It's all captnobvious's fault
Happy belated birthday, Brook. You crazy monkey.
Once upon a time, Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie and that Bono guy were hanging out down by the pool, drinking martinis.
Suddenly, tragically, Brad choked and DIED.
"That is not cool," Angelina noted.
"I think I'd better call some guys," Bono declared.
"Wow," was the first thing the older guy said. "Nice bikini."
"I was down by the pool," Angelina explained. "When Brad suddenly and tragically died. Who are you two, anyway?"
"I'm Sam," the younger one said, elbowing the other one hard enough to snap his jaw shut. "This is my pet neanderthal, Dean. Can we see the pool?"
"I think they can see it from space," Angelina admitted. "It's this way."
"So, what do you think killed him?" Dean said, down by the pool.
"We were just drinking martinis, man," Bono said. It was a bit of a surprise; Angelina had thought he'd gone to sleep after making the call. Hard to tell, with those sunglasses.
Dean poked Brad's dead arm. It wobbled. "Maybe he choked on his?"
"I think it was possessed by a demon," Angelina said, for no apparent reason. "At least, it tasted funny."
"You drank it?" Dean seemed flabberghasted.
"What? He wasn't going to drink it."
Sam had sat himself down on another deckchair and was stealing her wireless internet, the little bastard. "There's a history of this sort of thing," he said now. "But the author can't be arsed to make up the usual sort of patched-together details. Anyway, we're in over our heads here, and that's not in any way a pun about the whole pool business. Incidentally, it is a very impressive pool."
"Thank you," Angelina said.
"Over our heads?" Dean said. "Then I should make a call. Can I use your phone?"
"My bill's going to be huge," Angelina lamented as he disappeared inside the house.
"You can totally afford it," Bono pointed out.
"Hey," the new arrival said, exhaling the word in a cancerous cloud of ignoring that cop-out at the end of the movie, "nice bikini."
"I was down by the pool, already," Angelina said. "Who're you, then?"
"John Constantine. The brats called me. They said something about a possessed cocktail?"
"I drank it."
"Best thing for it, really. I'll be on my way."
Angelina frowned. "That's it? You haven't even seen the pool. It's a very nice pool."
"I don't like pools. I had a bad experience. Take two communion wafers and call me in the morning, if it makes you feel better. Sorry about your friend." As he turned to go, his way was barred by a sudden manifestation of shapely kevlar. "The fuck is this?"
"Angelina," one of the new arrivals said, the one with highly-discussed tits and white hair, "we're supposed to be saving the world, and your posse is late, sister."
"Wow," Dean said, appearing miraculously at the sudden presence of tits.
"Oh shit," Angelina said. "Sorry, I completely forgot, what with Brad dying. Just let me change out of this bikini and grab Bono."
"Make it snappy," said the one in the visor, checking his wrist. "We parked the jet in a loading zone."
Once upon a time, Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie and that Bono guy were hanging out down by the pool, drinking martinis.
Suddenly, tragically, Brad choked and DIED.
"That is not cool," Angelina noted.
"I think I'd better call some guys," Bono declared.
"Wow," was the first thing the older guy said. "Nice bikini."
"I was down by the pool," Angelina explained. "When Brad suddenly and tragically died. Who are you two, anyway?"
"I'm Sam," the younger one said, elbowing the other one hard enough to snap his jaw shut. "This is my pet neanderthal, Dean. Can we see the pool?"
"I think they can see it from space," Angelina admitted. "It's this way."
"So, what do you think killed him?" Dean said, down by the pool.
"We were just drinking martinis, man," Bono said. It was a bit of a surprise; Angelina had thought he'd gone to sleep after making the call. Hard to tell, with those sunglasses.
Dean poked Brad's dead arm. It wobbled. "Maybe he choked on his?"
"I think it was possessed by a demon," Angelina said, for no apparent reason. "At least, it tasted funny."
"You drank it?" Dean seemed flabberghasted.
"What? He wasn't going to drink it."
Sam had sat himself down on another deckchair and was stealing her wireless internet, the little bastard. "There's a history of this sort of thing," he said now. "But the author can't be arsed to make up the usual sort of patched-together details. Anyway, we're in over our heads here, and that's not in any way a pun about the whole pool business. Incidentally, it is a very impressive pool."
"Thank you," Angelina said.
"Over our heads?" Dean said. "Then I should make a call. Can I use your phone?"
"My bill's going to be huge," Angelina lamented as he disappeared inside the house.
"You can totally afford it," Bono pointed out.
"Hey," the new arrival said, exhaling the word in a cancerous cloud of ignoring that cop-out at the end of the movie, "nice bikini."
"I was down by the pool, already," Angelina said. "Who're you, then?"
"John Constantine. The brats called me. They said something about a possessed cocktail?"
"I drank it."
"Best thing for it, really. I'll be on my way."
Angelina frowned. "That's it? You haven't even seen the pool. It's a very nice pool."
"I don't like pools. I had a bad experience. Take two communion wafers and call me in the morning, if it makes you feel better. Sorry about your friend." As he turned to go, his way was barred by a sudden manifestation of shapely kevlar. "The fuck is this?"
"Angelina," one of the new arrivals said, the one with highly-discussed tits and white hair, "we're supposed to be saving the world, and your posse is late, sister."
"Wow," Dean said, appearing miraculously at the sudden presence of tits.
"Oh shit," Angelina said. "Sorry, I completely forgot, what with Brad dying. Just let me change out of this bikini and grab Bono."
"Make it snappy," said the one in the visor, checking his wrist. "We parked the jet in a loading zone."