Last Weekend III: Revenge of Last Weekend
From now on, let Sunday the 7th of November be known as Easter II: Resurrection Boogaloo, for I have escaped from the icey embrace of my own death to walk the earth once again. When you go to church next year to begin your celebration of my inspiring tale of valor, you will all be baptised in a fountain of Crunk Energy Drink.
FRIDAY: GENESIS
The events leading to my demise all started at The Port Authority Bowling Alley, where celebrations for an awesome engagement were going from bad to worse, where 'bad' is the standard for our everyday lives and 'worse' is a party that's turbo charged with nitrous fuck-yeah. It was great because even though I'm a shitty bowler, I was playing against a bunch of other shitty bowlers, so the competion was just as heated as any pro-match. To give you an idea of how rad we are at bowling, I won the first game with a 104, and I lost the last game with a record setting low of 45. But in the end we all scored a 300 in awesome.
After that it was social Darwinism at its finest as nearly every male in attendance spent the rest of the night hitting on the same girl. At some point I apparently lost interest in doing this in favor of fellating an order of quesadilla rolls. There's suppose to be pictures, but until I see them, I refuse to believe that I lost interest in hot ass so that I could make everyone laugh by deepthroating a bunch of fried dick-shaped snacks. Ah, who am I kidding?
SATURDAY: EXODUS
Saturday morning marked my brother's first seizure since his epilepsy diagnosis. This means I had all sorts of doctor recommended tricks at my disposal to limit the severity of the attack. It's general practice to let seizures run their course, since there's no way to really stop one once it begins, but helping the muscles to relax is suppose to at least shorten the duration. This basically means I had to give my younger brother a deep-tissue massage, which I'm still not entirely comfortable with. But to my surprise and definitely my relief, it actually worked. I only wished someone had been there to appreciate the comedic value of the look on my face while I was rubbing my brother down.
Saturday night. Jesus Christ, Saturday night. I went to a kick-ass party at Il Pallazzo di NadzOfSteel where I brought beer and gin and proceeded to drink nearly all of it. I don't know what the fuck was wrong with me that night, but I was clearly on a mission. I would also like to take this moment to tell you how much of a mistake it was to wolf down a Popeye's Chicken meal in less than five minutes just so I could have some food in my stomach when the real drinking started. Especially since I got a fucking catastrophic case of food poisoning the last time I ate there. Anyway, I went to the party, I drank, I saw a lot of new and established cool people, then I left with the intention of doing MORE drinking. I got a crew together, grabbed the last of the beers I had bought, threw them in my bag and split. I didn't even realize that my night was totally fucking over until I suddenly became aware that I was in the east village heaving Cajun rice and beans into a trash can. I also regained consciousness just in time to see waxangel and our friend Sam stealing the rest of my beer while I was throwing up! I might have assumed that they were concerned for my safety if I hadn't first heard waxangel excitedly shout "Oh shit, he's done! Wait! Get his beer!" After what seemed like seven thousand hours of that, Presidentnumber2 and throatneedle threw me in a cab and washed their hands of my impending death. The cab ride consisted of me hanging my head out of the open door and scaring the shit out of the cab driver. Again, not out of any concern for my safety, but because he didn't want me to fuck his cab up. After that, I stumbled three blocks to my house, somehow managed to get out of my clothes, and passed out on my bathroom floor. It was then that I legally passed away.
SUNDAY: REVELATIONS
I awoke that glorious morning not in the cold porcelain hell where my last breaths were flavored with biscuits and gravy, but in the sweet, toasty comforts of my own bed. My brother claimed he slept through the entire production, so I could only assume that after I died on the bathroom floor, God put me back in my bed so I would experience a dignified resurrection. I also woke up with a fresh wound on my back, or stigmata, whose origins will always remain a mystery.
From now on, let Sunday the 7th of November be known as Easter II: Resurrection Boogaloo, for I have escaped from the icey embrace of my own death to walk the earth once again. When you go to church next year to begin your celebration of my inspiring tale of valor, you will all be baptised in a fountain of Crunk Energy Drink.
FRIDAY: GENESIS
The events leading to my demise all started at The Port Authority Bowling Alley, where celebrations for an awesome engagement were going from bad to worse, where 'bad' is the standard for our everyday lives and 'worse' is a party that's turbo charged with nitrous fuck-yeah. It was great because even though I'm a shitty bowler, I was playing against a bunch of other shitty bowlers, so the competion was just as heated as any pro-match. To give you an idea of how rad we are at bowling, I won the first game with a 104, and I lost the last game with a record setting low of 45. But in the end we all scored a 300 in awesome.
After that it was social Darwinism at its finest as nearly every male in attendance spent the rest of the night hitting on the same girl. At some point I apparently lost interest in doing this in favor of fellating an order of quesadilla rolls. There's suppose to be pictures, but until I see them, I refuse to believe that I lost interest in hot ass so that I could make everyone laugh by deepthroating a bunch of fried dick-shaped snacks. Ah, who am I kidding?
SATURDAY: EXODUS
Saturday morning marked my brother's first seizure since his epilepsy diagnosis. This means I had all sorts of doctor recommended tricks at my disposal to limit the severity of the attack. It's general practice to let seizures run their course, since there's no way to really stop one once it begins, but helping the muscles to relax is suppose to at least shorten the duration. This basically means I had to give my younger brother a deep-tissue massage, which I'm still not entirely comfortable with. But to my surprise and definitely my relief, it actually worked. I only wished someone had been there to appreciate the comedic value of the look on my face while I was rubbing my brother down.
Saturday night. Jesus Christ, Saturday night. I went to a kick-ass party at Il Pallazzo di NadzOfSteel where I brought beer and gin and proceeded to drink nearly all of it. I don't know what the fuck was wrong with me that night, but I was clearly on a mission. I would also like to take this moment to tell you how much of a mistake it was to wolf down a Popeye's Chicken meal in less than five minutes just so I could have some food in my stomach when the real drinking started. Especially since I got a fucking catastrophic case of food poisoning the last time I ate there. Anyway, I went to the party, I drank, I saw a lot of new and established cool people, then I left with the intention of doing MORE drinking. I got a crew together, grabbed the last of the beers I had bought, threw them in my bag and split. I didn't even realize that my night was totally fucking over until I suddenly became aware that I was in the east village heaving Cajun rice and beans into a trash can. I also regained consciousness just in time to see waxangel and our friend Sam stealing the rest of my beer while I was throwing up! I might have assumed that they were concerned for my safety if I hadn't first heard waxangel excitedly shout "Oh shit, he's done! Wait! Get his beer!" After what seemed like seven thousand hours of that, Presidentnumber2 and throatneedle threw me in a cab and washed their hands of my impending death. The cab ride consisted of me hanging my head out of the open door and scaring the shit out of the cab driver. Again, not out of any concern for my safety, but because he didn't want me to fuck his cab up. After that, I stumbled three blocks to my house, somehow managed to get out of my clothes, and passed out on my bathroom floor. It was then that I legally passed away.
SUNDAY: REVELATIONS
I awoke that glorious morning not in the cold porcelain hell where my last breaths were flavored with biscuits and gravy, but in the sweet, toasty comforts of my own bed. My brother claimed he slept through the entire production, so I could only assume that after I died on the bathroom floor, God put me back in my bed so I would experience a dignified resurrection. I also woke up with a fresh wound on my back, or stigmata, whose origins will always remain a mystery.
VIEW 25 of 47 COMMENTS
seriously though, you are more than welcome to catch a ride with us. like he said as long as you can get to jersey its all good, it would just be traffic hell to go and get you. and at the very least if you aren't able to go along with us on friday and go up anyway i'll be more than happy to give you a ride home on sunday. i'm emailing you my number now so you've got it.