Hey Doreen, Go Fuck Yourself!

Richie, Logan, and I were tooling around LoDo tonight when we decided to eat something. Logan was fullish, but Richie and I were ready to go. We stopped at Sam's No. 3 (where Logie and Beej had just eaten dinner) and ordered fries, a shake, and a coney dog.

Not long after that a drunk fellow in a suit by the name of Daniel came up, stared at Logan for about a minute, then offered to buy all our food for us. Sure thing, man. He claimed to own the restaurant (not sure about that, but anything's possible), told us how little he liked black people and mexicans, asked us if he should buy the Breckinridge Brewery, then looked up the time in Beijing on his iPhone.

Ca-razy.