After many long, hard years of perfecting the legendary hairstyle with gallons of gel, consecutively tanning to reach expected standards, pumping iron until each chisel of every muscle visibly shows through your one-size-too-small-for-your-now-jacked-body ghinny tee, and, obviously, mastering the infamous fist pump so that each pump is in sync with the rhythm of the beats blasting through the walls of Sound Factory, you start to realize that you’re 28 years old and you’ve reached, exceeded and then over-exceeded any expectations that were put in front of you that day in high school when you decided to take on such an exuberating challenge and now you have nothing more to live for since you’ve devoted so much blood, sweat and tears into perfecting your distinguished way of life, so you opt for that other way of life that everyone else in the world has decided to choose.
Guido: Yo bro, im feelin good tonite bro. We gota juice up nice n get ta da club. Me n you, bro, wea gona bang mad bitches at the club, u kno wa im sayin?
Recovering Guido: I’m sorry, Tony. I can’t. I’ve been guido-free for 10 months now and my guidos anonymous leader says I’m doing real good. Sometimes I get the urge to buy more hair gel, but that’s not what’s affecting me the most. It’s when the beats start playing in my head over and over and all I want to do is pump my fucking fist so hard in the air. It’s so hard Tony. I’m learning to take deep breaths and breathe though, this normal way of life isn’t that bad after all. You should try it too.
Guido: Wack, bro.
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