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Subject:Non-Galivanting With Cheaters.
Time:11:22 pm


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With the girlfriend spending the past several Saturdays with her mom, the opportunity was ripe for some major gallivanting. Gallivanting, perhaps the gayest word ever for partying.

What I did the first Saturday night: Beers. Book. Watched that show "Cheaters."

What I did the second Saturday night: Beers. Book. Watched that show "Cheaters."

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At its absolute worst moments, "Cheaters" is one of the greatest shows on TV. Like a car accident you can't look away from, except the cars are filled with burning people constructed from garbage.

If you're not familiar with the program, people who suspect their spouse or partner of infidelity contact the show in the hopes of having their most private and painful moments watched by millions. The show then has its private detectives follow the suspected cheater around with surveillance cameras. After gathering enough incriminating footage - kissing and groping, and sometimes heavily pixelated intercoursing - they show it to the poor guy. When he's breathing heavily and making a weird face, they then immediately drive him to where the unfaithful whore is with the other guy, who often turns out to be a friend or family member.

The confrontation's easily the best part. Sometimes the guilty party is naked and jumps out the window with his pants covering his crotch. Other times they try to beat the shit out of each other. In one spectacular episode, one guy chased his best friend into his house after finding out he was fucking his girlfriend. The 'best friend' ran into a room and - get this - pulled out a samurai sword. You could actually hear God weeping and laughing at the same time. It's a very eerie sound.

Not surprisingly, the cheaters are rarely remorseful and often get mad right back for being spied on. "Why the fuck didjoo do this to me, Chico?" she'll demand. Then the other person yells, "How could you do this to me, Rita? I lovedjoo, girl!" And then the typical response is, "Whudjoo expect? You drove me to this!" And then ... Ahhh they should just change the name of the show to "Hot Carl," because it's like your TV is taking a shit on your face. I highly recommend this show.

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So this past Saturday I felt I should do something more wholesome, and got my friends drunk. Although with Patron shots costing me $12 each, I think it might've been cheaper for me to shoot them up with heroin.

I started crying in front of the bartender. "How could you do this to me, Rita? I lovedjoo, girl!"


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