Sheesh, this is the last wedding you'll attend where one of the parties was in a frat. Somehow, the groom's prior bad life decisions have become your problem and you're left trying to stop a rival frat's paintball attack on the eastern perimeter.
Your dress shirt tears on a tree as you dive behind cover, trying to think of a way to hit the bastards. You see the maroon sleeve of your Harrier Silhouette T-Shirt. Channeling the spirit of the V/STOL capable attack jet, you scramble up the tree, nail the remaining tangos with paintballs, and decide to spend the rest of the ceremony pulling security. Party sucked anyhow.
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