So yeah. Remember in high school when you tried out for the drill team, and you had to wait until the next day to find out if you'd made it, and you couldn't sleep, and your stomach was so much in knots that you wrote bad high-school-girl poetry about it? (Theoretically speaking, should that totally hypothetical scenario have taken place, the title of the poem would have been "A List, Posted at 10." Shudder.)

Yeah. That's what this is like, only, you know, worse. I'm 40 years too old for this shit.

So let us breathe deeply while regarding this amusing I Can Has Cheezburger picture.



Thank you. That is all.