The desert sun beat down upon Jim Pickens' brow as he walked through the neighborhood. Still high from his successful date with Cassandra Goth's ghost, he stopped by the park at the center of Oasis Springs. He spotted his son, Tim, sweating his ass off at a table. A smile spread across his face. Despite the fact that Tim was the product of an alien abduction, Jim really did love his son . . . well, this one anyway. They had always gotten on well. It helped that this son was actually successful by his bizarre standards. He wiped the sweat from his brow and joined his son at the cheap outdoor table.

"So, how about the trash in this neighborhood?" Jim brought up a frequent topic of their conversations.

"Do you mean the people or the actual garbage?" Tim asked with a chuckle at his father's expense.

"Why not both? Or, perhaps, the fashion sense in this area, particularly the recent trends?"

"You're mocking my outfit again, aren't you dad?"

"Maaaaybe!"

The pair laughed, their banter as enjoyable as ever. After the laughter was done, they stared intently at each other as though each one was sizing the other up. Jim thought that Tim could really use a sweater vest to improve his look. Tim was thinking that Jim could use some brighter colors in his life. Maybe, if his father's clothing was as colorful as his paintings, he would stop being so evil. He shook his head internally. That was just wishful thinking.

After Jim left, Tim pondered his dad's love of death. Does he want to die? Tim worried. Perhaps he did. Most of his father's old friends were dead due to mysterious circumstances, anyway. Did he miss them? Tim detected some unresolved grief at play. He often wondered if his father was as okay as he claimed to be. He suspected that, deep down, he wasn't. Professional help was a long way off, but desperately needed for both of them. Tim sighed. Jim had to be willing to accept help. He often refused, stating that he was perfectly happy before offering unsuspecting strangers his "finest" pufferfish. There was no way the man could be fine. Numerous attempts at interventions had failed miserably. Tim didn't know what to do. All he knew was he loved his father. He would find a way to help.

Jim bade him goodbye for the afternoon, saying he had to get home to his (test subjects) *ahem* roommates. Tim raised an eyebrow at the oddly timed cough, but reluctantly let him go for the day. He had an idea. He could make a surprise visit to his father's apartment! His dad was always happy to see him. Tim often wondered about the conditions of his father's home. Jim had a history of altering homes into complete messes, full of broken plumbing and urine. It didn't help that his father had bladder problems. He could recall taking the man to visit the doctor for what he suspected were urinary tract infections. Jim had never confessed to having one, the proud man that he was, but something was clearly amiss with him.

His thoughts finished, he returned home. The trip to his father's apartment could be an ordeal. He had no idea what he was in for.

. . . . . .

Tim came by the apartment and was horrified. People covered in their own filth were everywhere. Guests were unsupervised and unbothered by the amount of trash and broken plumbing. Water and urine coated the floor. A cockroach ran right over his foot. He jumped, to the amusement of his father, who laughed nonchalantly at his horror. Tim had had enough of his father voluntarily living in squalor.

"Listen, dad," he said, "You can't keep living like this. How are you not miserable here?"

"What are you talking about? I'm perfectly fine! I love being surrounded by other people. I'm an extrovert, after all."

"But dad, this place is filthy! Your health is going to suffer. I don't want to lose you."

"There's no need to worry, Tim. If I was going to keel over, surely it would have happened by now. Besides, it seems that God wants it this way. I feel like our glorious God Kevin would have intervened, had He not seen these living conditions to be up to par."

"Be that as it may, it pains me to see you living like this. Please, for the love of Kevin, let me move in and take care of you."

"Is this about not letting you wander into traffic the other day? If you want to play frogger, you can always just tell me. I'll even join in!"

"DAD. This is not about the street. This is not about cars. This is about your safety. What's with the crowd in here? Have you been handing out apartment keys to everyone you meet again?"

"Yes! It's a tradition! Why, your grandfather even did it, back in the day! He was a real card; it's a shame he never got to see you grow up."

"First of all, grandpa was a dick. I may have been little, but I remember it just fine. Second, you're going to get very sick if you keep living like this. You're not getting any younger. Please, dad, let me move in and take care of you!"

"Well . . . okay, you can move in."