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endlessjoe

Private jazz club party tonight. I ate. I drank. I'm tired. I'm hungry. Even though I just ate again. I wish I had some chocolate.
My breath smells like a hefty bag full of bison assholes right now. This is a full-blown issue that I must deal with post haste.
Half drunk on St. Germain cocktails (my new fav) at work and talking football. Look forward to next year's "Wash & Curl Bowl"! Huzzah!
I've scarcely had a moment to myself for the past 2 weeks or so, yet here I am with the lonely bug. I've been spoiled by constant company.
I am the Prince of the 3 AM visit to a shady Denny's. All hail.
Woken up at 8:30 AM by friends banging on my door to go play in the snow with them. The SNOW. In New Orleans? Surely this is magic!
Googling recipes for shoelace soup and hobo chili while I still have internet access.
My interactions with my bank always leave me in the fetal position, thinking of new and exciting ways to die. Now, THAT'S customer service!
Oh, hey! What's up, insomnia? Oh, not much? Just keeping me up all night? That's cool. But, here's the thing ... it's NOT cool!
I've spent all night and morning throwing up Night Train. I believe this will go down as my first and LAST experience with bum wine.
Any of you ever heard of masking fetish? I was alerted to its existence today. Google it. I'm pretty much guaranteeing you'll be horrified.
I feel like I've been taxidermied ... and then pickled. And possibly deep fried. I guess "bad" would be the cliff note here.
It's one of those McNuggets and Tussin kinda nights, y'all.
I drank the PLANET this weekend. I'm not really hungover ... it's just that my soul feels like a shriveled bell pepper. I need to hibernate.
Thanksgiving shall be spent alone, cooking whatever the hell I want. I can do that. Cause I'm a grownup.
I have the worst headache in the history of heads or aches. I mean, this thing is fucking transcendent. Bed, please heal me.
Funniest thing overheard today: "He peed in a jar to collect a welfare check". About to head to the dome for the Saints game. Who dat?!
Few things are more frustrating in life than stepping on an acorn that doesn't break.
When did EVERY single hip hop artist alive start using that awful vocoder effect? It's even on Kanye West's newest. That shit is ... shit.
Zapp's Cajun Crawtators and boudin for lunch. I don't know who I'm fooling when I pretend I wouldn't miss this stuff
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