It is my birthday and I am fucking drunk. The bartender at the Whisky Bar gave me some monstrosity called a Cherry Bomb and I agreed to take it as a shot if he could sweetalk the deejay or "the bar" into either playing or singing (in unison!) the Runaways' version of "Cherry Bomb". The deejay had Joan Jett's first album on vinyl, which seemd
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that is why i don't have white clothes. it is bad for morale, and teh spaghetti eating.
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