Since all my wingmen are treacherous and weighed down by boys, I think tonight I'ma gonna stay home, listen to a fuckload of PJ Harvey, and screw around with some southwestern fusion recipes.
An S.F. club without my posse is pretty much guaranteed to suck.
So instead, while all the chubby gawths are desperately trying to shove their sweat-slick rolls of flesh back into their...
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