The Wine List at Rikers Island Rivals The Maurice?

Part of the reason I work for an underground gambling ring is I need a career that brings adrenaline coursing rampantly  through my veins,

 now, the reality of my delusional career as a cracked out private investigator is that my personal networth covers the basics: manicures prosecco and abortions.

Thank the Lord Jesus Christ for alimony and kleptomania.

I have a moral compass that has been broken since I cheated my way through Rosay Boarding School and also copied all of my SATS off of Lou Chou Chow Yong Hong Chow Mein.-Meng.  My job is to keep secret and preserve the moral integrity of my clients by not revealing the intracies of my cases. But like, Id rather tell you EVERYTHING.

Lucky for you dear readers, I do no not have professional boundaries.
I see no problem in exchanging blow jobs to be taken out to lunch and end nearly every email with "Stay Fly beb" to top level executives and often put deoderant on in the middle of the hallway because my adderalled sweat smell is only appealing to myself and my maid who cooks my bong every night.

My current case that I created out of crystals and thin air,  involves a mortgage fraudulent 40 year old bloated man from Vegas, who was arrested for meth possession and gently raping his 17 year old Reese Witherspoon looking cousin. The problem with dealing with felons such as described,  is that with a slightly more reasonable stock portfolio and liposuction for the beer belly coupled with a rolex and a taste for cuban cigars and getting weird in the jacuzzi,  he sounds like an individual I would like to have a prosecco with at Lavo and talk about Reagan. but Alas he doesnt have instagram.

I am arguably the worst person at doing work that doesnt involve facebook stalking- Alas
Because I am a particularly distracted Detective, I managed to binge on Klonopin and Vinegar and a rich persons poop and FOCUS like a nerdy med student who masturbates to babysitters.
I tracked my subject to the nearest 7-11 off the I 95 in West Chester. Even though the location reeks of low class tax brackets and forever 21 Resort Wear 2014, I managed to push my sophisticated upbringing aside for a nano to handcuff this man with my diamond encrusted hand cuffs passed down from my great Grand Mother who partook in the  invention S and M.

See you at Rikers. The wine list is absurd.

Prisons, Projects, and Princesses

The idea is naturally intriguing of marrying an existential hedgefund up and coming tech scene affluent douche bag heavily inundated with mummy issues and a drug problem  coupled with one who is decently good at making you come,

In our manic apocoleptic degenerate society where in order to marry into this lifestyle to which we have been accustomed, your physical manifestation of yourself has to be as tight as Marie Antoinette's Vagina
This leads me to a rather vital experiment on the roots of bulimia and parasites and 7 day detox spas in Bali.

The Project Diet:
Women that live in the projects are usually on food stamps and the ones that keep it tight are thin because they physically cannot afford to eat more. Their diet consists of homemade pasta in small portions to save for the week and a lot of okra.

The Prison Diet,
Aside from my casual 30 hour stints in Prison that happen thrice a summer after my few too many French 75s combined with my manic asbergers sauteed in my inability to drive even when sober lends me a few DWI's and thus in Prison. And honestly, its a phenom motivation to continue drinking and driving and receiving DWI's because after I leave Prison, Ive never looked better, the combination of anxiety that I might be raped by someone who has never been to a bat mitzvah is enough to make me poop out every chocolate tiramisu fro yo flavored peanut buttery syrup connoction self created at crimson mango berry 16 can you handle it ever consumed.
Also the meals as a whole are approximately 450 calories each and there is nothing to do but gamble and work out and talk about drugs. Time, Detox, and reflection well spent.
See you at the St. Regis
Stay skinny.
Vote Republican.