For those of you that may not know me, I have a propensity for drinking copious amounts of alcohol, often to the point where I am no longer able to form new memories. For years I operated under the assumption that if I couldn't remember what happened it must have been totally sweet. After a while, I started to become a little upset that I was missing out on all of this awesomeness, so I decided to take action.
The plan was glorious in its simplicity: I hired a naive freshman to follow me around and document my exploits. Finally, I would know how cool I was being, how sweet I looked, and have a definitive record of all the hot action I was surely scoring.
So here, in detail, is a log of my activities on the night of April 17, 2007.
8PM- Power Hour. Mix consisted of "Thunder Horse" on repeat 28 times.
8:54PM- Puke and Rally(almost made it!)- This was going to be a good night!
9PM- Puke and Rally- Don't judge me.
9-10PM- Pregaming continues- So far so good.
To this point I am aware of my actions and everything is OK. However as my BAC rises, I things become hazy.
10:37PM- Shot down by Elise "The Red Barron" Smithton- This was followed by 14 solid minutes of weeping.
11:21PM- I order a mandatory sing-a-long to Michael Jackson's Thriller- The situation becomes tense when I call everyone retarded for not knowing the dance.
11:34PM- I order a pizza for delivery.
12:07AM- The Pizza arrives- I apparently challenged the delivery boy to a bare-knuckle boxing match in the back yard. This explains the mysterious bruises to my ribcage. The match ends abruptly when I vomit on the other contender.
12:23-12:27AM- Dry humping anything/anyone in sight.
12:27-12:28AM- Making out with Suzy "Goodyear" Jones- This only lasted about 45 seconds to a minute because I apparently recognized what was happening.
12:36AM-1:02AM- Drunken dissertation about why Raphael was the best turtle.
1:14AM- An ill fated attempt to get another pizza, this time from the pizzeria itself, ends in tragedy when I vomit again on the same guy I fought only an hour or so before. Honestly, I don't know where all this puke is coming from, but I can't seem to stop it.
1:42AM- I drunk dial my mother.
2:13AM- After failing to obtain a refund from the all-night tattoo parlor I stumble down the street to an ex-girlfriend's apartment complex and scream insults until I collapse on the sidewalk. I was later told that I had in fact been standing outside of a senior-citizen high rise.
2:31AM- Two kindly souls drag my unconscious body back to my house and drop me on the couch where I awake the next day at 1PM, remembering little to nothing of the previous night.
Upon reviewing these notes, I learned something important. I learned that it's not what's on the outside that matters, its the matter on the inside that you spew forth that really counts. That, and I also learned that I'm no longer welcome at Pizza Perfecto.