The soft rattlings of Bread leave you peaceful if not completely comatose. You feel at one with the world as you wander into downtown Beijing. The javelin rests on your shoulder, your quart of urine carefully held by Chad, as the two of you search for the Olympic celebrations. A block ahead you notice five colorful mascots huddled on the ground. Perhaps they know how to get to the stadium, you think slowly approaching the rainbow group. You accidentally trip over a pile of garbage when you're twenty feet around. The startled mascots turn towards you one at a time, each more adorable than the last. They slowly approach with open arms, and as they get closer, you aren't so sure about your safety.
"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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