"I'm sure you can work miracles," said Bert, resolving not to be near Paul when he had scissors.

"What do you do?" Paul questioned from behind a pitcher-sized mug.

"I'm in college right now, I recently became the heavy weight boxing champion at the statewide tournament," said Bert drinking from a considerably smaller mug.

"Oh yeah?" Paul looked him over. "You ever get into it with that Randy VIII?"

"We have our occasional matches, they usually end with me getting a tentacle stuck somewhere," said Bert.

Paul raised an eyebrow at him. "He does get pretty excited about fightin'..."

"Yes, excited...that's the word for it," Bert chuckled.

"First time 'e beat me in a wrastlin' match I 'bout got a little nervous," Paul admitted gruffly. "You shoulda seen the look in 'is eye."

"I've seen that look you're talking about, but I'm not afraid of him," said Bert.

"No? Looked like 'e wanted t' eat me," Paul muttered.

"He might have...literally or metaphorically it's hard to tell," said Bert.

"Them special classes are a little nuts." Paul tapped at his head in gesture as he emptied his mug. "But that one in particular..."

"He's a little further off the deep end than most," said Bert, "I know..." he gave a fond little smile.

Paul eyed him. "That don't bother you?"

"No, not really, but then, I live with him when I'm at home," said Bert.

"What's that like?" asked Paul. "He give you them crazy looks?"