B. We do not know Latin.
Well neither of us do. I throw down the key behind me and pick up a vase. I smash it over Gordon's head. He grabs the glass lamp and hurls it at my head. We keep hurtling things at our heads, running out of furniture and creativity. He grabs the 46" Samsung LCD TV (promotional consideration paid for by the preceding) and holds it over his head. It slams down on my back, shattering the screen. I chuck the remote controls at him, all 5 of them, one right after the other. He tries to swat them away with his hand like he's playing wiffle ball or something. With nothing left to pick up and throw, I grab the couch cushions. I charge full speed with a top and bottom cushion. I start knocking him around until he falls to the ground. I drop the cushions on top of him as if I were going to smother him, only instead of doing so, I merely jump on him, get up and repeat. I throw in some elbow drops off the top turnbuckle for good measure.
As I'm doing my best Macho Man Randy Savage impersonation, my friend with the tiled living room floor walks in thru the front door. Stunned, and pissed, he screams like a girl whose little brother stole her candy. I want my candy! I want my candy! Anyway. He screams, and we stop dead in our tracks. In 7 seconds (it was a really long scream), he did what vases, cookbooks, lamps, and 46" Samsung LCD TVs couldn't: he got us to stop.
Suddenly our biggest fear wasn't each other. It was my friend with the tiled and ransacked living floor.
THE END.
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