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CAKE EATER.

CAKE EATER.

By Bobby Hundreds

Some really nice kid baked us an Adam Bomb cake today and brought it into the Store. I took a bite and my entire mouth turned dark purple. It looked like I rinsed with grapejuice and then made out with Grimace.

But it was delicious. Thanks dude (I especially like the Registered Trademark).

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Anyways, it was perfect timing because we celebrated Morgan’s birthday tonight at El Compadre.

On the way there, the sky was like an oil painting. Life imitating art.

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And then my car almost imitated an explosion after I nearly careened into the center-divider. Thankfully, I have the reflexes of an ocelot.

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We ended up taking 3 tables and half the bar to squeeze everyone in. I had about 6 buckets of El Compadre’s award-winning tortilla chips and salsa before I even got to dinner. I should’ve just crumbled the chips into the bowl and ate it like cereal.

Or not.

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Our waiter was more hammered than everyone else combined. He stroked my hair while taking my order and muttered obscenities to himself half the night. I think he passed out in the alley after singing Morgan this god-awful Happy Birthday, because that was the last we ever saw of him.

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Happy Birthday homey.

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by bobbyhundreds

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