I found myself in Montezuma's alone last night, waiting for a Weeble who was never likely to turn up. He started taunting me with hints that he might possibly show up at some time a few hours hence. Since I'd already been caning their toxic-but-buzzy margaritas for a couple of hours, I thought it wiser to move on elsewhere.
My excuse:
"If I stay any longer, Shakira might stop irritating me and start seducing me. I often have this problem with blondes."
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