Pole

Trust me, missing a couple of teeth is the least of your problems. I had enough trouble finding your license plate across the 60 feet you spread the front of your car. If you’d let us know you were coming we could have pulled up the freeway bumpers and you wouldn’t have ended up in the gutter.

I have a feeling the inside of your car was a complete mess even before you stumbled out of the club and decided driving was a good choice. There was enough lingerie strewn about to hold a Victoria’s Secret fashion show. Of course, all of the blood on it might be a turn off, but I think there’s a market for that, not that I would know.

I have more bad news for you. I couldn’t find the goldfish either that I assume were inside those plastic platform heels at one point. If you really want them back, you’ll probably find your teeth embedded somewhere in the dashboard. After your fractured face heels, and you get out of jail, you can get your car back from the tow yard and search for them. I don’t think the pile of singles I collected at the crash is going to cover the tow fees though.

Look at the bright side, you have a new place for some guy to stick a dollar bill while you’re hanging from a pole.

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