Three words of joy: Smoked. Gouda. Grits.
If you're not doing anything else for Thanksgiving, and you family's cooking is as bad as mine, slap a sweaty stack of bills into the doorman's hand and belly up to the sneeze guard. Hey, it's cheaper than a lonely dinner that starts with a whiskey course and ends, well, where ever excitement and brown liquor take you.
River City Southern Stereotypes and Sadness Brewing Company
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
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