Scott, as usual, hid in the back and was zero help in asserting our dominance on our gang turf. But then again he’s a gang intern so he has to stay not-stabbed so he can get us coffee. Rob flashed some gang signs, but he doesn’t have knuck tats that say SHOW TUNE so his gang signs are weak and girly. So I had to keep our turf protected with my snarling rictus. Which, of course, is our gang name. But we should call ourselves the Sub Elevens because THAT’S WHAT WE’RE RUNNING PEOPLE BOOYAH!
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