The perimeter of the property is flanked with cozy cabanas....., as well as a grassy badminton court and bocci lanes. Bocci? Bocci? Not Southern, Italian and urban (in the US anyway) and yet another attempt by (probably) an out of town developer to Yankee-ize the South. Puhleeze.
I have new ideas for awesome nyc style birthday party, and it will help me to have a gala time with my beloved friends.
Robot Candy was my favorite place to visit on 2nd Sundays! Guess I'll have to check this out next time.
Thanks for clarifying that Mark Hudgins. Because a 17 second time to shotgun (hole in the bottom, pop the top at the start) would be glacially slow, ridiculously terrible! Yeah, 4 cans in 17 seconds is more legit. Sounds like a fun night.
Upper Deck is sort of dirty, and smells less than stellar. But that is part of its charm. I wouldn't change a thing.
I don't know about dirty. According to DHEC we have a score of 96 on the latest restaurant ratings (a score higher than Oak Steakhouse, who you've also mentioned in this article).
My last name is Hudgins & it was 4 PBRs consecutively by the team in 17 seconds, but thanks for saying I dominated! Oh, & our team won (of course).
Forget your needs Prong. I've been standing around gentrifying areas and hipster dives for weeks, in polo shirts and salmon-colored shorts, giving myself cirrhosis for the chance of being photographed.
You're supposed to fax me, Sam Spence. That's how I operate. We've been over this.
I wish I was there with you. I don't understand Twitter™; did Ms. Perkins show up?
Your move, Mr. Pronghorn.
Why have you not responded to my faxed application to join The Scene yet?
I am working on a one-man, one-act play of "Erin Perkins and the Scene."
Act 1. The Scene
Ron Liberte: I went to this one place and it was crazy and I had some drinks. Then I went somewhere else and it was crazy and I had some drinks. Then traffic was crazy on the way to my next crazy location, where people were crazy and had some drinks.
I still prefer Erin Perkins and The Scene, which she will allow me to become a full-fledged member of.
Ron, are you saying someone out Erin Perkinsed Erin Perkins?
Last night, I used my telephone camera to get an ultra-exclusive picture of Jack Hunter in Georgetown sleeping in his most prized Fiero.
I'm sorry that I'm forcing you to read this section, Ron. I thought it would do you some good. You can stop if you want to.
I never thought anyone could be more Erin Perkins than Erin Perkins, but I have to hand it to you. High five!
She doesn't care, Mr. Matastrophe. In all honesty, she just wants her Pronghorn to be as spoiled as possible. If that means that I need to swing into The Scene, then that's fine with her.
She fills me with quinoa, and she respects my love for veggie burgers and delicious fries.
Just this minute I've received a fax from her that gives me permission to ask Ms. Perkins to accompany me to the Folly Road Huddle House™, so I hope you're reading your comments sections, Erin. (!)
Does Mrs. Pronghorn approve of this sort of, um, solicitation, sir?
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