Funniest yelp reviews. ever. – last updated march 2019 – yelp electricity deregulation wikipedia

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Hi. What’s YOUR favorite color? Mine is green. Did you know that I’m an ELF? That’s right, an actual Elf! There’s probably a lot you don’t know about elves. Like, there are only three jobs available to an Elf. The first is making shoes at night while… you know, the old cobbler sleeps. Second, you can bake cookies in a tree. As you can imagine, it’s, uh, dangerous having an oven in a tree during San Diego fire season.

But the third job, some call it the show or the big dance… is the profession that every electricity bill Elf aspires to: building toys in Santa’s workshop. This was my job until recently, before I relocated from beyond the Candy Cane Forest of the North. I lived with Santa and the reindeer electricity quiz 4th grade, and the other elves. Very impressive elves, able to build extreme toys with the latest in graphic chipset processors. By the way, I get Dasher, and Dancer, and Prancer, but Vixen… Vixen?!? Hmm… what is Santa trying to hide?

Anyways, Elf Code says to treat every day like Christmas. What’s needed every once in a while is a good ol’ booster shot of Christmas Spirit! This time of year, if you aren’t smiling and spreading Christmas cheer every single minute, you’re nuthin’ but a cotton-headed ninny-muggins!! In this spirit… we donned our ugly sweaters, hailed a (french?) reindeer named Ubér, and headed for the magical gas welder job description city to the Toast of Gaslamp.

The event promised 20 sips, 20 bites, AND shops where we might find snowberries, and passion fruit spray… and ginormous toilets. All for my favorite cause and what I was born to do! Make kids happy with my better-than-China toymaking!! This should make everyone rosy and ready to SING loud for ALL to hear! (Papa Elf frowns upon alcohol, so I brought a juice drink).

Ciro’s pizza was hotter than Santa climbing down a lit chimney! And American Junkie’s Bacon Mac ‘n Cheese was sweeter than a Candy-Gram (once I added a little cookie-dough)!! Couldn’t wipe the smile off of our faces… smiling is my favorite! I found some gum on the street, but… found gum ISN’T free candy! Who knew?!? We didn’t SEE Santa, but remember… Christmas is about BELIEVING… not seeing. Of course he exists– I KNOW HIM!!!

Worn thin gas mask drawing by a desert that takes away more than it gives, we rode into Old Town on a horse named Wildfire. While there, the tumbleweed cleared momentarily to reveal a Speakeasy: Thompson Twain Prospecting. It was near-dusk, but the clocks were stuck at thirteen. A man named Paleface Pete, in exchange for a free drink, explained things like this:

The wine growers of this old town (nice enough folks, but they smell God-awful) were being threatened by the frontier ranchers, headed by Colonel electricity and water Harland Sanders. The ranchers didn’t want rows and rows of sissy grapes growing on the land, but instead planned to raise fowl — enough to feed the entire West. They couldn’t get the law involved because the local sheriff was a corrupt old coward, who took his orders from Mr. Sanders.

The Colonel, upon hearing of his tarnished name, arranges for Paleface to be bushwhacked. He gathers up a posse and bursts into the saloon… without a reservation. The thing is… the Colonel and his men were never any good at bushwhackin’. They lived by the Rancher Code, meaning it’s not right to take unfair advantage. And Paleface Pete was nuthin’ but a simple town drunk.

Some things totally change your life for the better. These things are called bartenders. Real folks, makin’ precise drinks… the drinkin’ kind. Decadent. Depraved. Nuthin’ with Apple Pumpkin Spice, or Vampire Juice, or Fruity Pebbles. A round of Scotch on the rocks was served up by bartender Steven, made from malted barley. And then a round of Gin. From juniper berries.

Many a grudge has been overcome from both sides of the same bottle z gastroenterol journal. The Colonel made peace with the wine growers, and threw a big party at his Rancho. He randomly combined 11 herbs and spices that resulted in some mighty-fine fried chicken. The portions were so large, he had to serve it in buckets. He made biscuits with fake honey– spread with a spork. Not to mention the killer ranch dressing. Delicious, though a bit cholesteroly.

In the end, the wrongs were righted; the divided – united. Wineries and chicken shacks BOTH flourished across the land. The Thompson Twain electricity towers health risks Speakeasy thrived. A new sheriff was sworn in, and the people lived together in harmony. Now, there’s nuthin’ left to do but ride off into the sunset, to the next destination. Maybe you’ve heard of it… a place called nowhere special.