We all need a good wingman (or woman) to rely on when we're trying to get things going on a night out. They're supposed to ease the tension, talk you up, make you look really good to potential mates.
But when that backfires, hoooboyyyy does it really burst into flames.
We're talking Hindenburg, can't-help-but-watch-this-giant-shitstorm crash into the earth, sort of flames.
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