Two small dopey heads peek up from the booth behind me and try to pick up curse words. We're at Cici's (allyoucaneatforonlythreeninetynine); me with a salad because Paymon needs more material for gay jokes, Matt bitching about me not driving him home to change his shirt, and enough perversion between the three of us to give George Carlin a run for
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Harebrained adventures with friends make for really great memories, even if they're utterly retarded in the present. But you knew that already.
But yeah, that IKEA - Brynn and I passed it whilst driving around "the spooky flatlands" of North Dallas/Plano. We've decided that IKEA is Swedish for "crap" and have begun to use it in our vocabulary as such.
They also apparently extended the road just for the IKEA store or something.
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