I live in Frederick and work in Columbia, Maryland. That’s a 100-mile round trip every day. When I drove home from work on Monday night, my front left tire blew out as I entered the city. I coasted to the nearest Roy Rogers I could find, buried my sorrows under a starchy mound of Gold Rush Chicken sandwiches, and instagram’d a photo of my blown tire.

And I was barraged by Brooks Laich jokes.

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