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Out for a pint at the Oak last night with Monster. The Oak is so reliable: it’s always the same passel of losers, in various permutations. Last night, the “creepy old man” quotient was particularly high – one crazy freak came up to my table to tell me he could see my aura. (Cheeky. My shirt wasn’t cut that low.) I also got to witness the mating attempts of a pair of trailer park denizens. The male specimen performed his grunting overture of love, and the female responded by brandishing photos of her offspring. I’m not sure how the coupling progressed after that, but I do know that nothing says “sex me up NOW, you randy bronco” like snaps of drooling toddlers. Best of luck to them in their attempts to further soil the gene pool.

This weekend I’m going to attempt to get a head start on my goddamn fucking Christmas shopping. Stay tuned for ranting and whining, bitching a-plenty, and a tangent in a pear tree.

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