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we were all throwing tendons at the mgm cranberry when zuice terry got all up in my face about my posture. well, excuse me, zuice, i lost my humerus at the dim sum bar. just take those glasses off, zarnit. but it was too late. we ere rejectede from the premise, the antecedent was auxillary to our parking validation, and i only had six dollars. zuice threw up in my backseat and then offered me twenty, but he wouldn't have it until we got back to the airstream clinic. so i uncached the polka chips on deck and deployed the alternative rock, which was ancillary to our parking pass. disco police at the doorstop did not believe any of thus, and were not amused when the ticket, drowned in zuice's vomit, clogged their magstripe reader. "dammit, zuice," i yelled, making a show of it. but inwards, i was wiggeling
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