Snippet #8710

"Oh good, now we have a den mother." Stephen grunted. Although his terse and clipped statement sounded sarcastic, secretly he was rather relieved to have someone taking care of the little caucus' nervous breakdowns that wasn't him. He was a journalist, not a psychiatrist. He made problems for people, not fixed them. Someone being on their first, or second, or nineteenth nervous breakdown wasn't concerning him -

Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown.

19th Nervous Breakdown. The Rolling Stones.

"Ha. Ha ha. Hahaha." And just like that, Stephen broke out laughing. And not little airless giggles; either, he was rolling on the floor to the point where it felt like his sides were going to burst with laughter. His fists pounded against the uniform grey floor as he rolled back and forth, his eyes stinging as tears that refused to come would have boiled from them (as it were he was drained of bodily fluids). Given the situation, the partially-sane Stephen looked to be the one who had gone up around the bend, instead of anyone else who had decided to lose control at that point -

Gone up around the bend.

Up Around The Bend. Creedence Clearwater Revival.

This discovery only brought on a new wave of laughter from the columnist. It was disconcerting.