deckwreck

Last night I, at the last minute, decided that I was going to go to a Halloween party. So I had to throw together a costume very quickly. First choice was my old Spiderman suit, but I decided against it; I fucking hate repeating costumes. So I dug through my closet for a while and, after toying with the idea of being a redneck (jeans, wifebeater, cowboy boots, camoflauge hat- I discarded it because I should have grown a mustache to make the costume great, and I don't have the pwer to do so in 30 minutes) I decided to go as an old school punker. So I cut off an old pair of jeans, laced up my Doc Martens, assaulted an undershirt with scissors, put on superfluous belts, stuck safety pins in my ears, and glued my hair into a devilock (it's too short for a proper hawk). I was ready to roll. We headed to Stephen's place to join the caravan and meet up with the other costumed folk, and then headed to the party. As we were walking up to the house, we started to get a bad feeling about the party; the sounds of Eminem were wofting down the street from the house. And, when we walked in, the entire party stopped and stared. NO ONE else was dressed up. But they soon forgot about us weird kids and focused on a really, really lame MC battle. I mean, really lame. I decided that the only way to make the party tolerable was to drink as much of their booze as possible in the short time we were there. Seriously, it felt like high school. What a bunch of lame ass kids.

Oh, and one more thing:
How 'bout them dawgs?!