"Let me know when the pizza's ready," tosses off Crash as he heads for the basement. I'm putting pizzas 3 and 4 of the night into the oven.
"How do you want to be notified?" I inquire. "IM, text, Twitter, email, phone?"
"You could just shout?"
No need to even shout, as it turns out. He's got a sixth sense. He floated up the basement stairs as I pulled the pizza out. I made four, there are no leftovers and at least two disappointed guys in my house.
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