You'd rather be exhausted from bike riding than dig around your mother's pant pockets. Probably a good decision. You pull the bike out and open the garage door only to hear Hotel California blaring from the car. Looks like your mom left it running all night long.
You hop in the car. Looks like things are turning around. While wooting at your good luck you notice that your breath still smells like the Cool Ranch Doritos from last night. You contemplate making an important decision in which your path could go either way, but decide that there is no time for brushing your teeth today. Instead, you pull the car out of the garage and start off down the road. A great journey is about to start.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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