Journal entry, 8/4/14: Justice Minotaur woke up this morning covered in sweat, like a high school wrestler who wraps himself in Visqueen and stands in a roasting-hot vestibule in order to make weight. Minotaur reported that he had experienced horrible nightmares, fearing that he might die without ever learning what his sleep number is. Minotaur then spent the rest of the day calling people randomly out of the phone book, asking them their sleep number. One exception was when he grilled an older woman who answered the phone about her feelings on meatless lasagna. The woman said her name was Probably Treason (Minotaur asked her to fax over a birth certificate to prove it). After speaking on the phone to about two hundred individuals, Minotaur called his project a success and went around yelling out, “The mode is 54! The mode is 54!”
Around dinnertime, Mr. Cornwall was feeling ill for some reason (a porcupine-organ omelet may have had something to do with it) and spent a long time in the bathroom. Minotaur started banging on the door, threatening to issue a “certificate of occupancy” if Cornwall did not evacuate. Cornwall thought this was one of the strangest threats he had ever received.