12 pax sallied forth for Fission. With Cally stuck in Dally, the assembled ghouls and goblins were aghast to learn the beatdown WOULD include the potential for an increased respiratory rate cause by jumping and running among other things.  Inasmuch, mutiny was in the gloomy air from the get-go, almost certainly instigated by the most-mutinous pirate himself.  It was so bad that YHC had to resort to drastic and profane measures to whip the pax into compliance.

The wails and grinding of teeth steadily crescendoed as the mob of monsters rambled and ambled down what turned out to be a freaksihly busy freeway-esque  road toward the cemetery where we remembered the hallowed saints and dearly departed souls with rounds of “memento mori merkins”, bloodcurling curls, skull-and-bones skull crushers, run-for-your life runs, etc. 

With the mutiny seemingly in check, YHC offered an olive branch to the pax with the promise of motley mobility if they would only succumb to my legitimately-seized-in-a late-night-coup “Q”authority.  Thug was up to the task, showering the Q with mobility-minded flattery as we promenaded back to the launch.  

When all was said and done, these sinners and saints had burned off enough calories for at least 1 Reese cup tonight.  We gathered at coffeeteria where the swimmers soon arrived, and many astonishing and astounding topics were covered in depth.  

Goat sends.