Cunard has memed me again. He can’t resist, for some reason. He’s like the guy who’s still giving his little brother noogies on the poor guy’s wedding day. (Or, in this case, his much older brother.)
Normally, I would think of England and play along, but this one seems to be a simply spectacular opportunity to over-share personal details that don’t paint me in a particularly flattering or interesting light. And since there’s already ample evidence on this blog of how dorky and boring I am, I think I’ll plead the Fifth this time around.
So, well-played, Edmund, but you’ll have to get up earlier in the morning to trick me into this degree of disclosure. Three days in an unventilated tent passing out free pencils have left me extremely guarded.