O, Signage of Truth and Virtue! Enter into Our Swoledom: Enter into Our Hearts!

[raced_god]

Who: Max, Captain Falcon, you?????
What: Hanging posters. Maybe some other stuff. Maybe whatever you want.
When: Week of April 21st.
Where: Around campus and also the locker rooms I guess.
Warnings: Swolitude. Tiny towels. Man talk.



The posters have sprung up overnight. Tacked to bulletin boards, plastered on lampposts--anywhere that can feasibly hold a flyer, the posters are there. The question, then, is where are they coming from? Who is putting them up?

The answer is perhaps obvious. If one pays attention, it is not difficult to find one Max Powers around campus with a stapler, one Captain Falcon following him with a stack of flyers.

One can only imagine the things that run through his head. I've saved the universe, he thinks to himself. I am the greatest racecar driver that ever lived, he thinks, with every clack of Max's stapler. I own islands.

And yet

And yet, dear reader, there they are.

Comments

[tank_rockarms]

"You'd still fit through doors," said Max. "You ain't got the frame to get door-width. But you'd have problems fittin' into your t-shirts; and that's a fun problem to have."

Max, evidently, has lots of fun.

[raced_god]

"It's a problem I'd rather not have."

Falcon was totally okay with not having to buy new t-shirts all the time.

[tank_rockarms]

Max shook his head.

"I just don't understand 'could be bigger, but doesn't wanna be bigger,'" he admitted. "Just don't make no sense."

Don't make no sense at all.

[raced_god]

"I know you don't," Falcon answered, clapping Max on the shoulder. "But I have other things to think about."

You know, like racing and bounty hunting and being able to outrun people who wanted to kill him and not being a giant, lumbering wall of muscle that tore off his shirts all the time just by flexing and couldn't fit through doors.

Those kinds of things.