You gotta love restaurants that just GO for it and decorate with dead
animals. (Yes, this is the same place with the squirrel on a log
hanging from the ceiling.)
Sent from my iPhone
You gotta love restaurants that just GO for it and decorate with dead
animals. (Yes, this is the same place with the squirrel on a log
hanging from the ceiling.)
Sent from my iPhone
To whoever has the Sonja-shaped voodoo doll and some creepy personal effect of mine like a wad of shower drain hair or a used band-aid: Whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. Please just stop poking the voodoo doll.
The voodoo doll explanation is the only one I can come up with for why I feel like crusty crap. That, or maybe God hates me. But I’m more willing to blame it on a witch doctor. I don’t know why. Maybe because I think feather headdresses are funny rather than intimidating.
So, Sonja-hating witch doctor person, please stop poking my voodoo doll in the back and the toe and the head. I will send you a free book if you stop. A hardback even. And a magnet. And a nail file.