“He bought a farm,” Eve muttered. “He bought the farm? You’re mixing up your idioms again.” “A farm. An actual farm, somewhere in Nebraska, because I made some comment that turned into a challenge in his head. So he bought this shithole farm in Bumfuck, in my name.” “You’re going to live on a farm in Nebraska?” “Jesus Christ, Peabody, did a glug of rat soup melt your brain? He’s going to do something with it, who knows what? Make it something or other and sell it or something. It’s a craphole of a house with weird craphole buildings on a bunch of scary, empty land in the middle of nowhere
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