Last night I was a little depressed so I asked the wife if we could get KFC for dinner (KFC is a well-document cure for depression, trust me). While contemplating our order, I explained to her that we needed to get a bucket so I can put it on my head after dinner and pretend to be Buckethead while I play Guitar Hero.
It was lucky for her that I drank an entire bottle of cheap wine with my chicken and passed out at nine before I had the chance.
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