Damnnnnnnnnn.
So it's over, my birthday is gone. Yesterday, I spent my birthday evening surrounded by the ones I love: Coors Light and pizza. Oh yeah, my friends were there as well. Stark Street pizza and their Winterhawk pizza satisfied my fat cravings, while the (several) large pitchers of Silver Bullet curbed my sense of fullness, allowing me to eat more than I normally would. I swear, I looked like the fat guy in Se7en, without the restraints, or the gun to my head. Shit, some assholes probably wrote "Gluttony" in pizza grease above my head. If they didn't, they should have because I'm a fat bastard.
Anyway, I watched Survivor and laughed at the starving people while I stayed barely conscious in my bloated state. During the course of the evening, someone accidentally smashed my finger in a door jamb. I screamed in pain as my girlfriend, unsympathetically, asked me what my finger was doing there in the first place. She shut the hell up when she saw my finger incomplete with a missing cuticle. Good thing I don't do anything that requires my left pinky finger like, say, WRITING. Every time i type a Q, A, Z, or hit the 'shift' key, it goddamned hurts. Cleaning my left ear has also become an impossibility. Fortunately, last night, there was a cold Coors Light in the back of the fridge (born on date: 1973, I think) to cool my swollen digit. Anyway, Mar's Flamingo, 9ish, 4/21. Be there and act like my you're my friends so I don't look like a total schmuck.
gooch
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