The day we moved out of our parents home, we could have sworn we heard the walls singing, Hey, hey, hey, goodbye! Sure, we had thrown a wild party or two during that fabulously raucous blur called high school, and, yeah, Jell-O shots graffiti-ed those stucco bastards more than once, but underage libations made us do it. Once we hit 18, the years of domestic revelry were over, and now hundreds of Day-Glo wristbands and a mean alcohol addiction later, weve found ourselves in club hell. If your party life is like ours in need of some CPR hit Provocateur and bask in the cure for the common club.
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