feeling uncooperative with the prompts in the meme. between cheech and old pat which one would survive a joint venture into a thrift store? and which of them would you convert into a minor league baseball player if you had a magic wand
God yeah I reblogged that list and then read the questions and was like...this list is wack lol. Anyway THANK YOU these questions are much more important and gets really into the Hearts and Minds of these men.
Who survives a joint venture to the thrift store: Old Pat. It's Old Pat. Man has looked 40 years old since he hit puberty and has just kept growing older. Old man is in his element with the real senior citizens. However it is very important to me to mention that they're going to a bespoke thrift store for like farm and cowboy shit. Cheech could handle normal thrifting. Cheech would be great at normal thrifting. But take him to a store where it's JUST vintage farming equipment and cowboy leather shit and that city boy is going to panic. Old Pat is having a blast looking at pieces of metal that clearly spark joy in his construction worker heart but make NO sense to Cheech, son of academics, WHL overager. Cheech agreed to come to the store to push the cart but now he is manfully deep breathing while Old Pat examines a metal thing with rings. Is it for horses? Is it for wearing? Is it a BDSM thing? Do you put it on a tractor? Cheech is scared. (It is literally just a beval bit.) These stores don't exist in the Bay Area but maybe they do in idk Manitoba or Michigan or whatever. Or Gilroy, where all our dreams come true.
Minor league baseball player: the thing is, we're on Sieloff Watch (KING. ANNOUNCE YOUR RETIREMENT OR SIGN SOMEWHERE BEFORE I THROW UP) and Cheech is having his hot girl summer. So I'm inclined to say Cheech, just bc I think he has a shot in hell of making it OUT of minor league baseball. Also he is handsome like a baseball player. He has the looks for it. Not that you have to be handsome to be a baseball player but it helps. Can you imagine that man in the humid outfield of some nameless town in the San Joaquin Valley, fighting for his life in the game, the top three buttons of his jersey are undone, his curls are wilting, the uhhhh idk Fresno Nightcrawlers, AA for some cursed af West Coast team, are down 9-7 in the 8th, when the skies open up and it starts pouring...the stands, already two-thirds empty on a Tuesday night clear, while the teams run for cover under the downpour. Nick stands in the outfield and tilts his head toward the sky, feeling, for a moment, relief and peace.
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