The Frat House
A bunch of frat boys . . . in full flight.
Notice how the booze is never far from an intimate grasp.
How did Billy Robbins put up with these guys?
I'm not even going to discuss in length the extent to which
that the Frat House smelled. Let's just say, they don't call
beer "piss" in Australia for naught. But the boys were somewhat
charming, if elusive. Took me hours to decipher their beer
speak, but I managed. Course, behind the scenes, Mark David
was stealing beer and hauling it off to the truck. Must invoke
my I - won't - kick - his - ass - this - time mantra. There. Breathe.
Yes. Two extragalactic events occurred. One, the chief frat
head has really taken to me. He was very complimentary in
a non-disgusting manner. You know, I've been complimented
before on my eyelids. From an entirely different source, even.
I think it's the ultra-visual light that connects my soul
with the vastness of the cosmos. Well, that and good genes.
Thanks, mom. Also, the frats unwittingly told us where Billy's
mom lives. One more link in the chain. What's the mother of
a superhero like? What were her child-rearing techniques?
This I must know and will unmask.
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