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One time in San Francisco we walked past a restaurant called The Stinking Rose, who's motto is something like, "We season our garlic with food." I was nearly killed when I blindly ran into traffic, screaming like a schoolgirl and pawing at my clothes. OK, that's an exaggeration, but it's a stench I'll remember well into my Alzheimer's fatgranniestgp years. There were people fatgranniestgp sitting in front of fatgranniestgp the window, just shoveling that stuff in and smiling and laughing... It's my own private 'Nam. I'm almost certain a yuppie man was drinking iced tea with a big clove over the lip of his glass. Sweet sainted mother of Blanket Jackson! My boss in California (the guy on the left here) ate garlic like Tic Tacs. I think he kept a basket inside one of his desk drawers, and snacked on it all day. Sometimes we'd have to walk several blocks to a meeting in a different building, and on hot days he'd start pumping the funk.
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