The kids are not as excited about going to the nursing home as I am but that's because they are racist against old people and I don't really blame them because have you even ever seen old people? Totally gross. I think maybe I'm racist against them too because whenever I have to go see them I hide under my stairs and pretend I'm not home, but then my brother, the great detective, calls my cell phone and listens for where the ringing is and he finds me, and also the kids usually point at the crawlspace, I bet. Never count on your kids not to rat you out is the lesson here. And I'm all "You guys are Nazi sympathizers!" because in my mind my brother is the Gestapo hauling me away to a death camp instead of just being my brother taking me to go see our infirm, possibly cybertronic, mother in the nursing home.
The kids don't like being called Nazis though so they'll probably tell their Mom we were playing another Concentration Camp game*, which is totally not allowed according to the divorce agreement, so it looks like another trip in front of the judge where I'll get carried away and start doing "A Few Good Men" again, but I always forget what comes after the "You can't handle the truth!!" part so I'll throw in lines from "Ghostbusters" or "Meatballs" or some other Bill Murray movie because he is HILARIOUS and then it's contempt of court again and if I get my card gets punched one more time at the jailhouse I get a free coffee!
*We don't really have any Concentration Camp games. I just thought I'd clarify, because sometimes my readers are brilliant genius detectives and other times they forget that pretty much everything I write is bullshit in one form or another. Except the bikini supermodel nympho gymnasts who fly around the world with me on the weekends solving crimes and giving out blow-jays... They are totally real