But That’s Really Not Important to the Story…

To make ends meet, I’m going to be doing some promotional work on the side sometimes, and by that I mean:

And every single night [I] had a strange recurring dream – where [I] was wearing lederhose in a vat of sour cream…

So that’s how I ended up walking around a bar on Sunday afternoon drinking Bud Light and having my picture taken. It definitely has nothing to do with a drinking problem – it’s just a part-time solution to the I-have-no-money-and-lots-of-student-loans-but-also-big-breasts problem.

I had a blast this weekend (Go Pats! Drink Bud Light! Listen to WHJY, the home of rock and roll!), but said blast is complicated by the fact that I can’t truly enjoy drinking free beer when there are people out there who can’t even drink their own local water, and the fact that I’m getting paid more than twice what my mother makes (she works with developmentally/emotionally troubled kids) to sign people up for a raffle for Patriots tickets while the economy is in the toilet and cuts are being made to public schools and college tuition rates are being hiked nationwide and health insurance is becoming a luxury.

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