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[25 May 2012|11:15pm] |
[Filtered away from staff/faculty/assorted killjoys]
I have a pre-battle ritual where I wear my Sunday Best socks. And by "Sunday Best" I mean I've worn them every Sunday for a year and haven't washed them once. I may not fell you with the intense odor, but if you guys feel lightheaded for any reason, there's your answer.
Also, my hair tends to look its most fabulous on the day of a fight, so if anyone competition decides to dig their fingers into my scalp and flail me around like a tetherball, it's INVITATION ONLY. There's no charge for admiring it, though.
In other words, I'm not worried about this shit at all.
[Filtered to Marilyn]
Did I tell you I was psychic?
I can prove it. Right now you're thinking about wishing me good luck tomorrow, even if this whole thing freaks you out and you may or may not wish I was taking this more seriously. Also, you were considering making one or two cracks about my laundry habits. Y/N?
I can also predict the future. Tomorrow you will be totally and utterly bored while the idea of attending the fights will gnaw at the back of your head. Finally you'll give into your curiosity and come out to support me and possibly kick my brother in the shin for good measure because you secretly love me. And afterwards, you'll allow me to escort you to this fuck all party where I'll be a complete gentleman subjectively put and following which I will further escort you home.
How'd I do?
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