I almost got into a fight with a pseudo French poet named Jacques, when I went out for pizza last night. Seriously.
Apparently listening to a thirty-year-old doucebag with a faux-hawk, read poetry that sounds like it was plagiarized from a heartbroken school girl, seems to anger up my blood. For an encore I think I'm going to see if I can get a mime or maybe one of those Shriner clowns to take a swing at me.
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