not a revenge narrative
Tea pots at 100 paces. First one to let his pinky drop dies*. *Dies a social death, that is.
I imagine humans have a set amount of social lives - 100, maybe? - just like cats and their nine lives, to coast them through their day-to-day embarassments.
I reckon I die a social death every time I leave my house...
I've never seen a cowboy wearing a floral dress, but then again, I haven't spent a lot of time in the American West and I don't own a floral dress. Yet. I do, however, own a pair of cowboy boots and I can ride a horse without falling off, so should I ever decide to take this on as an experiment, I shall write up the results and submit them for your consideration, assuming I survive the experience which, given the amount of testosterone in Texas, is doubtful.
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