Between Brent being in town and the travesty that was the Michael Phelps Visa ad, the Olympic drinking game triggered a call from my bank's fraud protection team to verify our bar charges.
How can you drink that shit?! Yuck. Now I want a shot of Sambuca. I didn't plan on stopping at the bar on the way home, but fucking Robert fucking Muffrazor fucked that all up.
How do we forget ourselves? How do we forget our minds?
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