No, you're not seeing things. Out of our
desperate attempt to be rich love for giving you options, we've added a little something extra for today. Come on in and check it out!
The wine that puts hair on your chest, assuming your glands are capable of producing chest hair.
"I would like three bottles of the Esoterica Petite Sirah, please."
The massive yet perfectly balanced red from Napa superhero Kent Rasmussen? Sure, no problem. Can I just see your ID?
"Uh, my ID?"
Yeah. If you want to buy this wine with perfect fruit and perfect structure, you're going to have to show me some ID.
"Oh. Ok. Here ya go".
Your name is Mbadinuju Onyekachukwu?
"Yep. That's me."
I'm sorry, kid. But you're maybe a buck five soaking wet and your face is smoother than a baby's behind. You expect me to believe you're a 42-year-old man named Mbadinuju Onyekachukwu.
"Sure. Why not?"
In Waverly, Ohio?
"Well that's a bit racist, don't you think?"
Okay, fine. What year were you born?
What's your address?
"101 West Main Street."
Great. Now spell your last name.
What's wrong? Don't know how to spell your own last name?
"Psssh. Of course I do. Uh … OK. It's O-N … O-M-A … T-O-P-I-A."
You just spelled onomatopoeia. Incorrectly.
"OK, OK, fine. It's a fake ID, but only because I lost my wallet."
"At a bingo game."
Nice try, buddy. Come back when you have a little 5 o'clock shadow.
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