I'm getting sick and tired of everyone I bump into asking, "Hey Paul, when are you going to leave town already."
I can tell when I'm not wanted. So I'm leaving. Next Wednesday morning, the 29th begins your reprieve from Paul Parent, social marauder. Before I drive east into the morning sun, however, we will party like, like --- I don't know, like a bunch of people who are ready to party and send a bombastic lunatic off to certain torture in North Carolina.
We're sticking to the tried and true formula that has brought the ukazu crew success:
dinner + drinking = cuoco making farting noises
dinner + drinking = jrod crying into a pair of borrowed panties
dinner + drinking = alex complaining about dinner and drinking
dinner + drinking = paul sitting around fat and satisfied.
So, on with the nonsense:
Dinner
Tequila Grill [MAP]
7:00 pm
RSVP, one way or another.
Drinking
Mickey's Hangover [MAP]
9:00 pm
It all happens Tuesday.
Simple.
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