I'm waiting to find out they live with a student who is studying to be a broom closet, wears a clown outfit from the waist up and is an M1 Abrahams from the waist down, eats only this concoction and speaks a language of his own invention involving only buzzing and explosive pops, who poops only bicycle horns and uses live geese for wiping up, and who sometimes just starts clipping through the floor before resetting into a T-pose. If you gaze at them overlong you will start, yourself, to slip intermittently into a dimension of endless hallways and doors, where each door leads only to other doors, except the occasional trap door that leads only into a rushing stream of tapioca that will suck you down and under into the abyss of madness, and you're being stalked by balloon animals that you can only glimpse out the corners of your eyes.