Imagine the bathroom at Comicon, after three days of servicing doughy, frantic men wearing latex costumes and fed nothing but pizza and chicken fingers and burritos. Inside I found a Ghostbuster and a fat Wolverine leaning against a stall door, listening to their friend who sat inside. Eight more seconds, said the Ghostbuster, and I win. Wolverine cracked his knuckles and chided, Pride before the fall, bub. For some reason I asked them, What are you guys doing? They sized me up. Winning a bet, the Ghostbuster sneered. From inside the stall a voice called out, No, you’re not.
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