It's Sunday morning.
I can say with a degree of certainty that last night's debauchery did not diminish the quality of Sunday morning, which is a surprising result to say the least. The only logical explanation is that the communal hand jazzing prevented the nagging effects of an abundance of ó. It seems that excessive indulgence of ó can be offset by an equal dosage of Jazz Hands. I have yet to confirm this revelation with the five others involved in the óing, but if two-thirds of us show no ill-effects, there is little room for argument otherwise. If two-thirds of the ó crew finds Sunday morning giving them the middle finger right back at them, it stands to reason that their heart wasn't really in the communal hand jazzing and they should think twice next time they half-ass their deployment.
Further investigation is required to properly conclude. Stay tuned.
Today's Jazz Hands has unfinished business. Day ninety-seven complete (sort of).
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