Oh my sweet lord, Tube Night. The bane of my unholy existence.
Chaos, thy name is Tube Night, etc.
Hey, guys! Great idea here. Set a perimeter 'cause I'm fixing to blow your minds. So, our jobs are to prevent accidents, drownings, death, suffering, and all around maintain order, non? What if...stay with me, Butch, you'll love this...what if we create an atmosphere that totally contradicts our entire mission? I know, I know, devilish details and junk. Basically, and I mean really basic...looking at you, Butch...we allow flotation devices in the pool. Nope, not just lifejackets and arm balloons. Big picture here, gang. I'm talking huge freaking whales full of hot breath. I'm talking small rafts; hell, BIG rafts. An inflatable raft modeled after the Knock Nevis, whatever. You know those noodle guys the kids can't get enough of? Come on in. I want this place to look like a gargantuan bowl of roast pork lo mein, get me?
Noodles. In. The. Wet.
Now, call me crazy, but - Butch, no, it's a rhetorical question. What is this, baby's first brainstorm? Stay focused, here - Call me crazy, but - rhetorical means you're fired, get out of my sight - ahem, call me crazy, but imagine the theoretical havoc we can potentially wreak. 9/11 was small-time. Do you see what I see? We won't ever need to refill the pool. Every Thursday it will be refreshed with tears. I can't be the only one who loves this. Sandy, nice! Brett? Don't worry, you'll come around.
The parents? Ha-ha, seriously.
...
Seriously? Boy, you guys are slower than I thought. They won't care. We'll play baseball over the loudspeaker for the fathers, serve mimosas for the mothers. No; box-wine, you're so right, Sandy. I love this girl!
Okay, team, "Suicide" on three.
One.
Two...
/gunshots
