Maybe it was the sudden sting of upper-Midwest summer humidity. Maybe it was all the talk of Tim's soon-to-arrive athletic training equipment. Whatever it was, the testosterone suddenly and inexplicably shot up at the Attic, and what had been until that time a calm studio of creative exploration turned into the most intense, take-no-prisoners brawl this tri-state area has yet seen. Witnesses to the wild display of strength and ferocity run amok found themselves without words, but fortunately with Ace bandages and a digital camera. In the end, as suddenly as it came, the frenzied fisticuffsmanship came to a close, with no clear winner decided. Only time will tell if such a terrible fate should ever pass through the studio again. (We pray not.)
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8 comments:
Now I know who has been beating up on Max (I love it when mysteries are solved.)
I hopy you made the loser have dust or something.
hopy? Deep sigh...
Please log your hours as Big Time Attic > Internal > Fisticuffs.
Non-billable.
oh, shad's mom. i understand you.
Wow, I think that is the first time anyone has ever said they understand me. Must be that precognition thing. I meant to say "I hope you made the loser dust or something" but I'm so looking forward to the end of this day that I can't deal with the right now. Or this morning, for that matter. HA! Understand THAT, oh fist-i-cuff one!
I don't know if I can work in such a constantly hostile environment
it slowly crushes your soul, but you'll get used to not having one. :P
hey now...
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