A list of all the disgusting foods I've eaten while smashed could fill twice the space I'm allotted here. Sometimes the damage is self-inflicted. Beer-soaked grad-school nights often ended with a microwaved concoction I dubbed the Nachos of Death. I'll spare you a detailed description. The microwave in question belonged to my girlfriend: she did agree to marry me -- though not until several years after the nachos' final appearance.Check back here tomorrow to see what I think.
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