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I went to the club on Friday or maybe it was Saturday. I don’t make it a habit to remember anything besides my social security number and even that’s become a little blurry these days (last four digits hmmmm). I don’t club anymore, I have no reason to prowl, but when I get there I always have a good time looking at chicks in dental floss dance to a song I probably hated on before I heard it through Booming speakers. It’s funny as shit being at the club when you’re not patrolling for coochie, you may think it’s the equivalent of a kid with no arms watching the rest of his non-deformed buddi...

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