INT. CAFE EXPRESS – NIGHT
The Misfits are having their monthly business meeting.
President: “So now we need to elect a run captain for GLUE Weekend. This person will be responsible for overseeing the various committees and–”
Everyone Else: “THOMAS.”
President: “Okay, we’ve got a nomination. Does anyone second the–”
Everyone Else: “SECOND.”
President: “All in f–”
Everyone Else: “AYE.”
The Misfits pivot as one to bask in the radiant authority of the chosen sacrifice. In the distance, a wolf howls.
Looks like it’s time to up the psych meds and I guess buy a planner or something. Pray for me.
PS: I am deadly serious about the fucking tiara.