LogFAQs > #930763502

D) The exotic pet and muffler discount center.

As you take the clothes the wardrobe manager gave you behind the changing curtain, you ask him, "Is there anything I need to know about Florida?"
"Have you ever been?" he calls back.
You remove then carefully fold your crotchless pants and reply, "No, never been."
"Alright, I'll teach you a few things that'll help you blend in a little."
"Mmhmm. Okay," you say half listening, holding up the pair of dark jeans in front of you. You search around your immediate area for a pair of scissors.
"If you're ever in a bad situation, say the phrase, 'Well ain't that just a gator in the garage'. That should diffuse the situation while letting them know you're one of them," he instructs.
"Gator in the garage? That's just an expression, right?" you perk up, concerned.
"Yes and no. It's mainly used as an expression, but it's also used when there's an alligator in the garage. And when there's an alligator in your garage, well ain't that just a gator in the garage," he says sternly before you hear him spitting on the floor.
You raise an eyebrow. "Do I have to spit when I say it?"
"You absolutely gotta spit," he confirms.
"You got any scissors back here?" you return to the task at hand.
"Do not cut out the crotch of those jeans, Sam," the wardrobe manager grumbles. "Florida's bad, but it's not there yet."
"Oh... alright," you mutter dejected.

"Now, for the opposite effect, you'll wanna say, 'Well ain't that just a brawl at Checkers.'"
"A brawl. That's a good thing?" you wonder aloud, sliding your legs into their denim prison.
"Yes."
"And Checkers is?"
"It's a fast food restaurant," he informs you.
"How... how is any of that good?"
The wardrobe manager breaks down the benefits. "Floridians love people brawling at Checkers. The customers get a free show, the employees get a short break, and the people who are fighting one another often become lifelong friends after the loser wakes up from being knocked out. Fact! At eight percent of weddings in Florida, the groom met his best man while punching him over some chicken strips. Of those eight percent, thirteen percent actually held their weddings at the very same Checkers. And at one hundred percent of those weddings, the groom and best man got into another brawl inside Checkers, effectively ending their friendship."
"Huh," you make note of the statistics that have been laid out before you. "Is the food really good enough to brawl over?"
"No," the man curtly dismisses the notion that anything in Florida is good. "Now in the case that those two phrases don't work, there is a fail safe. Just put your hands on your hips, look down and softly say, 'Hope your grandpa's okay.'"
You slide the tanktop on. "Oh, that's kinda wholesome," you respond as you walk back out from behind the curtain. "I was expecting something gross and weird."
The wardrobe manager claps you on the shoulder happily. "Well get ready, because we've reached the last chapter of our lesson."
"Oh no," you try to mentally prepare for the worst.
The wardrobe manager strides over to his leather chair and lounges into it, relishing in the fact that he's about to tell you something disturbing. "Don't cut yourself while you're down there."
"Wh-what?" you ask confused.
"You heard me."
"Well, I'm pretty stressed about the Hell thing but I don't think I'm at that point yet," you tell him.
"Not just that," he warns. "Don't bleed - at all."
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.