You shouldn't have to resort to this. You should have sneaked out in the middle of the night. Even though it all went down at your place. But here it is Saturday morning, and for some ridiculous reason you feel the need to be hospitable. So it's off to Lumière Place Casino and the $12 breakfast buffet. The grub's actually pretty good, and it's greasy enough to absorb what's left of the alcohol that's settled in your stomach, although the smoke wafting over from the casino floor just enhances your sense of self-loathing. Your head's still pounding, but you're perversely grateful for the '80s power-pop blasting from the speakers in the ceiling. It deters conversation ("So, uh, what do you do for fun?") and is punishing enough to remind you that you never, ever need to do this again.
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