Meanwhile, the Smee -- flummoxed, discombobulated and non-non-plussed -- tried to pick up the trail/trial (of the suddenly vanished and well-hidden gecko) by running into the shower stall (favorite haunt of domesticated reptiles in The Smee’s humble opinion).
But the trail had run cold (particularly in the corner where the water collects).
“And there we must leave the benighted/beknighted Smee: errant, forlorn…”
“In other words, shut down, yo!”
“Denied!”
“Word!”
The Misters exit the bathroom, laughing and slapping each other’s back as the credits roll in front of them
-- and which they bang into head first and fall.
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