Friday found me across the street from the hotel, having some brunch before confronting the intimidating line for registration. It was only along one side of the building so far, not wrapped around the corner and up past the driveway as it would be by Saturday afternoon. The cafe was full of signs for a business convention, something for the home
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*smacks forehead* You've gotta love that kind of thinking.
Cazart!
That's a new one on me. Where's it from?
"each another's audience outside the gilded cage"...ha, we'll see if that stays when this gets published. Lyrics rights are a bitch.
I think you're generally okay if it's just one line, but not certain.
...who'd later display a distressing habit of playing tinny music from his codpiece right in people's faces.
Should I ask why their faces were next to his codpiece in the first place?
went with something between a hug and a tackle.
I believe the technical term for that is "glomp."
and my Maclachlan-tartan kilt and white shirt were the only clothes out there that weren't black.
But hey, at least you weren't looking "normal"!
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Hunter S. Thompson, the guy whose spirit JC here is trying to channel. Apparently, it translates as "holy shit, I should have known!"
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