Baby, it Ain’t Paris

Remind me, why in the hoarhound did I book this vacation?!? First, I was separated from my Mary, and she had all the nips in her purse. So I made sure to tell the concierge that I absolutely cannot make it through a day without a gin and tonic or three. He nodded so sympathetically and then what do you think? If you said “began slicing the limes,” you would be wrong! I can tell you I caused quite a flap, so they put me in a room for hardcore deniers. Spending a day alone in stir with Billy Joel was not on my bucket list, thank you very much. Thank heaven for George Michael, that dirty old queen. His face may be tighter than his ass, but he passed me notes on rolling papers to pass the time.

I bet Licketysplit is having all the fun, making sock monkeys with Mickey Rourke and dropping lima beans in Kiefer Sutherland’s milk. She is a party all by herself.

I had just about given myself up for a goner, when I realized the door was not actually locked. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. The dishwashers always know how to have a good time.

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