In a series of events that would make Jim Halpert proud, two Manhattan offices that have windows facing each other have been embroiled in war.
Their soldiers? Those old bozo dolls. Remember those? You hit them and they come back up? You’d bet the dumb kid in your class five dollars that he couldn’t knock it down to stay and he’d take that bet and keep hitting and hitting until he was crying with equal parts frustration and exhaustion? Those bozos?
In any case, it’s a good ole’ fashioned bozo war. And if a dozen clowns staring at you from a window isn’t the stuff of nightmare fuel, I don’t know what is.
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