This one will go down in infamy

In a bulleted list, for no particular reason other than tradition:

• Sweet fucking Jesus, the girl sitting on the stool next to me at the Squeeling Pig was huge. I take that back: she wasn't sitting on the stool so much as she was clenching it as tightly as she could with her ass cheeks so it wouldn't slide up her huge asshole, like she was fighting off a suppository.
  
• For the first two hours I sat there, I seriously thought she was a guy. Then I realized she was a manatee.
• She should invest in three Stairmasters...one for each leg, and a third to keep the motivational cheeseburger moving and out of reach.
  
• The Squeeling Pig is the name of the bar, not the clientele they're attempting to attract.
• Think you found a spelling mistake? Don't get excited. That's the way the bar spells its name.
  
• I'm still not entirely sure how she got in. Pete the Door Guy may have had to airlift her through the skylight.
• Why the fuck do the guys on the second floor always play that one annoying techno song? It would be better if they had multiple annoying techno songs, so I couldn't memorize the beat.
• I digress - back to the Pig. I haven't seen that many fugly looking people since the last time I looked in the Women's Center at Wentworth.
• So to my left was Shamu...and to my right was some mouth-breathing geekazoid. You like Unix, huh? Great, but there's no need to put it on a t-shirt. You should know by now that hot chicks don't dig Linus or the shit he copied.
• And the ponytail! What. The. Fuck. Granted, it was cleaner looking than most of the long hair cuts I saw at Wentworth...but this isn't a god damn tractor pull.