Last night went to Cunty Pie's for dinner, the cheese content of which was such that need to have bran flakes washed down with Benefiber for breakfast. That is if the idea of putting anything else in my stomach didn't make me feel queasy.
There was also some ritualistic burning involving a chiminea, other people's failed relationships, and a fire extinguisher. Yours truly, the least sentimental person alive, was merely a bystander.
Had some other clever things to write, but now they're gone.
Hope you have a nice weekend.
2 comments:
What!? That places is really called "Cunty Pie's"? Seriously?
Silly rabbit.
My girlfriend's name is Cunty Pie. So, yes, really, her house is Cunty Pie's.
Jealous, aren't you?
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