So we had a metric ton of awful crap football food for dinner--I say that lovingly--and now I don't feel so good. You know, like Rotel-and-cheese dip and three kinds of chips and cocktail dogs in bacon and raw veggies for dipping (no one ate those). Whatever new-year new-life plan I had going, I realized in a greasy haze, has long since fallen by
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Or Prince exposing Justin, period. 'Cause he's freaky like that.
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Although the article's suggestion of Hannah Montana--really? Is there any audience overlap there at all? That would probaby turn into the worst sort of forced daddy-daughter bonding time.
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(She came to the restaurant where I work one time. Wasn't in my section, but was apparently very nice and way more polite than her mother. The worst behavior was from other customers. No, you may not harass her with your cameras. Miley Cyrus has left the building.)
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BWA! We were singing, too, and waving imaginary lighters around. It was great but we were disappointed he didn't do 'Don't Come Around Here No More' top hat and all.
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