The album had been left out.  I had used it as a prop in my well-received (though maybe slightly inappropriate) Snow Camp Video Contest entry.  I have this lingering affection for John Travolta.  So what.  We all have our vices...

So the album's propped up on my dresser.  (Obviously it's weird that John Travolta is in my bedroom.  Don't worry.  I've returned him to his shelf in the living room - Yes, I have a John Travolta shelf and no, I'm not going to say any more about it.)

I am passing said dresser to exit my room.  A picture frame is blocking part of the album.  This is what I see...
I am HORRIFIED.

What in the name of all things beautiful is Jerry Seinfeld doing in my bedroom?

A cruel joke.  That's what it is.

And now I will watch Grease four times in a row and imagine what my pinkie finger would look like nestled in John's chin dimple.