I Let Some Random Broad And My Mother's Dumb Cat Select My Bracket So I'm Essentially Guaranteed Victory

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Too many years have I anguished through entire seasons of scrutiny followed by countless hours of research into my bracket only to succumb to the bitch who would say “George Mason is so gonna win cause my Mom’s maiden name is Mason and I’m in love with George Clooney’ or “Butler is my team because that Bulldog looks like mine!” (both so, so sad but true stories). Well not anymore, people. Enough is enough and this is the year I give in. Almost all picks are a combination of the woman selecting solely which team’s colors she likes better and which squad’s logo out of the two my mother’s dumb cat would land closer to after I kick it across the room. Guaranteed victory.

I win a billion Buffet dollars* you can mark my words this little shit is living more luxurious than you ever will.

*Broad will obviously be immediately dumped. Greener pastures await.