mimes wiping tears from his eyes. “Wah, wah, wah.”

I lean back in the chair and stretch my legs out in front of me. “This might have been our greatest accomplishment ever. I’m quite proud of our factory of fake Facebook profiles. But I’ve got to hand it to little Miss Elizabeth. She really owned it when it came to her Game of Thrones final episode spoiler.”

Josie holds up one finger. “But let’s not forget our made-up friend Emma Krueger’s spoiler. Remember when she posted about the Hold the Door death? Katrina’s tears were all over her wall that night.” Josie high-fives me for that one.

“Only to be topped by Elinor Bates’s epic message that Jon Snow was alive,” I add, pride suffusing me at the memory of that greatest hit. “But even so, it’s time to say good-bye. Our work is done.”

Josie runs a hand through her pink-streaked hair. “Should we embrace a moment of silence before you kill them off?”

I affix a serious expression to my face, and the three of us bow our heads. A few seconds later, I look up and delete the profiles that rained sweet revenge on Katrina.

Elizabeth Lecter, Elinor Bates, and Emma Krueger are all made up, plucked from the names of Jane Austen heroines, Josie’s nod to her literature degree, then paired with last names of some of the greatest movie villains of all time.

Some might wonder why I’d punk Katrina, a seemingly harmless ex-girlfriend who’s also my former website designer. As in, really former. As in, I didn’t date her while we were working together, I swear up and down. Sure, I’d thought she was cute, and she’d clearly felt the same about me, since she’d asked me out a couple of times while on the job. But I’d already learned my lesson not to get involved with someone connected to my business, even though the first time it had happened, with my college girlfriend, Roxy, she wasn’t even properly connected to my business. She just wanted to be.

Anyway, once the website work was done, the log-in changed for better-safe-than-sorry reasons—thanks to my friend Chase’s reminder to change passwords as often as you change underwear—Katrina and I had dated for half a year.

Now, allow me to explain how six pleasant months of dating could lead to this sort of fall-out. Mind you, during those six months no one cheated and we even enjoyed picnics in the goddamn park, and if there is one thing I’m not it’s a picnic guy, but she liked them and I went along to make her happy. Alas, I didn’t want more from Katrina, and I swear it had nothing to do with the picnic torture, so I’d ended things. Amicably. Like a nice guy.

Then Katrina went full mental nutcase on me and used her web skills to hack my company site and delete all my files.

Out of the blue.

Even after the passwords were changed.

Like a total lunatic.

Yeah, it was shitty. It cost me business. I’d even had to hire a lawyer to deal with the mess left behind. The problems it caused were among the reasons I’d needed help from someone to get organized again.

So I’d hit Katrina, an avowed hater of books and lover of all things Game of Thrones, right where it had hurt her the most. Josie and I had made up fake profiles of women who might potentially be clients for Katrina’s web services, friended her on Facebook, and then posted spoilers every Sunday night on Katrina’s wall, live and in real-time as each episode aired. Our prank only worked because Katrina’s been on a job out of the country since the season started, and she can’t find an Internet stream right away to watch her favorite show in the universe.

Boo-fucking-hoo.

It’s pretty much the trolliest trolling ever, and one of the best-deserved paybacks, too. I mean, the chick fucked my business with an unlubricated Phillips-head screwdriver for no reason, which might, just might, be why I’m a tiny bit cautious of getting involved with anyone work-related.

But all good pranks come to an end, and it’s time to say good-bye to this one. I close my Facebook app, then I clasp a hand over Josie’s. “Mom and Dad would be proud you learned from the best. Right, bro?” I say to Nick, since the two of us are the kings of pranks, and we’ve passed on some of our top tips to Josie.

“It really is impressive what we’ve done with the brains they gave us,” Nick says. “We use them for good, don’t we?”

“Completely.” I pop the rest of the seven-layer bar into my mouth, then stand up and brush one hand against the other. “We need to head to Little Friends to walk the dogs. Oh shit, that reminds me. Nick, can you handle the dogs on Friday? I’ve got to go to Vegas for a gig.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You working in Vegas now?”

“I might be. A client is flying me out. It sounds like an awesome job. Really hoping it comes through.”

“That’s great. Good for you,” Nick says with a pat on the back.

“Yeah, it should be a good trip.”

I’m headed for the light orange door—the bakery is an homage to all things bright and cheery—when Josie says, “Funny.”

I turn to face her. “What’s funny?”