 There's a bottle on his penis? There's a bottle on his penis! Clef confirmed. The voice on the other end of the line was silent. Then with a low exasperated sigh, it asked the one question that any reasonable or not so reasonable person could ask in this situation. How? Beats me! Hey, Drackey! How the fuck did you manage to get a bottle on your dick anyway? Clef asked. Fuck you! Drackey grumbled. He doesn't say. Clef said into the phone. Anyway, I was just wondering, is this a regular thing with your dad? Is there a procedure for this sort of thing? Like do you guys have a bottle dick remover on call or something? Some guy you usually call in this sort of situation. Alto? Look, I figure bottle dick remover is kind of like a plumber. You don't want to call someone else if you already know a guy because the second guy will kind of fuck things up because they won't do it the same way as your usual guy and he'd just hung up on me. Your son is fucking rude, Ben. I swear to God, if you don't do something about this now, I will not only kill you, I will make sure it's painful. Condrackey snarled. Hey, don't worry about it. Clef said. It's no big deal. We'll just get you to site 69 and we'll have that medic cut that bottle off your dick and what the hell is that fucking noise? It sounds like a fire alarm. It's the fucking fire alarm. Condrackey confirmed. Clef carefully went to the apartment door and stuck his head out the door. Every door on the floor was open and all of Condrackey's neighbors were walking out into the hallway, grumbling to themselves as they filed down the hall to the stairs. Hey, Clef asked. You know what this is about? Not exactly. An older woman in a blue flower print nightie said. I think it might just be a false alarm. There was a cry of alarm from the end of the hallway as the door to the stairs opened, revealing a cloud of thick white smoke. Or not, holy shit! The old woman cried. Let's get the hell out of here. Clef carefully closed the door and turned to his boyfriend, who had somehow managed to go green with nausea, white with fear, and red with rage all at once. Your apartment building's on fire, he said unnecessarily. Condrackey looked down at the aquafina bottle on his dick, then over at his apartment door, then back at the windows and finally back down at his dick. Leave me to die, he moaned. Save yourself. Bullshit! Clef replied curtly. We ride together. We die together. You're coming with me if I have to knock you out and carry you on my back. You could knock me out if you tried. Condrackey retorted. I'll kill you first. Oh god, there we go again with the killing and the stabbing. God, Ben, you got such a one-track mind. Just suck it up and throw on a trench coat or something. No one'll know. Condrackey rushed back into his bedroom. There was the sound of some rummaging around in the closet. He came out wearing a black trench coat with a gigantic, tense-shaped bulge in the front at crotch level. Wow, he said flatly. This sure did help a lot. No one will notice anything wrong now, yes, siry Bob. Fuck! Clef glanced out the door. The smoke was starting to build up a bit and the last few neighbors were quickly making their way down the stairs, heads lowered and wet rags placed over their faces. Alright, Clef said. I didn't want to do this, but we have no choice. He took a deep breath. Where's your pantry? Wow, holy shit. Then Buchanan said, that's not great. The fire was largely contained to a single unit on the northern side of the apartment building, but it was clear from the flames looking the curtains and the lurid, orange-red glow that could be seen through the window that this was no mere trash can fire, a fact further evident to the dozens of glum-looking people in nightdress standing on the sidewalk nearby. Alright, he said into the radio. Let's get these bystanders out of the way first. I want Buchanan's voice trailed off. There were two men walking down the sidewalk, both of them wearing scarves around their heads and wide-brimmed hats. Only scarves around their heads and wide-brimmed hats. And one other thing, water bottles. Each of the two men in question had a water bottle on the end of their dicks. Captain Buchanan's radio handset fell from his nervous fingers. He felt his world collapse inward. The fire, his waiting firefighters, the bystanders standing on the sidewalk. It all fell away, leaving behind only himself, his eyes, and two stark-naked middle-aged men merrily walking down the street with hats on their heads, scarves on their faces, and water bottles on their dingalings. The two men skipped into a car, one of them turned, made eye contact, and shot Captain Buchanan the finger guns. The car started up and drove away. Site 42 was able to continue broadcasting and move up to live-action SCP film adaptations due to the support of viewers, subscribers, and especially our patrons. Special shout-out to our Site Director-level patron, Andre Bechert.