Apparently, a team of teeny-tiny, insignificant people decided to band together and have a fundraising competition with me. Without telling me. Or maybe they did, and my email is just so screwed up right now that I never saw it. Anyway, they’re all feebly whiffing about my ankles right now, squeaking their defiance in their cute little piping voices — really, it’s adorable, like being mugged by little white mice — so I guess I should acknowledge their existence.
I do notice, though, that this year they haven’t described any forfeits they’ll offer up if they win. Too burned by that last effort, eh? Still have memories of that leg-waxing, JT, or that appearance in a dress, Matt? I really should wait until the little people have screwed up their courage to make it worth my while, but oh, hey, it’s a good cause. They’re raising money for Camp Quest.
They’re doing their best to stack the odds against me, but 12 to 1? Seriously? You’re going to need a bigger boat, Team Awful.