I’m sick. Now, me being sick is not all that unusual, but as it happens Spencer and Rich both have the same thing I do. Clearly, since we were all at that party the other night, the only rational explanation is that everyone who attended is suffering from the nefarious machinations of some evil genius. Noxious gas in the ventilation system? Some unholy plague transmitted through vodka? Perhaps the dreaded vinyl virus? In a few days, no doubt, we’ll all know for sure the awful truth - but of course by then it will be much, much too late.

In the meantime, we’re making our last hours comfortable with Dayquil (or Tylenol Cold if you’re a godless heathen like Spencer), preferably in conjunction with hot and sour soup. It’s too late for us, but you - run! Save yourselves!