My esteemed colleague and his missus are running an insane outdoor survivalism-cum-obstacle course again. I have ordered him to sidle right up to the hundreds of straight guys in the vicinity and chat them the fuck up. The missus will probably just talk to the girls, he says. It’s “easier.”

Which is gayer – crying in public, sketching in public, or talking only to the tiny number of girls at an event overrun by gregarious shirtless guys at their peak of fitness?

Huh? Which?

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None. I quit.

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