After they had begun to model the shirts for the second and third time, they decided to find something else to do.

Bob began the suggestions. "Well, how 'bout we strip naked and go down to the pool?"

Clit wrinkled his nose. "Dude, I don't wanna see your pale white ass. It's bad enough that Scott strips down. I don't need you shaking your rump anywhere near me."

Bob raised his eyebrows. "Um, okay. Gee, um, wanna go get doughnuts?"

"No."

"Go-cart racing?"

"No."

"Club-hopping?"

"No."

"Shopping?"

"Eh... maybe in a little bit."

Bob sat down on the bed, exasperated. "Damn it. Clint, let's go somewhere. Alright, let's try this. What are we doing tonight?"

"Same thing we do every night, Bobby."

"Laugh our way through Dave's journal and try not to eat the whole jar of peanut butter?"

"No! Try to take over the world! Well, we could always go club-hopping and look for girls and then go shopping for doughnuts after a nice go-cart ride. Then we can strip down and take a dip in the pool."

Bob rolled his eyes. "Gee, why didn't I think of any of that? C'mon. Let's go take over the world. Got a plan?"

Clint stood up and then straddled a chair in the room. "No, but, but here it comes." He held his head in an odd position while holding one foot in the air. "We're going to do get money from dad and Sheila and then grab a cab and head to that club down the street from Roots. Then, we spot out some people, get them drunk and take them skinnydipping back here! How's that sound?"

Bob shrugged and stood up while Clint put his foot down and scratched behind his ear. "Sounds fine. Let's go. But first, let's get dressed. I want to wear your new blue Roots shirt."

Clint dove for his bag. "No! You bought your own!"

Bob dove for the bag as well. "But your's is a shade darker than mine. I can't go out wearing periwinkle tonight. It's got to be cornflower! I can't get girls wearing periwinkle."

Clint stuck his tongue out at Bob. "So get yourself a guy. They like periwinkle. They must... unless you're not a guy."

Bob squinched his eyes at Clint. "I thought you hated gay guys."

Clint shrugged. "Oh, I do and probably always will. But, that doesn't mean you shouldn't find yourself a nice one."

"Clit, I'm not gay."

Clint's eyes went wide. "What did you call me?"

Bob's eyes widened as well. "I called you... Clint."

Clint stood up. "No. You called me Clit. You better run, baby brother."

Bob shot up as Clint's eyes fell on the pillows on the bed. They were the type hard enough to knock you unconscious. He grabbed the bag from Roots and ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Clint grabbed the pillow and ran over to the door. He was ready to slam the pillow into it, but thought better of the idea. Instead, he cleared his throat and knocked timidly on the door and said in a high-pitched voice, "Room service. You need towels?"

A moment later the door opened and Bob took a step out with open arms, ready to grab a pile of fluffy, white terrycloth. Instead, he received a seemingly rock-filled pillow to the face as deliever by Clint. Bob stumbled backward, tripped on a wet towel on the floor, hit his head on the sink and sank to the floor. Seconds later, Clint burst out laughing. "Shit, Bob... You're bleeding something awful. Let's get you down to the, uh, does this place have an infirmary?" But Bob didn't answer. "Bob?" And he still didn't answer. Clint sank to his knees and hit his head on the pillow. "Ow."

After realizing that Bob must have a concussion from either the pillow or the sink, Clint called the front desk, got the location of the infirmary and began to drag Bob down there. During one of the many stops he had to make before shoving Bob into the plush elevator, Clint apologized. "Bobby... eh, Duke... I'm sorry. Really. And, you can borrow the shirt for next time we go clubbing. Really!"

Installment #3 - Is That Your Brother Making Out With Mine?