If any of the actions below, describe something that you have done in the past 24 hours or more, you are to be quarantined by order of the Center for Disease Control, Special Unit T-Vice-1992, as these aforementioned acts show manifestations of T-Vice fever. You must avoid all contact with non-infected persons, as T-Vice fever is airborne, and very, very contagious.
You’re driving to class, and all over sudden you hear the sound of a helicopter hovering above. Your first reaction is to pull in the emergency lane, and start doing the helicopter dance.
You wake up in the middle of the night, just because you thought of the perfect music video scenario for the latest
T-Vice single. You quickly jot down the notes. The ideas are coming faster than you can write. Your eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep, but you delightfully act out all the parts first in your room, then in the hallway. Since this is your fantasy, your video treatment, your idea…Of course, you cast yourself as the leading lady/video girl.
You go back in time in your mind sometimes and think of those dreadful days before you became a T-Vice fan, and you wonder to yourself, “How did I ever live?”
You dream endlessly of being Mrs. Martino, although something in the back of your mind tells you that you’re probably missed the boat on that one. But you push the thought out of your mind. Now, back to your fantasy! Which brother? It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. Long as you grab yourself a Martino. You even went to great lengths of trying to figure out how you’re going to get along with MamaVice. You feel it’s a necessity to get on her good side.
But so what if you can’t get one of the bruhs? There are other attractive options. Mrs. Amazan. Mrs. Kebreau. Mrs. Cardozo. Mrs. Viau. Mrs. Duret. They all sound good to you. With so many choices, what’s a girl to do?
You are the self-appointed, executive director of the T-Vice International Fan Club. And you’re also vice president, CFO, CTO, CMO, CIO, and president-for-life.
You have accumulated so many miles from Southwest Airlines, cause you fly wherever the band plays. And when we say wherever, we mean wherever. Bercy, you’re there. Miami, you’re there. Brooklyn, you’re there. Atlanta, you’re there. Guadeloupe, you’re there. Petionville? You’re there pi rèd.
Treatment and Cure
Say what? You don’t want to be treated. You’d rather be sick with that fever? Is that what you’re telling me. Well, have it your way then. Let that fever keep rising to 110 degrees. See if I care.
Special Note: Since the writing of this article, Olivier Duret has left T-Vice to pursue other creative goals.
