2013.03.18
"In keeping with Schrute custom, I will either invite you to Saturday's funeral by sprinkling red, fertile dirt in your face. Or, I will ask you to keep a respectful distance during my time of grief, with a dusting of black, slightly acidic soil"
[...]
"I get red dirt. Nobody is getting red dirt. I should have kept my mouth shut. We're not even that close! I've only know Dwight, twelve years--
--Twelve years... time is a son of a bitch. "