Maybe Next Year
Right now, ladies in trim uniform should be cradling sackets of roasted legumes for my sole consumption... but no, here I am typing on Sam's beastly keyboard, crushing each key with force to break through the progressive layers of carbonated resin. It resembles Dr Pepper, but suspended within are the souls of a thousand animal crackers and oreos. The resounding CRunCK of each key smashing flat is deliciously satisfying, but I think I have some pop shards stuck in my finger.
So, you guys are stuck with me for the next week while Sam and those other fancy guys party on at Comic-Con. They might be having a good time n' all, but we're a team.
Team Maybe Next Year!