The truest lyric in rock 'n' roll.
But I'm still going to tell you about my dream last night.
I was at the Susan Hutchison election-night party trying to be discreet. I stood up straight, tucked in my shirt, and didn't ask many questions. I just took notes on what other people said. It wasn't clear whether she'd won or lost: seemed like an early-night election party, when everyone's tense and waiting to feel triumphant or crestfallen.
I noticed Susan talking to security, so I wandered over. She was talking about me. "I think maybe we should think about escorting him out," she said hesitantly. "He has... he has an unpleasant bearing."
I politely broke in: "I'm sorry—I wish you could be more specific, Susan. Because I haven't been doing anything, just standing around." She wrinkled her nose at me like a prissy PTA mom regarding a booger. She turned back to security. "He has an unpleasant bearing," she repeated.
Then I woke up.
Find out what really happens at Hutchison's election-night party—and how many parties Stranger writers get kicked out of for their unpleasant bearings—on Slog this Tuesday, Nov 3.
(In other news: Susan Hutchison stood us up at Electionland! The cad!)
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