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Frank Gumola - Journal | Weblog

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Earlier today, the coworker who likes to hide the things I need to run my day as smoothly as possible decided to brag a bit about his upcoming winter vacation:
    "I'm going to be surrounded by white sandy bitches!"
Of course I thought I misheard him:
    "Don't you mean white sandy beaches?"
He replied:
    "It's a gay resort."
I stand corrected.

I'm meeting a few of David's coworkers for the first time this evening. It's a casual gathering at one of the local watering holes; I'm mentally going through my wardrobe piecing together what I should wear. I've picked up quite a few Obey pieces thanks to the Brigade Boys and deep discounts, but each and every time I wear a signature piece of Obey some fashion queen (thank God I'm not the only one here in Cleveland) paws my choice of clothing and squeals loudly enough to shatter my martini glass.

Perhaps tonight I'll chillax in a track suit.

And if you believe that line, I have a bridge I'm dying to sell you.

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