And here we are, all reunited after a though day of puzzle solving and international flying as if there was no Covid. But where are the Sploxers?
"Guys, there were never any Sploxers" says a voice in the distance, coming from the fresh air above the mountains of Guadalajara. It sounds exactly like Pete VDD, even though we can't see him we can feel his presence.
"Do you think I become a fucking megabillionaire by being dumb? I would never invest in some stupid adult diapers just because they have a catchy name. I'd much rather put my money and time in worthwhile investments, like Carbon Offsetting and Patagiving"
We look at each other. It doesn't matter if there is no sploxers. Being together in Ghepardo's hometown, playing Cesc's guitar and drinky Franz's horrible Sangria. Martin takes out a baguette and some goat cheese from his French basket he always carries on him, and since it's getting chilly the stylish amongst us put on a Thirsh
(For Pete's information, a Thirsh is a shirt on top of a sweater, hence a turtleneck reverse shirt, hence a thirsh)
As it turns out, the real sploxers were the friends we made all along.