I am a practitioner of the oscult arts.
I was guilty of matriculation when I entered the Jedi Temple.
Vade: and I’ll bet you were a chronic masticater before your… ahem… accident.
And you, sir, are doubtless a flaming, shameless bibliophile.
Your mother was a thespian, who farded in the extreme.
“… who farded in the extreme.”
No, that would be my wife.
Though admittedly more as a teenager than as a mature woman. I’d chalk it up to teenage rebellion, but Naboo is a funny place: They came up with the perfect answer to the problem of teenagers who think they know how to run the world better than their parents.
It reminds me of a time at a game in Cougar Stadium. A friend and I were telling another friend, who didn’t already know, about the dinosaur bones stored under the bleachers. Everything we said was true, but we rolled out our yarn in the fashion of fabulists so as to make our friend believe we were trying to fool him into believing such a silly idea as that there were dinosaur bones stored beneath us. My were very effective liars that day, and he didn’t believe any of the true things we were telling him. Of course, it isn’t called Cougar Stadium anymore, and I have the idea the bones may have been moved elsewhere since then. Maybe the two are related, if the latter is indeed correct. Lavell Edwards didn’t mind coaching umpteen years with dinosaur bones under the seats, but if the place was going to be named for him, the bones had to go.
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