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[26 Apr 2010|12:50am]
I decided that I was going to go on this social kick for April. 5 days a week, minimum, I'd do something social apart from my normal stuff. Go out alone. Hang with different groups of friends. Accept invites from people I didn't fully trust. Take trips to see old friends. Get the eff out of my comfort zone!

The goal of all of this was to try to get myself into a better mood. I've been known to hermit it up and stay home far too much, and consequently get depressed and lame. So I realized that I needed to make a valid effort to meet new people. Do new things. Again: get the eff out of my comfort zone.

And the results? Kind of failed.

I've spent way more money than normal. Haven't really met anyone new. (But I have discovered some people I thought were just basic friends were actually pretty damn good people.) I've made some pretty terrible choices. (oh, hi Sherriff. No. I haven't been drinking, thanks for pulling me over to check though.) Been hurt by some people I didn't expect it from. (you know who you are, ps: suck it) I've drank WAY too much. (oh shit, I'm gonna pee on this random object that doesn't belong to me.) And really, what results have I seen?

I dunno. I don't feel much different than I did a few weeks ago. If anything I'm a little more jaded than before. Maybe jaded isn't the right word. One of my fave sayings has always been "The grass is always greener on the other side, but it doesn't fucking matter because its still just goddamned grass". And maybe this has been an insight into how much that saying is completely true. Most of the people I see out night after night are just like me. They're searching for something. Maybe something that'll make them happy. Maybe something that'll make them complete. Maybe just something that'll make them forget their past for a few hours.

Maybe its time for bigger changes.
1 will walk the earth| when there is
no more room
in hell

[13 Apr 2010|01:20am]
Heellllooooooo LIVEJOURNAL!!!!!

Does anyone actually read this anymore? I know I only pop on once or twice a week to see if anything is new. When did 5 paragraph long entries get replaced with 130 character facebook updates? I'm not sure if I like these turn of events, but I know that I am just as much to blame as anyone else.

I miss you LJ. I miss those days.
4 will walk the earth| when there is
no more room
in hell

[01 Mar 2010|01:55am]
OK. Ladies. Here is a request. Either A. say "hi, boy. I like you, and want to be in a relationship with you." or B. "Hey, I like how you make me feel in bed, and I just want to bang you." BECAUSE HONESTY IS FUCKING IMPORTANT. Sorry about it.

Because that way when a random ex-stripper with great boobs wants to make out you'll be able to say "no, I have a lady, and she likes me." or "yes, let me see your great boobs". instead of being unable to make either choice. GODDAMNIT. FUCK RELATIONSHIPS.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[31 Jan 2010|03:08am]
Sometimes I get drunk and lonely and sign up for personals websites. I just got a message through one that said "ur profile made me laugh. what u like do?" Seriously?? SERIOUSLY? Is that a caveman? Looking for love via the internet by sending messages that say "what u like do?". God help us all, I will probably respond because I am just that lonely and desperate.
2 will walk the earth| when there is
no more room
in hell

[09 Jan 2010|03:14am]
I'm over strip clubs.

Sure, there's a base, drunken, lonely desperate side of me that will always want to go to one. But once I get inside I'm always feeling the same way: bored. I know that these girls are there to make money. They don't want to give me a private dance to get to know me better. They know it's 20 bucks for 5 minutes of work.

I'm always really interested in the clientele. Who the fuck are these people? Why does that dude have a random patch of hair growing out of the side of his face? Who is that random single girl at the bar? Why do all of these dudes wear their hats backwards? I love that kind of shit. Dissecting strangers in my brain. Breaking them up into social groups based on their dress and behaviors.

I also like knowing people that work at these places. I much prefer talking to the manager or the bouncer than I do watching some girl making her ass jiggle on stage for a few dollar bills. Maybe I'll learn something from them, which won't happen watching someones cheeks shake.

I've always felt awkward in strip clubs. Which might be weird considering all of the strippers and assorted club workers I've known in the last 12 years. I've held their hands as they got their nipples pierced, and picked out their best pic to advertise things, and sold their kids comics, and listened to stories of creepy pervos, and god knows what else. I should be acclimated and used to seeing naked girls dancing on a stage. But nope. Doesn't ever happen. Sure, I know they're naked for a reason, but I still feel like I'm a creep for looking at their giners, regardless of whether I'm throwing dollar bills at them or not. Maybe its because I'm not their target demographic. Sure, I might be lonely, desperate, and sad. But I know I can't buy my way into someones vagina.
1 will walk the earth| when there is
no more room
in hell

[05 Nov 2009|07:45am]
My mom wasn't able to breathe last night. It got to the point that even the oxygen machine she has to wear at night wasn't helping. So we call the paramedics, and they decide to take her in.

My mom is in getting an xray and being examined. I'm sitting in St. Charles' ER waiting room. The chair next to me has a copy of Good Housekeeping sitting on it, the cover has a bunch of gingerbread men. Someone has drawn penises on them in ballpoint pen. The television is playing South Park, where Cartman just sang "And I just want to feel you deep inside me, Jesus." And I just got a text message about going to a strip club.

Am I hallucinating? Am I dreaming? The bottles of hand sanitizer and stacks of complimentary face masks that are stacked up on the table bring it back to reality.

Have I mentioned that the last month has been shit? Well it has.
when there is
no more room
in hell

fml [24 Oct 2009|02:50am]
Jon and I go to see a friend bartending at a weird bar in the shilo inn. Meet a girl there. Talk to her. Things are going good. She's laughing. She says she likes my glasses and the way I'm dressed. Good signs, right?

So eventually we decide to leave, and I tell her we're taking off. She asks if she can come with me. Of course. Lets go!

We get in the car and she says "So, you guys are gay right?" Jon & me. No. We're not. We laugh, this is hilarious to me. HI-FUCKING-LARIOUS.

We get the blackhorse. Get a drink. She says: "I'm gonna go pee. You're really not gay?"
Nope. I'm not gay.
"oh, ok. I'll be right back."

Aaaannnnnd she didn't come back. At all.
And she didn't talk to me the rest of the night. Instead I watched her drunkenly hit on at least 3 other dudes, before finally seeing her make out with an old man with a handlebar mustache.

Really? REALLY? You wanna get drunk and make out with a stranger? And its that guy? Really?

I'm not cuter than that? I'm not better than some old fucking wannabe biker dude?

I should have had taken Courtney up on her offer to beat her up.

Fuck my life. Sara had the right idea.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[13 Oct 2009|10:27pm]
Fed-Ex Sucks. They have NEVER been able to deliver a package promptly to my house. EVER. Every single time they either deliver to my neighbors, or call for directions, or reroute the package. I recently had two packages ship out on the same day from two different retailers. The fedex got delivered today, and it shipped from Nevada. The postal service package got delivered last week, and it shipped from FUCKING JAPAN. Seriously fedex? My nerd shit had to travel seven THOUSAND miles, AND had to get inspected by customs and they still delivered faster than it took you to deliver from a neighboring state. Suck it.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[12 Oct 2009|12:21am]
Customer asks for a supervisor today:

"I bought my cellphone 5 months ago, and now I dont like it. You should give me a new free one now because this one is old."
I tell her I can check on an upgrade, but it won't be free. Her exact response:

Because new cellphones and rape go hand in hand.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[17 Sep 2009|08:35pm]
In 12 hours we're flying to Vegas. This means that in 11 hours the drinking will begin.

So I'd like to offer an early apology for any drunken, misspelled, accusatory, or offensive bulletins, blogs, comments, status updates, tweets, twitpics, text messages or picture message that may or may not occur over the next 3 days on any of the assorted social networking websites I am affiliated with.

haHAAA I am just kidding. I won't actually be sorry for anything I do.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[22 Aug 2009|02:09pm]
After an epic search, involving 3 months, 5 cities, 9 liquor stores, and 2 states, I've finally found a bottle of Crystal Head Vodka. And it pretty much tastes like HRD. Lame. But the bottle is AWESOME at least.
1 will walk the earth| when there is
no more room
in hell

[07 Aug 2009|12:50pm]
I'm gonna vent for a bit.

I DESPISE INDIAN SHIRTS. By this I mean native american shit that is printed on t-shirts. Do you know what I mean?

You know those shirts that have wolves on them? Howling at the moon? Or an Indian spirit riding a horse with a dream-catcher in the background? Or just a dream-catcher? Or a spirit bear? Or a proud maiden surrounded by deer? Or an owl flying in front of the moon? Or anything with an eagle? Or a fucking indian spear with feathers on it? Or a goddamned buffalo skull?

Yeah, those. You know what I'm talking about, right?


They're not cool. They're not hip. They're not indie. They're not alt. They're not funny. They're not ironic. They're not post-ironic. They're not acceptable.

They're always worn by privileged white hipster kids trying to look cool by not looking cool. The norm of non-conforming. Way to be part of a terrible trend. I hope that you feel appropriately accepted by your hipster friends. Nothing is more awesome than looking like you have zero taste and live on an Indian reservation where other privleged white people sent your ancestors to live. Good job. Maybe you should add some shutter shades to your fashion ensemble.

They are tacky. And terrible. Let me restate: THEY. ARE. FUCKING. TERRIBLE. And you should NOT wear them. 5 years from now when you're hopefully a real adult you'll look back on those clothes and want to travel back in time so you can slap yourself in the face, tear those clothes off, light them on fucking fire, and piss on the ashes.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[16 Jul 2009|12:51am]
Its always an eye opener when you admire someone from afar. You tend to invent little stories in your head about what they're like because of the cute hoodie they're wearing, or how snazzy their glasses are, or who they pal around with.

And then you get a chance to meet them and they're terrible. Not just lame. Not just irritating, but fucking terrible.

You'd think I'm old enough to know better than to judge a book by its cover, or a girl by her boobs.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[09 Jul 2009|12:07pm]
The ipod story has another deeper meaning I'll spell out for those of you who didn't get it:

Just because you've made yourself pretty on the outside doesn't mean you're no longer full of shit on the inside.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[09 Jul 2009|12:04pm]
My previous ipod was purchased "used". This meant that it came with about 40 gigs of music and videos added by the former owner. And that former owner liked hip hop. And big-titty-milf-porn.

I don't really like hip hop, or big-titty-milf-porn, so I never bothered really going through the music library on it. It had enough room to hold all of my music and good porn, along with his crap. So I simply backed everything up to my laptop, and trudged along.

Monday night last week I spilled water on it, and apparently Ipods are not water proof. It shut off, and wouldn't turn on again. In fact when I'd press a button it'd attempt to turn on, and then make a sad little noise that sounded like a dying kitten. When your ipod makes that noise it's time for a new one. Luckily Apple had a good deal on refurbed 160 gigs, and mine arrived last week. (side note, Apply ships crazy fast. Ordered at 1:07am tuesday, delivered at 1:40pm Thursday. They must know how rabid ipod owners are.) Getting the new one was an excuse to start going through my music library to clear up any duplicate songs and ensure that all the artists were under the same spelling and the like.

This was a huge realization to me, as I really never really understood just how SHITTY the previous owners tastes were. There's almost a gig worth of Insane Clown Posse songs. 12.3 fucking hours of ICP. No really. Twelve point three fucking hours. Of ICP.

Jesus effing christ. I feel dirty even having it on my computer.

But you know what? I cannot bring myself to delete it. I have a shitton of room to add more good music. I don't need the space. It brings up a weird electronic packrat argument. Just because you have the room, do you really need to keep something that you'll never ever listen to? Being a physical packrat is one thing, because physical tangible things will pile up and pile up until you're the crazy hoarder with piles of urine soaked newspapers. But is being an electronic packrat better? Will the data eventually pile up until it's impossible to sift through?

I guess we'll find out in the years to come.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[04 Jul 2009|12:55am]
Reasons why I should move from Bend:

I will never wear flip flops.
I will never attend a pet parade.
I will never float the river.
I will never shred the gnar at bachelor.
I will never drink a pabst on the west side.
I will never own a cruiser bike.
I have never eaten at the taco stand.
I could give a fuck when the Jubleale becomes available each Christmas.
I dont get excited when shitty local bands play at shitty local bars.
when there is
no more room
in hell

[29 Jun 2009|11:04pm]
You know how sometimes you get kicked in the balls, and it causes so much pain that it makes your stomach hurt to the point you feel like you're going to vomit all over the place, and getting stabbed would actually be a relief?

I ate at Panda Express tonight, and that is exactly how my stomach feels right now.

So yeah, dont eat at Panda Express.
when there is
no more room
in hell

Day Tres [21 Jun 2009|09:00pm]
Important lesson: spending 14 hours doing nothing but drinking, walking to liquor stores, and gambling is fun. But adding food to the mix will help alleviate potential hangovers early on.

Oh yeah, I am hung-fucking-over. Breakfast consists of a single serving bag of cheezits left over from the airline, 3 aleve, 2 sinutab, 1 asprin, and a giant glass of water. I decide to hold off on additional food because we've decided to use my free buffet tickets tonight. AKA: gonna destroy the buffet later.

I start gambling and drop 160 bucks on Pai Gow and Craps in less than 45 minutes. I'm also not drinking. Coincidence? I put my name on a list for some no-limit texas.

I think I'm playing craps with a retard. That's rude of me. Mentally handicapped? Special? Whatever. He's eating a milkshake and throwing dice at the same time. He does both very, very slowly. Occasionally he spaces out and stares at the field endlessly until one of the casino staff says his name. An old woman just walked up and he turned and stared at her belly for 30 seconds. Her belly is where her tits are hanging because she is 80 and isn't wearing a bra. This is when the intercom announces my place at the no-limit poker table is available. Thank god.

I drop 40 at poker. I ponder if I should start drinking when Jon and Becki text me to say they're ready to buffet it up.

I've been reading a lot of Anthony Bourdain, and I try to ignore the horror stories he's written about poor food handling practices and grossness that you find at buffets. I try to ignore the fact that buffets are always at the bottom of the health departments clean lists. There are hand sanitizers everywhere, so its gotta be healthy!! Right?

Mmmmm terriyaki meatballs. I'm pretty sure that there is nowhere in Asia where terriyaki meatballs are an actual dish, but they are goddamned delicious.

Becki informs us over dinner that the ladies room not only has sanitary napkins, but Depends adult diapers available. I cannot decide if this is sad or awesome. Perhaps a little of both because I think about how adult diapers could increase the amount of time spent gambling instead of wandering the maze in search of a bathroom.

Why do people get so angry when they lose? Its called "gambling" & not "being given free money by strangers" for a reason. You're an adult. Having a hissy fit, cursing, and stomping your feet in public is embarrassing, you should stop before you get stabbed. Hunter S. Thompson said it best: "learn to enjoy losing".

I'm playing poker again, and its heads up between me and this black dude with a mohawk. Another black guy at the table starts cackling at us. "Oooh shit! Its the bro-hawk versus the faux-hawk!" I think I might have just gotten served.

There's an asian guy playing who was pulling chips off the table and out of play. I'm not going to go into the reasoning of how this is unfair in a no limit game, but I will summarize by saying this: its fucked and is akin to cheating. He gets caught and admits what he was doing, but is allowed to keep playing after he pulls the chips from his pocket. I'm a little shocked by this. At jons house he'd be shot at, stabbed, or possibly branded a cheater. Ha, I kid, I kid. No ones been branded yet.

Poker treats me well, and I manage to win back the 200 I'd hemmoraged earlier, plus an additional 50, so its time to retire. Also the terriyaki meatballs are asking to meet my old friend the toilet.

I just saw an 80 year old woman smoking a cigar. She then started coughing and spit something on the ground. ON THE GROUND. Despite the multitude of hand sanitizing machines I suspect this place is not very clean.
when there is
no more room
in hell

Day the Second [20 Jun 2009|03:22am]
Its noon, I awaken and need food. The 24 hour restaurants in casinos are always a gamble. The key is to look at the surroundings and go from there. Do you see that the waitstaff, bussers, and cooks are all Hispanic? You would think that the pork carnitas would be a safe and delicious choice for a decent meal. And you would be wrong, as it was actually crap.

It's 12:15. Hello complimentary screwdriver.

Lately I've been on a hunt to find Crystal Head Vodka. Dan Akroyd endorses it and it comes inside a bottle shaped like a skull. Dan Fucking Akroyd. You know that a ghostbuster drinks good vodka. Also Jon informs me that its filtered through "herkazoid diamonds". Fuck yes. One of the bars has a bottle, and the night before a bartender informed us that they sell it at a local liquor store.

We step outside our casino and can see the liquor store. I'm not sure if its the desire to purchase vodka in a skull shaped bottle, or the vodka in my stomach, or the giant liquor store sign, but the store looks really close. Jon and I decide to walk there. Poor decision. Its like a mile away. And I'm fat and lazy. And they were sold out of the Crystal Skull. Fuckballs. I need another drink, luckily there is another casino close that will give me a free one.

The bible in Jons room is awesome.
Exhibit A: the back two blank pages have a handwritten letter from a woman named Monica saying how she's leaving her husband Robert. It has "to the left, to the left" written in big letters with a lipstick kiss next to them, and it ends with "ps: dont kill yourself. pps: lose some weight. ppps: be nice to your friends". Classy
Exhibit B: the front of the bible has a picture of an crematory urn, and someone has written "your mom is in here" on it.

Poker here is easy money. Or I'm an amazing poker player. Or I'm drunk and overly confident and pushing people around. I'm up a hundo on a 2-5 no limit game after about an hour and 4 screwdrivers. I hate it when strangers know my name. But apparently thats common procedure here because all of the dealers know my name even though I've only told it to one person. Fuck that shit.

Meet up with Becki and Jon to start the heavy drinking. Jon waits in a giant line to try to win a Lexus. I know there's no way I'll win a new car, and I am fat and lazy and don't want to stand in line, also the elderly unattractive migrant cocktail waitresses won't give us free booze for standing in line, so Becki and I sit at a slot machine. I hate slot machines. That dingdingdingdingding noise makes me want to shoot things. But as much as I hate video poker and slot machines, I tend to get lucky with them. I get on a 15 minute streak where my slot machine essentially plays itself and continually dings up bonus plays and I watch it while praying that the waitress brings me the fucking drink so I can cash out and go find a craps table.

Come line. Six on the six. Hard 8. Niner giner. Craps is awesome. Professional casino staff will not care if you constantly bet on niner giners or occasionally slur your words a little. Good god where is that cocktail waitress?? Does she not know my cup is half empty and I require constant beverage intake to maintain my winning streak??

I have had a perfect moment: I'm winning money at craps, staring at a gorgeous Indian girl playing roulette across the pit, drinking a free screwdriver, and listening to an all girl band sing Journey covers.

I momentarily lose track of where we are. The neon and mirrors and screwdrivers and slot machine mazes and dingdingdingding and identical hand sanitizer machines make everything look and sound exactly the same. Thank god the poker chips have the casino name written on them because we've swtiched casinos and I don't remember riding the stinky buses anywhere.

We wander up some stairs and across a catwalk and down some stairs and past the smell of vomit to the Golden Nugget and see the 1st attractive cocktail waitresses of the entire trip. They're young! And cute! And have russian accents! Or maybe I'm hammered and horny. At any rate, they bring me drinks that are really strong compared to the last 4 casinos. Unfortunately its really bright inside. Its like they're trying to make it look classy or make me forget that its 2am.

Holy fuck, Its 2am, and I realize that I haven't eaten anything but ice since noon, and I haven't drank anything but orange juice and vodka. 14 hours of drinking, and I'm also up almost four hundred dollars. Coincidence?

Two dudes just offered their suite to us to stay in. You know what you should never do? Accept a free suite from two strange dudes in a casino at 3:00 in the morning. Unless you like having naked pictures of you being posted on the internet or being gang-banged by two strange dudes from Salt Lake City. No thank you good sirs.

Holy god, these pillows are huge.
when there is
no more room
in hell

Day One [17 Jun 2009|01:55am]
Wendover NV. Yeah, I'd never heard of it either. It's a small town on the Utah/Nevada border. That has 5 casinos, and super cheap flights out of Redmond. Jon & Becki and I had been talking about taking one of these trips for awhile, and finally decided to do it as Loretta Lynn was playing one night.

I decided to blog events as they happened., and they're all gonna be snapshots because I decided to use my G1 to write down events as they were happening. I cleaned up most of the spelling or typing errors. Its hard to type while holding a drink and gambling at the same time.
We get to the Redmond airport, which is apparently under constant construction. Check in goes smoothly, as I've remembered to remove all of the bullets from my pockets, unlike the last trip to Nevada.

The departure area for our flight looks like a waiting room for an old folks home, or maybe the factory where they make soylent green. I see bedazzled pants, bedazzled shirts, bedazzled jackets, bedazzled purses, and bedazzled shoes. Big permed hair. Canes. Oxygen tanks. A mullet. Matching pantsuits. Sexy.

The walk to the plane is ridiculous. We walk 100 yards one way, then do a U turn and walk 200 yards the other way. Walking through the same ghettoass plywood corridor that was here the last time I flew in September. The average age on the flight is 76, and I'd be willing to bet that Becki is the youngest person on the plane, followed by me.

The stewardess just said "for any of you who BYOB, and I don't mean bikinis hee hee, please stow them for the duration of the flight." WHAT?? I could have brought booze with me? Where the fuck is that on the TSA website???

They play games on the flight. I win two free meals at the buffet. One of the games involves the passengers writing their seat number on a dollar and then putting it into a trashbag. The head steward collects the money and then says "you know why I love America? Because a black man can ask people to put money in a bag and they just do it! Haw haw haw". Later he tells a joke about a bank robber shooting people in the head.

The flight ends, and the airport is decorated with bombs and piles of dirt. Awesome. The waiting area has a no-touch machine that dispenses hand sanitizer. I am awed by its futuristic sanitary magic.

And now we're on a bus to take us to the hotel. It smells like pee and is filthy. So filthy I'm able to write "pee?" in the dirt that coats the floor.

News flash: apparently the pee smell was the old man with the eyepatch who was sitting in front of us, and who is now standing next to me in the elevator. I need a drink. Badly.

The Rainbow is surprisingly nice. I thought it would be ghetto, but the room is nice. The bed is comfy, the pillows are soft, and it has wall to wall mirrors so I can pick up a cougar and watch myself fuck her. Claaaasssy.

Our hotel welcome packets have things like coupons for a free drink, or 5 bucks off food, or 20% off the gift shop. It also has a little note reminding guests to keep extra medication on them for medical emergencies. Its obvious they cater to the elderly, and also obvious that they'd rather keep them on the casino floor instead of in their hotel rooms.

Jon and Beckis room is much the same except for the gigantic black in room jacuzzi. Oh, and the mirrors on their walls extend to cover a second wall and the ceiling above the jacuzzi. I'm hoping the stains on the ceiling mirror are water from the jacuzzi and not semen.

Luckily the hand sanitizer machines are everywhere.

We walk far too much for being on vacation. I want to be a fat lazy American and take shuttle buses between the casinos. Instead we walk a lot the first day between the casinos and the concert hall. There's a surprising amount of astroturf on the casino grounds.

We go to see Loretta Lynn and again are the youngest people there as the median age is now approximately 86. Again there are hand sanitizers everywhere in the concert hall. Also 8 dollar screwdrivers. Weak 8 dollar screwdrivers dispensed from a machine and served in a tiny plastic cup. Horsecrap.

Loretta Lynn was glorious. She might be like 96, but she put on a damn good show. Her dress was sparkly and awesome and probably inspired half the audience to bedazzle some more shit. She should sell bedazzlers at her merch booth along with her autographed gospel cd's.

Also her granddaughter came on stage, and was wearing a dress that made it look like she had a dick she was tucking back. I thought I was crazy but Jon saw it too. Yeah, the moral is that we sometimes look at girls crotches. Sorry ladies.

Ed Hardy shit is lame. I'm sorry, but I hate most of it. If you're wearing some Ed Hardy shit with some bedazzles then you're probably a fucking douche. And if I ever wear any Ed Hardy shit you have my permission to punch me in the groin. Obviously you see a lot of Ed Hardy shit on dbags from Salt Lake City who are gambling in Wendover. And it makes me angry for some reason.

Oh no, I've progressed to angry drunk stage.

Side note: If you're 80 and wearing Ed Hardy shit to a Loretta Lynn concert you're actually pretty cool. This is because you're trying so hard to be young that you progress past ridiculous and into so-ridiculous-youre-cool. Go, old man, go. I hope that sparkly Ed Hardy shit hat gets you laid and that the viagra kicks in so you can actually perform.

*The next few entries from the rest of the night are pretty much garbled gibberish. I believe I might have been drunk at the time. They mention something about how much I hate slot machines, how the water here sucks, the showerhead is a lowflo crap design, and how I need to get laid.
when there is
no more room
in hell

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