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It's the birthday of a very special PNer. Isn't that right, Jossy-poo?
She likes it when we call her that. Sure, she may turn amusing Crayola-inspired shades, break pint glasses just by squeezing them with her hand, and literally turn you to stone with her very gaze. Don't be fooled. The heat you feel is not from the fire she is breathing, but from the warmth of her sweet, sweet love. We feel it. We love you too, Jossy-poo. Say it with me.
Say it to her. Then walk up to her and enfold her in a long, tight, heartfelt embrace. She will struggle, but it is secretly the moment she has been living for. Hold on to Jossy-poo with all your might, even as her toned, Sapphic limbs rend you into smithereens. You may just see a tear in her eye before all is darkness.
...my god, she's going to kill me.
In the hopes of keeping Jaye in high and mostly non-homicidal spirits, we are this week honoring her request to visit "a dark hole with lots of good beers on tap." How's Peculier Pub sound? The beer lists don't get much longer, there's food, and the milieu is winningly dingy. Come spelunk with us.
See you there!
-Mike (deceased), the Triumvirate, and Jos...Jaye.