On a dark and foggy night, my wife and I approached a mansion. A sign reading “BEWARE” hung on the gate; I checked a slip of paper to confirm we were in the right place. I was in full-tilt geek mode: glasses, curly hair, sweater vest, bow tie. My wife was wearing an orange tie-dyed sundress. It was as awful as it sounds. We bumbled our way inside the mansion, bumping into doors and tripping over our own feet while gawking at our opulent surroundings. The lavish dining room was populated with the usual assortment of grim-visaged servants, crusty old gentlemen, dowagers in funny hats, and glamorous blonds. First and foremost amongst the glamorous blond was our host, the extra-pretty, extra-petite lord of the manor. While the guests regarded us with disdain, my wife and I fumbled around the dining room and act like rubes. A dowager handed me a glass of wine. When my wife dropped her handkerchief, I bent down to pick it up… just as an archer popped in through a window and riddled the wall with arrows right where I’d been standing. I seemed mildly affronted by this blatant attempt on my life, but mostly took it in stride. Still marveling at the posh surroundings, my wife stumbled against the wall, which swiveled open and sucked her into darkness. I looked vaguely confused by her vanishing act, but before I could investigate, I became distracted by the pair of blonds—the host and his elegant female companion—who were now reclining in armchairs in the library attached to the dining room. Forgetting all about my wife, I headed off to join them. The creepy servants watched me and whispered amongst themselves; the glowing eyes of a painted portrait followed me. In the library, I loitered by the fireplace and tried to look casual. The host and his companion seemed amused by my attempts to fit in with the cool kids. When the host yanked a lever beside his chair, the entire mantle swiveled around, and I disappeared, just as my wife had vanished earlier. I found myself on a moving train but I was unfazed. I handed my still-untouched drink off to a random lady and bopped my way through the train car. The host, disguised in a trench coat and hat, hastily slinked into a compartment and scrunched down to avoid being spotted by me. Back to the dining room, where everyone, the host and his blond companion included, were now seated around the table. The dowager who handed me her wine at the beginning furtively passed a small bottle to one of the servants. For reasons unknown, everyone was trying to murder me except for the host, who didn’t seem to care overmuch whether I live or die. I emerged onto the balcony running around the dining room and, while the host and his glamorous blond looked on and snickered, I swung down from a rope conveniently dangling from the ceiling. I overshot the dining room and crashed through the patio doors. Very calmly the host rose from the table, flung open the doors, and released the hounds on me. While the hounds chased me about the courtyard, the host opened up a closet. Out popped a familiar stranger, who was brandishing a contract. Somewhat mauled and bedraggled, I climbed onto the roof of the mansion to escape the hounds. I crashed through the ceiling, where I landed on top of a woman in a bathtub, which then crashed through the floor and landed in the dining room, shattering. I brushed myself off and plopped down at the table beside the host’s blond. 

A blowpipe extended from a wall-mounted tiger’s head and fired a dart at me. The host calmly reached over and smashed my face into my bowl of soup to save me. The dart struck the butler hovering behind me. Having thus saved my life (and doomed his butler in the process), an unruffled and implacable host sipped champagne. Blinded by the soup, I stumbled around the dining room. The host twisted a dial, which opened a trapdoor. I tumbled through it and landed in the basement. The host, ever inscrutable, whipped out a blindfold and tied it onto his glamorous blond. In the basement, I staggered past a fuse box and got zapped by bolts of electricity. This shorted out the lights upstairs. Everyone from the dinner party arranged their chairs into a circle and sat in the dark while a freak storm blew open the patio doors and sent the curtains billowing. I rejoined the party. My wife was amongst the assembled guests, so she didn’t meet some kind of unspeakable fate. The host, the blond and I stood in the center of the circle of chairs. Everyone in the room simultaneously collapsed into a lifeless heap; only the host, the blond and I got back up on our feet. The three of us tromped out of the mansion hand in hand, having apparently formed some kind of weird, fabulous, sexy ménage à trois. The blond then inadvertently slaps both of us simultaneously.