
Where's my nephew, Rudy? Haven't seen him in weeks. He just texted me a minute ago. He said "the elf army let us go. I ran into my old buddy. Russian contact arranged boat to motherland … Please feed all my Sims." If that's not his idea of guy-code for "don't bother me, I'm getting lucky," he's probably had a stroke or something. Oh no, then it had to be a stroke!