Armed with a .45 and dressed in your kickass bunny slippers, you follow a trail of half eaten buffalo wings and barbeque sauce starting from the kitchen, down the hallway, and leading to the bathroom. Your bathroom door is open, the lights are on, and someone is loudly retching inside. You tense up. For a brief moment, you feel like you possibly can't go in there. But this is your apartment. Yours and yours alone. Maw is long gone, or so you think, and you really don't have too many visitors, aside from the occasional redneck prostitute or a buddy from work. It's your castle, son, go protect it. Finding your nerve, you boldly step into the bathroom and find...
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2/7/2014 11:00:01 PM
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