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Grow Up! A collaboration between myself and Aardvark. This story was altered from its original form and updated. – “Porter!” Silence. “Porter!!!” Silence. “HEY!!! PORTER!!!!!!” “WHAT?!” Porter appeared at the top of the stairs, staring down in anger at his little brother Bode at the foot of them. “WHAT, BODE? The house better be on fire!!!” “I wanna play the Playstation.” “You have seen me set it up for you ten. Thousand. Times. Why can’t you do it yourself?” Porter said with a huge amount of annoyance as he trudged down the steps. “I always mix up the cables,” Bode shrugged, completely without remorse. The family entertainment center was a bit out of date. The amount of cording behind the television was enough to confuse even the most adept of techies. In the bedroom, Freddie rolled his eyes and set his phone on the bed. He and Porter hadn’t really been doing anything. Just laying back and shooting the shit about what they wanted to do over their last summer before senior year. So far, the only exciting thing was Harry Greco’s big party this Saturday. Because of Bode, they couldn’t just do whatever – he couldn’t be left home alone. Seriously, if the kid could just be a tiny bit older, Freddie and Porter’s lives could be so much easier. Walking into the living room, Freddie saw Porter wrestling with the entertainment center. Freddie arched a blonde brow as he assessed everything. “Your family does know that HDMI cords have been invented, right?” Porter snorted. “You think my father knows anything about technology other than Microsoft Word and Internet Explorer? He’d look at this and say, ‘Oh, it’s not that bad, Port! Get in there and help your little brother!’” “He’s right!” Bode chirped from his position on the La-Z-Boy near the television. “When are they coming back?” The venom exuding Porter’s face could have dissolved solid stone. “They told you literally yesterday. You seriously don’t remember?” Bode shrugged. “Nope.” Freddie facepalmed. “Two weeks. They said two weeks.” “Oh. ‘Kay. Are you done, Porter?” Before Porter could answer, there was a loud crack and a shower of sparks and the brunette leapt back from the television. Bode yelped. Porter hissed and made sure he was uninjured while Freddie checked the television. “This,” he announced, “is dead. Looks like your dad’s modernizing whether he likes it or not, bro.” “I’m telling mom!” Bode announced, hopping off the La-Z-Boy and making for the phone. Freddie ran after him. Porter groaned and put his head in his hands. “I’m in so much trouble now.” “Bode, put the phone down,” Freddie commanded as the younger teen approached the family cell phone. “Porter broke the TV and I want them to buy me a new one so I can play games while they’re gone! I can’t use the one in their bedroom, you can’t plug anything in cause it’s on the wall!” Bode reached for the phone but Freddie batted it away. “Ow! You shocked me!” “It’s your fault he had to tinker with it in the first place!” Freddie snapped. “You have a laptop, play games on that! Stop trying to just fuck up Porter’s life for no-” “That’s a bad word!” Bode gasped. How could anyone be so innocent at this age? Probably because his mother babied him so much. “-FOR NO REASON,” Freddie continued. He gave Bode a light nudge as he held the phone up out of the other boy’s grasp. “Grow up!” “No! I wanna play games!” “GROW UP, BODE!” Freddie said again with another light nudge, except this time Bode went sailing across the room as if he’d been shot out of a cannon. “Holy…” Freddie said, jogging over to the younger boy on the floor. Porter showed up then and saw his friend crouching over his little brother. “What’d you do?!” “Nothing!” “It was… it was nothing…” Bode said, sitting up and giving his head a shake. “I was being rude.” He looked up at Porter. “Sorry, P. I know you were just trying to help me out. I won’t tell on you.” “Uh… thanks.” “Maybe I…” Bode stood up and smoothed down his rumpled sweatpants. “Maybe I should buy us a new TV.” “You? You don’t have that kind of money, Bode, TVs are expensive.” “I have… some money…” Bode said, in a vacant voice. “Yeah… I’ll go upstairs and look at some TVs online.” Porter and Freddie watched Bode walk back up the stairs and to his room. “That was weird,” Freddie murmured. “Least he’s out of our hair for now.” Upstairs, Bode shut the door to his room and groaned, running a hand over his forehead. “Weird… I didn’t… didn’t feel sick when I… uh… oof…!” He put a hand over his stomach, which let loose a rumbling growl. “Unnnh…” he moaned, grimacing. He staggered for his bed, flopping onto it and idly pawing around for his laptop. His hand felt weird. Like it was too big… What was going on here? This was bizarre. “I… I need to get…” What? Get what? His mind grasped for the end to the statement, but found nothing except… workout techniques? What the-? The feeling of too-bigness crept up his arm, and he groaned. This wasn’t right. He rolled over and grunted, as his crotch began to feel tight. He tried to loosen his sweatpants, but the bulge was already there, growing larger and lewder by the minute. “F-Fuck,” Bode murmured, now unconcerned whether it was a bad word or not. He tried to put it out of his mind, though he kept absently pawing at his cock, which ached inside his underwear. To distract himself, true to his word, he opened up his laptop and went to the Best Buy website to search for TVs. Some of them were pretty expensive, but Bode was excited to see a 4K one at a holiday discount with all the trimmings, including everything he needed for gaming. It was $800 – Bode knew that was a lot of money for a TV, but it was worth it. He rummaged through his backpack… why did this darn thing have so many pockets? Finally, he found a Velcro wallet with Bart Simpson on it. It had once been Porter’s when he was Bode’s age, and had gotten passed down. Their mom didn’t like Bart Simpson because he was rebellious, which made Bode like the wallet more. He pulled out his school lunch card, an unused movie pass he was saving for the next Spider-Man movie, and finally found what he wanted: his American Express Platinum card. He wondered if he had enough reward points stored up to get the TV for free. And how to get it? In-store pickup? Bode wasn’t sure if he could drive. He didn’t have a license. Did Porter have a license? Nah, he’d just have it delivered. With a few more clicks and a number typed in, the TV was headed their way. Bode smiled to himself and sat up. His stomach still ached and gurgled with a ferocity the likes of which he’d never experienced before. Maybe he needed some Coke. The carbonation would settle his stomach. So Bode went downstairs, calling out “TV’s on its way” as he turned to go into the kitchen. In the living room, Porter called back, “Thanks, kid.” Kid? Bode didn’t like that. He wasn’t a kid, was he…? Well, yeah, he was kind of a kid. So why did he feel so much older? Ugh, this made his head hurt. He opened the fridge, grabbing for a beer… Wait, beer? No, a Coke. Red can, swoopy-swirly logo. Can in hand, he headed into the living room. “So what are we doing?” he asked. Freddie and Porter regarded him as if his appearance – a teenager with the arms and hands of a seasoned stevedore – wasn’t unusual. A collective “nothing” met his question. “Hmm. We could… I dunno, play charades until the TV gets here?” Bode suggested. Freddie and Porter stared at each other for a moment. There wasn’t anything else to do, they figured, so why not? “I’ll go first,” Bode said, hopping up in front of the entertainment center. He thought for a moment. Scratched his chin. Then he raised both his arms out to the sides and slightly above his head, flashing a double peace sign and a big fake smile. “Arnold Schwarzenegger!” “Popeye!” “Hulk Hogan!” “Um… uh… Gaston!” Bode’s brow furrowed. He’d thought it was super obvious. “John Cena!” “Hercules!” “The Rock!” “No!” Bode said, dropping his arms in annoyance. “Richard Nixon! The V-sign! He made it when the Vietnam War ended!” Porter and Freddie stared up blankly at him. “Sheesh, you guys have never heard of Nixon?” “Was he a bodybuilder?” “No, he was the president!” Bode grew more exasperated. “A bodybuilder? Why on Earth were you guessing wrestlers and Hercules?” “We thought you were flexing.” “I just have big arms,” Bode shrugged, and it was an understatement to say the least. Biceps as big as cannonballs had wedged his sleeves up under his arms. His upper arms – massive, veiny – looked to have roughly the same circumference as his waist. It looked freakish. “You go, I guess I’m not good at this,” Bode barked to Freddie. Freddie leapt up immediately and Bode smiled, reaching up to rub the older teen’s hair. An odd gesture, but no one mentioned it as Bode sat down cross-legged on the floor and folded his gargantuan arms over his chest. Freddie went, almost bending in half and moving his legs to make a sprinting motion. Bode grunted and adjusted his legs a bit “An ice skater!” “A sheep!” Freddie looked at Porter like he’d grown a second head and signaled a “no.” Porter kept shouting out increasingly outlandish answers while Bode grunted, pushing out his legs. They pulsed and throbbed, and the feeling of too-bigness crept down them until there was a tearing noise. His sweatpants had burst! And yet Freddie and Porter didn’t notice! Bode looked down to see two redwoods jutting from his pelvis. Enormous thighs, swollen with fat, meaty muscles which would have been rubbing together if his enormous package wasn’t separating them. It strained against his undies, which looked like they’d give way at any moment. Bode idly massaged it as he flexed his enormous calves. After a minute, making sure not to pop a boner in front of the boys, he looked up. “Usain Bolt,” he called out. Freddie hopped into a normal stance, grinning. “That’s right!” He returned to his seat. Porter stewed as Bode strode up. “Alright, you go, sport,” Bode said, noticing Porter’s irritation. He chuckled fondly and shook his head. No one noted the “sport” comment, and Bode plopped down next to Freddie. He looked the other one over and took in just how fit Freddie was. It looked good. Really good, in fact… Bode had never noticed how handsome Freddie had become. Freddie and Porter had been friends for years, thick as thieves, so Bode saw Freddie almost daily, which had made Freddie’s puberty seem less abrupt. But the boy next door had grown up beautifully. He had a strong chin, a broad chest that Bode knew would eventually get a lot thicker, wide shoulders, and a nice deep voice. Bode imagined an older, bearded Freddie wearing a suit and tie and reading the news. He’d be good at that. And when that tie came off, the neck muscles underneath… the top of that muscular chest on view… Out of Porter’s view, Bode’s hand wandered up to the middle of Freddie’s back and began rubbing. He felt Freddie’s sharp intake of breath, and the neighbor boy’s blue eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away or look over. Bode’s fingers were stretching across Freddie’s back, his palm widening, his knuckles popping as big as quarters. More muscled bulged its way out of his arms, spreading up into his shoulders, and the crew neck of his t-shirt started to pull apart as Bode’s collarbone began extending, eventually bumping him into Freddie. Freddie didn’t move as Bode’s shoulders forced them to snuggle together, growing massively broad, twice as wide as Freddie’s. Bode slid his huge hand down to Freddie’s lower back, and his pinkie rubbed along waistband of Freddie’s underwear. He smirked. “Are you guys paying attention?!” Porter snipped. “Sorry P!” Bode said, his voice cracking. “We’re lookin’.” Bode grunted, adjusting his stance some more. He felt broad and kinda heavy, but not especially thick. Mm, he’d have to fix that… He took a deep breath and turned to watch Porter, who was standing bow-legged and had his hands out before him like he was trying to hold a large gut. Hmmm. “The Fatman?” “The what?” they asked. “Oh, I guess neither of you were around for Jake and the Fatman, were ya,” Bode muttered, not even sure he was around for that show. “Keep going.” Another deep breath and he found himself groaning as his shirt was pulled out. He tugged at it to no avail and grunted again, only succeeding in tearing the shirt off. Muscles bulged underneath his just-short-of-ponderous gut. Abs formed, and he rubbed it. All solid muscle. This was so strange… “A sumo wrestler?” Freddie called. “Right!” Porter called out. Bode clapped a hand to Freddie’s back. “Good job, son!” he enthused. Freddie blushed. “Thanks, Mister Arnell,” he said, getting up to take his turn. ‘Mister Arnell’? Since when did Brode qualify as a mister anything? He wasn’t… he wasn’t old enough, was he? Brode frowned as Freddie began to pose and flex before the TV. The teenage muscles bulged and Brode grunted uncomfortably as his loins responded perhaps a bit too favorably. Freddie had been held back, so he was 18. He was legal. But… this was his son’s best friend. They were practically brothers. And wouldn't getting with Freddie be unfaithful to Alan? Wait. His son? Alan? What the hell was he thinking? His frown deepened as he looked back up to Freddie, who was now doing a pec bounce. Brode belched, feeling Coca-Cola bubbles simmering in his throat. Brode arched his back, his mouth dropping open. His chest felt so tight. He rolled his shoulders back, extended his arms a little, trying to stretch it out. But the muscles didn’t feel like they fit correctly under his skin. He could see little stretch marks forming around his shoulders and under his nipples. He hiccuped, and his chest heaved up, but it stayed raised and began to swell. His view of his lap and stomach vanished. Brode looked down agog at his pecs as they inflated, and suddenly they began bouncing in rhythm with Freddie’s. But now they were much bigger than Freddie’s, and growing still, stretching out enormous and thick like a couple of car tires. “It’s uh-” he said, staring at Freddie. He cupped his hands under his pecs, their weight now so ponderous that he was irrationally scared they were going to fall off. Freddie was making some odd gesture around his neck, little flicks with his fingers. “He’s, uhhh, wearing a necklace?” Porter asked. Freddie shook his head no. Brode felt a tickle and looked down to see hair suddenly flowering out over his pecs. He grinned. Long curls erupted through his skin, covering it in a healthy coating of fluff, just enough to poke through all his collars. He liked being hairy. Freddie raised his arms high above his head. “I think,” Brode said, easing up onto his feet, “that you’re impersonating me!” And as he announced it, his body began stretching upward, muscle exploding out of his mountainous frame, until his chest was eye-level for Freddie – no mean feat, seeing that Freddie was six feet tall. He stared down at the neighbor boy with a grin. “Pretty good, kid. I liked the chest hair bit.” He scratched at his furry pecs and bounced them for Freddie, who stared hungrily. “I love your-” Freddie started to say, before realizing what he had almost admitted in front of Porter. He went crimson and sat down, leaving Brode towering over the two older teens. He looked down at them – but couldn’t see them. All he saw was his chest. Unsure of how to continue, Brode tried to tap his chin as he pondered, but as he did, his lats exploded out, and his arms couldn’t quite move to meet his face. He grunted in irritation and stepped back a bit. Freddie was staring up at him adoringly. Brode grinned at him salaciously before his face fell. A tearing noise stopped everything else dead and he felt his big, fat dick slap his thighs. “Dude!” Porter yelped as Freddie moaned. Brode didn’t stick around to find out what he was moaning about, and beat a hasty retreat upstairs. His cock grew the whole way, hardening and snaking up to fit the underside of his musclegut. Thick, prominent veins snaked along its length and even fully hard the foreskin clung to the swollen head. It stopped around his bellybutton and as soon as Brode entered his room and plopped onto his bed, it exploded, shooting cum all over his tremendous ball gut. He bellowed in pleasure, tweaking one of his prominent nipples and leaning back, one hand furiously jerking his meat. Good God, this felt divine! After almost a minute of unloading, Brode fell back, panting and chuckling as he felt the cum on his hairy gut. Incredibly thick, sticky, and piping hot. God, he was a virile sonuvabitch. But… something felt wrong. This all felt wrong. The more he thought about it, the more wrong it felt, and his mind was soon reeling. He tried to marshal his thoughts. His name was… Brodae. No…? Wait… maybe? It might be Brady… He decided he’d come back to that. Age. Right, that was easy: he was, uh… 20? 30? No, wait! He was 45, definitely. Had his kid at 28. Wait, kid? Since when did he have a- oh, right, Porter! Good kid, made his old man proud in and out of the gym. But why couldn’t he shake the feeling Porter was his older brother? Shit… why was he so sure Porter was from his ex-wife Sheila? He tried to remember, and all that came to mind was a hard-fought custody battle, winning sole parental rights when Porter turned six… then Porter, himself, and his then-boyfriend Alan going out for a celebratory pizza. Porter had eaten until he’d gotten a tummy ache and Alan had held him all night long. Brodae chuckled at the memory, and gasped when he realized how deep his voice was. Loud and booming like a foghorn. It felt wrong. But why? WHY!? “Nothing makes sense anymore!” Brodae snarled, rubbing his bald head. Wait, when did he lose his hair? He had a full head of it… well, wait, he did, up until two years ago when Alan… oh. Oh, god, how could he forget his husband getting cancer? Brodae had shaved his head in solidarity once the chemo started, and kept doing it even after… after Alan had passed away. He and Porter still had nightmares about it sometimes… Brodae sat back, rubbing his eyes as they watered. It still hurt. It still didn’t feel entirely real. Had it really happened? He shook his head. Even if it wasn’t real, which he was sure it was, he couldn’t waste anymore tears on it. Moving forward. That’s what he had to do. No doubt he’d meet someone with as good as he looked! Wait, how did he look? The titan staggered to the mirror and gaped at his reflection in shock. Why did he have some kid’s face!? He moved his hands back up to run them over his smooth head. This gesture pushed his pecs up against his chin, smushed his deltoids against his cheeks, and exposed his furry pits. Another shot of cum splattered over the mirror and onto the floor. He had two voices in his head and both told him he wasn’t supposed to look like this. One was talking about his body – the hundreds of pounds of muscle – and the other was talking about the smooth baby face on top of that mountain of virility. He and Porter had both gotten so much bigger after Alan died. They’d taken their grief out on the gym. They still cried together, sometimes – Porter had come into Brodae’s bedroom just last week in the middle of the night, his handsome face wet with tears like a child’s, and he’d spent the night in Brodae’s embrace. They hadn’t mentioned it since. Brodae knew his boy wanted to be a strong man, but even strong men just needed to let it out now and then. “M-Mister Arnell?” Freddie’s voice was on the other side of the door. “The TV’s here…” Brodae opened the door, his naked body on full display. Freddie took a nervous step back. “I’m sorry, sir-” “Don’t apologize, son. Does Porter need me?” “I don’t think so,” Freddie said, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him. “I think he’s got… everything under control…” Freddie’s nose was almost buried between Brodae’s hairy pecs. He began kissing them. Brodae rubbed his head. “Thanks.” “I wanna… I wanna be just like you…” Freddie gurgled between kisses. He wrapped his lips around Brodae’s nipple and sucked as the big stud guided him over to the bed. Brodae stroked his dick and felt a rubbery texture. A condom. He pulled on Freddie’s shorts and yanked them off, and the teen fell back on the bed with a gasp, spreading his legs wide, staring up at Brodae’s angelic face, moaning and mewling with desire. Brodae groaned back, his jaw cracking. “Fuckin’ Christ!” he swore, rubbing it. It was now comically square, and it didn’t quite fit his face at all. He began to thrust into Freddie’s hole, and the teenager moaned his appreciation. Brodae’s face continued to change. His nose was wide and thick, jutting out and bending in the middle. Most would call it a hawk’s beak nose, but Brodae always thought of it more like an eagle’s beak. Big, majestic, and possessing impressively broad wings – just like Brodae (well, he had impressively broad lats, but the principle was similar). His lower lip plumped up a bit more than his upper one and his lower jaw jutted out a bit more, too. Combined with his heavy new brow and thick eyebrows, he’d look classically brutish if it wasn’t for his jaw and newly clefted chin. He looked downright superheroic. His thrusting was picking up speed, and both he and Freddie were moaning and hollering fit to bring the house down. It was a wonder Porter hadn’t run in with all the noise. Finally, with a roar that would make a gorilla duck for cover, Brodae came hard into Freddie’s tight hole. He shot rope after rope of thick cum deep inside his younger lover, then collapsed onto him, bringing him in for a kiss, his thicker stubble rubbing against Freddie’s. “This is wrong,” he rumbled, running a hand over Freddie’s hair. “Then I don’t wanna be right,” Freddie replied. It was cheesy, and they both grinned. “I just wanna be yours, Brodan.” “Son, you’ve been mine for a long time,” Brodan growled back, cupping the back of Freddie’s head with one hand and kissing him again. They laid like that for a little while, just cuddling and kissing with Brodan’s enormous prick lodged in Freddie’s hole, until Porter walked in. “Dad, I- WHAT THE FUCK!?” Brodan leapt up in surprise, pulling his dick out of Freddie so fast that the blond teen yelped. “Port!” he grunted. He’d… he’d forgotten… he was stark fucking naked… Brodan grabbed around for something to cover himself with. He found the only piece of fabric in the room big enough to cover him – a bedsheet. As soon as he swung it around his hulking form, it tightened around him like a cocoon, stitching itself together until it had become a men’s dress shirt, the same navy blue Brodan’s sheets had been. The buttons over Brodan’s chest fell open, displaying his hairy chest, while they pulled too tight over his bulging stomach. The shirt was tucked into a pair of gray trousers with a higher waist than any pants Brodan had worn before, but since he was a man now, this was how he would dress from now on. He was even sporting a nice pair of brown wingtip shoes all of a sudden. As lines webbed out around his eyes and a pair of trendy eyeglasses fell onto his nose, he looked every inch the superheroic dad he had molded himself to be. Porter blinked at his new father. Hadn’t he been… naked a second before? But no, that was silly… what had he and Freddie been doing…? He’d felt so embarrassed, but now that was only because he’d barged in. “Sorry, guys,” Porter said, “I should’ve knocked.” “S’fine. I just, uh, needed advice about something,” Freddie said, still feeling confusion over his newfound homosexuality. All he could think about was standing up and unbuttoning Mr. Arnell’s shirt and kissing him, worshiping him, sucking his enormous, porn star cock… And he looked at Porter, and Porter had that same chin, that same beefy chest that made his shirts too tight… fuck, Porter was so hot. Had he always looked like that? “You okay, buddy?” Brodan asked his son, with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “The – the TV is here, they’ve set it up, you just have to sign for it.” Porter said. “No problem,” Brodan said, walking down the stairs, opening another button on his shirt and wiping some sweat off his gleaming bald head. “You Mister Arnell?” the deliveryman asked, dwarfed by Brodan’s immense size. “Call me Brogan,” the bodybuilder said, his pecs vibrating a bit bigger. He took the clipboard the deliveryman offered and signed. Another button popped off of Brogan’s shirt. The titan chuckled. “Sorry about that, brother! I lose more good shirts that way.” The deliveryman muttered something about a “freak” and ducked out. Brogan smirked at that. Yeah, he was a freak, and he loved every minute of it. Freddie and Porter entered as the door shut. “Niiice!” Porter declared, gazing at the television like it was his new best friend. Brogan laughed, but was cut off by his text jingle before he could reply. After a quick glance, he clapped a hand to Porter’s back. “I gotta run,” he grunted. “Work needs me. You be good while I’m gone, alright, big guy?” “Aren’t I always?” Porter replied, before hastily adding: “Don’t answer that. Have fun at work, pops.” “I always do. And don’t stay up all night watchin’ TV. You’ll rot your brain.” Brogan kissed his son’s forehead as Porter made token protests, then wrapped an arm around Freddie’s shoulder. “C’mon, kid.” “Wait, what?” Freddie asked as Porter did the same. “You wanted to be just like me, right? Well, you can start now. Besides, we should spend some quality time together, sport,” Brogan replied with a significant look, and Freddie picked up what he meant, nodding. He fell into step with Brogan and they were out the door before Porter could say any more. They hopped into the huge emerald green F-250 in the driveway – the same color as Brogan and Porter’s eyes – and roared off. The massive DILF glanced over to Freddie as they drove. “About what happened in the bedroom…” “It feels like a dream,” Freddie murmured. “One of the best dreams I’ve ever had. Whatever it was, I’m happy with it happening a lot more often,” Brogan rumbled. Seeing Freddie’s face light up, he laughed. “On a couple conditions, son.” “Name ‘em.” “We keep it secret until next summer and you make good on becoming just like me.” “Deal!” Freddie agreed. “I’m so excited! Like, you don’t even know, sir!” “Simmer down, sport,” Brogan chuckled, turning out of town. Freddie looked confused and Brogan’s smile broadened. “You thought we were going to the gym, right?” “Uh, yeah…” “Well, tough luck. Actually, we’re starting on my other job.” The F-250 pulled into the parking lot of a brick building bearing a pink neon sign. It read “Poker in the Rear” and a man’s hand poking a woman’s shapely rear end. Below that read: “Saturday: Gay Night! Sunday: Lesbian Night!” Freddie blinked a few times before turning to Brogan with a broad grin. “Oh, hell yeah!” Brogan laughed and gave Freddie a deep kiss. “That’s what I like to hear, my love. Now c’mon, I’m on in 20 and you got a front row seat.” “Sweet. Can I maybe get a private lap dance later?” Brogan smirked at Freddie. “You have to ask?” – Well, with Tumblr deciding it knows better than consenting adults a few years ago, I figure it was high time I posted all my stories from there – and some new ones! – over here on MG. I do plan on continuing my Sean series as well, if only for the novelty of fanfiction about other series in the community. Well, that, and I have had that planned out with varying levels of detail for years now. That said, if you enjoyed this story then like it, upvote it, or gimme some thanks. If you wanna be in my good books, maybe even give me some feedback! Also… remember the name Harry Greco. This isn’t the last you’ll be hearing of that party. - Trav