The closest thing I ever witnessed to the storming of the Bastille was a brutal battle of pelting each other with wok sangria and the fruit contained within it. Vicious. I mean, you ever get wok sangria in your eyes??? And then La Tolteca carnage.
Friends . . . let none of us stay confined in life's prison cells, particularly the ones we have created for ourselves.
The adventure of life is calling, so storm your own Bastille and be free -- like the oppressed French citizens in 1789, and like that time my girlfriend dumped me while I was living on Cape Cod. She liberated herself from her cell that day, and though I think she lacked a high degree of foresight and really any sort of a sense of humor, 'cause man, if you don't get how funny that whole thing with her sorority sister was, you're just aren't trying . . . uh, but it was still her own small Bastille that she stormed. And man, her small Bastille could get really stormy, one time the guys across the suite thought I had murdered her, but really it was just . . .