Happy birthday, America.I'm celebrating the 232nd anniversary of the birth of our country by doing what every intelligent, patriotic and large penised male in the country should be doing: I'm getting drunk, eating read meat, and blowing shit up.
I haven't lost a finger yet, and honestly, I'm a little disappointed in that. But I'll give it another shot tomorrow night and update the blog (slowly) if I do.
If I survive, I think I'll go on another vacation.
What I like to do this time of year is try to get as close to the fucking sun as possible. I also like to wait until gas costs more than cocaine, and then go on a 26 hour driving bender that would make John Belushi's partying habits look like a sewing circle. I also like to try and find a beach to pass out on, so eventually Will Smith will fly in and, thinking I'm a beached ocean mammal, toss me into the water. I also like to run into Pete Rose at a dog track and have him charge me $5 to ask him why he has the haircut of a half-a-retard.
And so I'm going to the only place where I can accomplish all of that: Florida. I'll bring you back some grapefruit or a shark's tooth necklace or something.
Oh yeah, we played a game this week. As you can tell by the picture below, it was a theme night. This week, in honor of Flemwad's return from boyscout camp, it was G.I. Wad Night.We told everyone to come dressed like Tom does on an average Sunday afternoon at the beach. Ironically, he was the only one that didn't. (Melon's wearing a camouflaged speedo under his uniform.)
Good luck next week without me, boys. I'm sure you'll do great. And by "you'll do great" I mean that you'll lose by 15, drink 4,000 biers and sit around telling lies till midnight.
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