Weezer is in the hospital. Hasn't been taking his medication and the idiot has probably been smoking weed. He had a really bad asthma attack. I mean call the paramedics to resuscitate him bad. Fortunately there was a good customer in the store who called for help, took the key off him to lock everything up behind them and e-mailed me through the website about what to do with the keys. You guys are awesome, better than customers and less trouble than friends. Certainly less trouble than my family. Just kidding family! Anyway, right now he's on a ventilator, though the doctors told his parents that since he got oxygen and apparently never stopped breathing completely, there probably isn't any brain damage. (Proves they didn't know him before, I guess) I asked if I should come home, though I don't know what I'm going to do besides open the store and Ellen (safely in possession of the keys, thank you) said she could sit there and just handle basic purchases. Mom says Weezer doesn't seem to be dying or anything and that it wouldn't help anything for me to cut short my IMPORTANT BUSINESS TRIP. It's important and it's business, 'kay?
I wonder if the combination of popcorn fumes and Febreeze did him in? I assume God looks after Weezer because he can't do it for himself, but just in case I did sort of quietly put in a good word for him and if you go for that kind of thing, it probably wouldn't hurt. He's harmless to people, hard on property and the only stoner asthmatic employee cousin I got.
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