"Mucho cool, bro." Brad said, smiling lazily at Jim. "The two Musketeers ride again."
"Mouse-keteers, you mean." Rick lauged. Brad shrugged, and gestured down the hallway. "So, Slim Jim - what say we find the snack-factory, huh?"
Jim figured that Brad was joking, but the unerring path down the hall, through the huge formal dining room and towards the double swinging door at the end proved he wasn't.
"Hey!" Jim protested. "Don't tell me you seriously beleive there'll be anything edible in there!"
Brad winked slowly. "Pal o'mine, listen to the smartest boardhead you'll ever meet - if this place had servents, then the kitchen would have been the hang-out spot."
Jim didn't get it. "So?"
"So... where do you think they woulda had the booze, my man?"
Laughing at his friends devious ingenuity, Jim followed the deeply tanned surfer into the kitchen. They began to search through the cabinets and cubborts that lined the room.
"Hey! Get a load of this!" Jim said. He'd pulled open the fridge, and now he pulled a full, old-style bottle of milk from the warm interior. He took a quick whiff - then a longer one. "I don't get it - it doesn't smell bad."
"Great." Brad replied, laconically. "You can use it to wash down these." He held up a box and showed it to Jim.
'Devil's Food Cake'
"Personally, I'm stickin' to the demon Rum." Brad said with a smile, revealing a bottle half-full of a dark amber fluid. He handed it across to Jim, who looked at the label.
"Geez - this off-brand is so cheap they can't even spell." Jim snorted, reading the writing on the faded, cheap looking label. "Fond Mammaries? Yeesh."
"Hey - booze is booze is booze, I always say. So - what do we do, bro?"
Wed Jul 28 23:31:20 1999