"Brain swelling," Mom thought out loud. "Maybe parts of him have been rewired by the injury."

"Don't tell anyone about his cock. Guys will be hitting themselves over the head to try and reproduce the results."

"How about I fix us some pancakes?" I offered when Karina, the O'Brien's cook, arrived.

"Over my dead body," she said. "Get out of my kitchen before I tickle the living hell out of you." We retreated to the living room with our coffee and sat on the couch together. "And no copulating on the couch. Iris has complained about what a bitch it is to get stains out of the cushions. Degenerates."

Mora...