Ladies and Gentlemen, children of all ages (and Dave): I have an announcement for you! That's right, the long-awaited Challenger date has been decided upon, and it's tomorrow. Come down to Wooster St. Pizza around 7 pm or so and watch me and my roommate contemplate our lives whilst attempting to down a 22-inch topping-loaded monster of a pizza.
You have to pay for Cirque de Soleil. You have to pay for Siegfried and Roy. This, however, is a free show. That hasn't stopped me from hitting you up for donations, of course. Let me once again reiterate why I ask of you...so very little.
If we win, which I believe there's a good chance we will, the pizza is free. There will be much rejoicing. We will don swimming goggles and douse ourselves in champagne, and then possibly lighter fluid and turn ourselves into fiery Buddhist monks.
If we don't win, in the unlikely event I pull a hamstring or some other unfortunate roadblock occurs (I doubt it'll be fullness...we have a whole hour), the pizza is about 36 dollars plus tax and tip.
Now, while I'd like to guarantee victory, I ain't Broadway Joe Namath, and the Challenger ain't the Johnny Unitas Baltimore Colts. I'm confident, but I'm not psychotic. A lot of people get overconfident and blow their children's college funds in Las Vegas. And that's not what we want, is it? The point of asking for donations is that I need to be prepared to lose before I can win. I want to focus on beating that pizza like Rihanna and not what the hell I'm going to do if I can't. Like John, Paul, George, and Ringo, I'm hoping to get by with a little help from my friends, and beat that pizza with Maxwell's Silver Hammer. Yellow Submarine.
Mull it over. And be at Wooster St. Pizza, tomorrow (that's Friday), 7ish. It's what Jesus would have done.
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