In Accordance With The Dictates of Reason
Saint Patties Day ’07 was a bit of a bust, despite my best attempt of being green and mean the night will be remembered as the night I failed to celebrate my heritage coming home with unbruised knuckles and as many brain cells as I left with.
The same can’t be said for the evening at lovely Courtney‘s. The boys and I warmed up at Umpy’s house as a prelim. Brotha dawkness did what he does best, and faced the consequences dished out by the vengeful homeowner. Luckily his penis shielded most of the blow. We walked the streets in the cloak of night and into the pad of Courtney where everyone felt the need to pop shots elbow to elbow in the kitchen. I was quick to assemble with the fellas and strike a quick pose for the room full of adoring womens. Compare this pic with this one. Things started gettin nutty as the night progressed; Dawkness tried pinnin the tail on the Jenny and Dylan seized the role of the noise nazi.
Then there was Sasha’s, my favorite Russian chic. For this occasion I felt it necessary to come dressed with my favorite accessory, enjoy that corniness. she looks cute as a damn button there too. I fair well. So I spent the majority of that night bleeding profusely from the crater of the once proud pimple I tripled sliced with my fuckin Gillette Mach 3 turbo emo pain expression device razor. Half a roll of toilet paper later I was back in the game, beads of sweat clinging to each one of my ass hairs in the kitchen. It even looks sweaty in that picture. Sweaty Jimbo balanced shit on his head. Adam hosed puke off Sasha’s doorstep.
So I guess I never posted to the world about the aftermath of bambi colliding into my Celica, well it’s still in the family and I picked up a 1990 Toyota Supra, white, turbo, 5 speed, targa top, with about 105k miles. So I rock that pretty hard, its fast, its a tank and I love it.
