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It wasn’t just the tequila.

Because this is still killing me. Let me explain.

One of the highlights of last weekend would have to be meeting, among other great people, my new friend Frank. Halfway through one of our conversations at the pool on the night of the reception, Beast walks up to me and whispers, “Don’t look now, but Grohl is here.”

I figured Beast was probably referring to a pizza guy behind me or something. Or a party latecomer. Planning to give it a few seconds before turning around and looking obvious, I put my beer back on the cocktail table and turned to resume my convo with Frank.

And then I almost ruptured a spleen.

frank santos

dave grohl

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