Sure, I'll go along this time.
So clubs, or Cliz-ubs, if you will, are pretty sick. This past weekend I was out with Maria and Clinique crew in Toledo and to make a long story into a medium length one, we ended up at the Emporium by evenings end. Generally speaking, I am not the cliz-ub kind of gal...for obvious reasons...I'm not into things that are sick. "Clubbing," which seems like a ridiculous made up verb, is sweaty, stinky, sick and grossy Josie. At this particular cliz-ub, the guys were all gangster thugs, and the girls were all fat and white trash dressed in many an ill fitting top de tube. As many of you know, I rarely, if ever, use public restrooms. So why, oh why, would I want to be in a cliz-ub, that is nothing more than a dimly lit gas station bathroom with really loud music and alcohol? Maybe you could even compare many a club to a truck stop restroom. My point is...it's just sick anyway you slice it.