Ghandi lets out a little grunt of a laugh.

    "Siddown," says Ghandi.

    Katie gets up and gives you her seat.
 
    You lay out your arm, and lock your hand with Ghandi's.

    "Ready?" asks Ghandi.

    "Good luck, Brad," says Katie.

    Wow.  Katie wished you good luck.  Her words fill you with a crazy sort of gusto.

    You are ready for Ghandi.

    "Oh, yeah," you say to Ghandi.  "I'm ready."

    "OK..." says Ghandi.  "Go!"

    From deep within, you summon all of your strength, focusing it all into your arm, pitting every ounce of force you can possibly muster against Ghandi's arm.

    The match is over in a fraction of a second.

    You spend the rest of the evening trying to get your arm out from its embedded position in Sarah's bedroom floor.

    "Good try," says Katie.  "I'd help with your arm, but I gotta go make out with Ross."

    She leaves.

    Around 9 PM, Sarah comes home and enters her room.

    "Brad, get the hell outta my room.  And get your arm out of my floor, dammit.  Mike Toomey's coming over in twenty minutes!"

    Finally you are able to pry it free using some of Sarah's drawing tools.

    You head back downstairs and walk around the outside of the house toward the basement.

    As you're walking, Merv pulls your van into the driveway.

    "Marty!" he says.

    "Merv, you took my van?"

    "Yeah, dude, you told me I could have the van today.  I was meeting up with Randy Spears about that new movie he's directing."

    "Oh," you say.  "Oh, yeah.  How'd it go?"

    "Excellent, Marty.  He wants to cast me as this sex-starved space pilot from Planet Mork."

    "Cool," you say.

    "Hey, you wanna watch some Webster?  I gotta couple new tapes from Randy."

    "Nice," you say.  "But I gotta go rest up my arm."

    "Oh," says Merv.  "Been busy?"

    Merv makes a back-and-forth motion with his hand forming an 'o'.

    "Nah," you say.  "Ghandi."

    "Oh," says Merv, surprised.  "I didn't know you two--"

    "I'll check you tomorrow, Merv," you say, your arm beginning to throb.

    "Later, Marty," says Merv.

    You head into the basement and crawl into your favorite spot, curl up, and sleep for the night, resting your wounded arm.