<polarity_shark> I am sending Azazel. You need to come home right now.

<occipital_comma> I don’t have time for a nooner, Erik.

<polarity_shark> This is neither sweet nor a drill, Charles, this is an emergency.

<occipital_comma> Who, what, where, how?

<polarity_shark> Clint, Natasha, Raven and the gummi bears that they have been marinating in whiskey for the past week. The roof. 

<occipital_comma> And?

<polarity_shark> AND Natasha and Raven dragged Hank up there with them. Hank came to recently and is puking “not water” into the chimney. Natasha and Raven have been grabbing all of the tennis balls that have been stuck on the roof for the past few months, and are throwing them for Clint to shoot. When he hits one, the girls rain whiskey bears on him. He smells like the floor of a condemned pub, and he’s still shooting. 

<occipital_commea> What. The… Tell Azazel to step on it.

<polarity_shark> It gets better. I don’t think the girls realize that they ran out of tennis balls, because now they seem to be throwing dead pigeons. Get here quick before the little bastards get SARS.

<hawkI> I’m only telling you one more time: my notwater bottles are not for the kids.

<occipital_comma> I am sorry, Clint. I will buy you more bottled water.

<hawkI> I didn’t say water. The plastic bottles in the back of the fridge clearly say “NOTWATER”.

<occipital_comma> …
<occipital_comma> Do I dare ask what’s in them, if it isn’t water?

<hawkI> You could. Or you could just sniff Hank’s breath and take an educated guess. He’ll probably still be passed out on the kitchen floor by the time you get back.