Rev. Nice Super rolled up a couple legal-size sheets of paper and wandered around alternately bopping people with them, playing them like a flute, and singing "I like eggs."
"I'm so glad I'm working with a bunch of adults," I said.
Rev. Nice Super threatened me with his egg-flute-bopper. I was standing inside the bullpen, and (coincidentally) there was a newspaper on the top shelf of the bit I was standing at. I rolled that up and brandished it.
"Now, enough with the violence," Rev. Nice Super said.
Got 500 words this morning. Slacked off this evening, and read Mac Hall instead. (Bruno and Boots would fit in there, actually...)