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The Wizard


Once, I was in a street fight. The year was 1997 and I'd recused myself from a post-dinner LAN held by my good friend Kornelia in the penthouse suite of the Plano, TX Holiday Inn. The hotel happened to be the site of the 2nd annual Quake Convention, where six hundred and fifty Quake and PC gaming enthusiasts had gathered to celebrate their lust to frag.  But I digress. I had left the LAN in search of a sidecar when a trio of ruffians emerged from a nearby Taco Bell.

"Hey y'all, we got ourselves some sorta' dork over here."

"He's one of those computer freaks," added another.

"Fellas," I responded. "I don't want any trouble. Do any of you know where I could get a decent sidecar?"

And with that, the biggest of the bunch made his first and last mistake. "He ain't even no freak. He and that Carmack are just a buncha losers."

"Now that's rude," I replied.

A moment after his finger touched the glowing neon logo on my chest (a logo set on a midnight blue, 100% ring-spun cotton hanging cooly off of my body) it was broken. His friend's attempt to clobber me with a bag of burritos was thwarted with a quick jab and a sidestep, resulting in a busted nose and a starburst of pinto beans. The last of the three was called to arms by the first. 

"Get the freak!" he yelled. It failed to motivate.

"Screw that, Larry! He ain't no freak! He ain't no loser! He's a motherfuckin' WIZARD!"

The Wizard: Midnight blue 100% cotton in Men's and Women's, screen printed in San Francisco.

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