two wrongs don't make a right

but oddly, three rights do make a left.

Last night: cheap catch up dinner with the close peeps.

Now known as The Night of Wrong.

Dinner quickly devolved into a game/challenge of trying to say the most offensive things while sounding sincere or deadpan.

For freakishly liberal San Franciscans, bigotry can be funny. And we were all minorities of one sort or another at the table, so we can get away with it.

But I hope no one else at the restaurant heard us, because we were just wrong. Then again, we were peeling with laughter and spitting out food and drink so I think subtlety was long lost.

But still, The Night of Wrong, wow, that'll go down in memory.