"There's an ex-con in the bathroom and he won't come out."

I called my dad to let him know that I got the earphones for my brother, so he wouldn't buy them too. My stepmom picked up, and was immediately far more cheerful than she normally is on the phone. She passed the phone to dad, who says "Hey! We're having a party!" I love my dad, he doesn't drink much anymore-- but he's still not too old to party with his buddies. I told him to call me tomorrow when the Advil kicks in.

One of the last times they had a party there where they invited friends, it became a crazy story. Some co-worker of my stepmom brought an ex-con as her date. Said Con decided to get into a beer-fueled, screaming fistfight with my step-uncle about Red Sox V. Yankees. My step-uncle was pushed into a bedroom to chill out, and Con was shoved into the bathroom. My dad opened the door to tell him he had to leave, and Con flipped out and sucker punched my dad. After that he punched a hole in the bathroom door and shut himself in again. Meanwhile my younger brother is trying to help out, and my dog bit someone in the chaos. Not badly, but she was just protecting my dad. Dad calls the cops. Sheriff shows up to help out, and they explain to Con that either he leaves of his own volition, or he is forcibly removed and arrested-- he leaves. My uncle was still screaming and pissed off-- so my stepmom took him out with a karate shot to the throat, turns out she learned how to do that at work. He's no longer welcome in dad's home.

Everyone was fine, but it's such a small town that anyone with a police radio (read: 75% of the population) knew about what happened. Very funny stuff.

This time, however, I only heard the Chicken Dance playing in the background. I'm not sure if that scares me more or less than the mental image of a pair of grown adult men fighting over baseball.