The majority of my family parties begin with a water balloon and me looking like I wet my pants. My sister chuckled as she filled a crimson water balloon with vinegar. Once filled, the color emerged as more of a pink. I was minding my own business, networking with CEOs, VPs, GMCs, TVs, EMPs, and other acronyms, when I feel a blasting force to my right chestal area. The thin rubber tore to pieces like a Lego on a exclusive android only night club dance floor. Vinegar sliced into my eyes, dripping into my nasolacriminal duct and trailing down through my nasal passage. I wanted more in that moment to rip out my molars with a muffler from a 97' ford explorer than any other moment in my life. The pain was excruciating. I have not the slightest idea of where she got that ridiculous idea. I'm guessing it was some one's facebook status for a while. That facebooker, assumedly named Indersaal, sat on her appleI computer, waiting for someone to comment upon her "witty" status. Her mother found her the next day searching videos of Craig Crocker. Indersaal was
admitted the next day into the viral-video rehabilitation center. Other patients include: Ben, who became obsessed with "Charlie the Unicorn", he is still looking for candy mountain; Jamison- the worst case- was diagnosed with "Salad Fingers", he will surely get the "Banana Phone" treatment . All he cares about are rusty things and hasn't had his tetanus shot. They will end his media-induced misery.
As the party grew on, so did the frequency of psychotic episodes of rage and demonic nay saying. There had to be a connection. I grabbed my Jr. detective kit, placed on my recently lustered badge, filled my bubble pipe, and ate some carbs. I was ready to tackle this mystery. I searched and searched and searched and then un-searched my last search so I could re-search my search. I found nothing. All this detective work got me thirsty, real thirsty. I panthered over to the current holiday themed tableclothed table where I retrieved a cup with a curiously circley circle to drink from. I reached down to fill up my cup with homemade root beer. It was bone dry, dead skeleton's femur in the Arabian desert dry. I picked up the nearest vertically-challenged individual and threw him into the river. The chanting came next. I tried summoning Michael Savage but, it was of no use. I had no lung of beaver or any sort of summon warrant. And you know what happened the last time I tried it without those key items.Well, forensics are still trying to figure out how his left foot ended up in the Pope's potpourri dish.
It was when the root beer container contained no root beer that I solved the case, but not without the help of my animated, speech-impaired, no-idea-what-breed-of-Dog Dog named Scooby Doo. No Root Beer.......No Happiness.
Ambitiously,
Kyle
It was when the root beer container contained no root beer that I solved the case, but not without the help of my animated, speech-impaired, no-idea-what-breed-of-Dog Dog named Scooby Doo. No Root Beer.......No Happiness. 
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