Last night the D.J. tried to kill me with a song

I told Mitch that if they wanted me to leave they should tell me , as i’m not the type of person who is unaware of the fact that i am occasionally a hot shitty mess. Hew swore this was not the case, that ferocious fuck-up that i am , i was loved by all.
“How do you then explain this 20 minute Whitney Houston mega-mix that Kabrina’s playing.I have no choice but to consider this auditory assault a very specific attempt on my life.”Mitch’s only response is a hearty laugh as he goes off to pour another Jaeger , for yet another bleary happy hour fag.
Surrounded by ninja moles , Whitney Houston , and coked up day drinkers I weighed my options.My resources were few a sketch book , a feather razor (hair dressers best friend), some makeup ,my position precarious as dusk approached&the day drinkers drift off like dazed zombies, the far more dangerous creatures of the night assumed their positions for the upcoming evenings possible debaucheries.Queers to the left of me and junkies to the right….

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