Well, I'm back from an extended absence, and all I've got to say to the 545 readers is never to eat at Boston Pizza. Unless it's a situation of life or death, or possibly getting laid versus not getting laid, just don't go there.
Saturday night I'm out with the boys just watching sports and killing beers, time of my life type of shit. I'm feeling good so I even break the bank and eat a couple burgers while I'm there. My brother does the same thing. Safe to say these burgers were undercooked, but hey, they tasted good nonetheless.
Sunday morning rolls around and I'm posted up against the toilet just hacking my lungs into the god damn thing. Pissing out my asshole. Have to switch with my little brother every 20 minutes because we're both fucking sick as dogs. Fucking Boston Pizza.
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