Dinner and bad Karaoke, Wednesday night

So I took my bro out to meet some friends and see a local watering hole, have some dinner, and watch some shitty Karaoke. Little did we know Stefan would get extra whipped cream with his dinner.
Marcy, our fun waitress, liked to hang out at our table with us. Stefan, however, felt comfortable enough to playfully throw the wine bottle cork at her. Marcy laughed at first, then decided Stef needed some punishment. She tied his arms to the chair, walked away, then came back with a full can of whipped cream, which she proceeded to put onto his head, then empty the rest on his chest and all over his shirt. The snapshots I got of that are first up in the coming pics, of course.
All in all a good time had by all, but the Karaoke was surprisingly good, so that could be a pleasant surprise, or a disaapointment, depending on what's more enjoyable for you to watch. Personally, I prefer it when people suck. It's more fun...plus it made me feel better when I had the balls to get up and sing. Nobody else would do it, so I took the bullet. My mediocre performance was just what the crown needed.
Lastly, I need to explain my shirt. It's bright and shiny and kinda gay, but there's a method to my madness, you see. The karaoke floor has black lights all over it, and many of my clothes seem to have somewhat of "blacklight problem". That is, the fact that I'm an idiot and pour the liquid Tide on top of my clothes in the washer, instead of pouring it in before putting the clothes in (that's what you're supposed to do, kids), causes random Tide stains on my clothes. But you can't see these stains with the naked eye. Under blacklight, however, they show up clear as day, making me look like I had some horrible sex accidents all over my pants and shirt. So for karaoke, I have to wear what few clothes I have that have never been washed with liquid Tide, that shirt being one of them. So there you have it. The bright shirt and no stains, no staring, is better than a normal shirt and having everyone look at me like I just used my clothes for cleanup at a gangbang.

Tisk tisk, Stef. Don't mess with Marcy. 

That's what you get for throwing something at the waitress.  

After a swift throw if his head in a forward motion, most of the cream from the top of his head landed with a resounding splat on the table. Mmm, where are strawberries when you need them? 

Clean up time for Stefan. 

The other side of the table, away from the whipped cream, where Brandon is obviously checking out Vivi. Way to go, pimp! 

Marcy, our waitress. She loves nerds. She also woke up naked one morning with some guy on the floor of a cabin wrapped in a 12 foot live python. She likes to overshare. 

Brandon and Vivi....I don't know if that look on Brandon's face is the "I'm damn cool" face, the "I'm drunk and don't know what's going on" face, or the "I think Vivi's touching me in my 'danger zone' " face.  

Your first glimpse at my supergay shirt. Stefan's just mad cuz his shirt was soaked with whipped cream. HA! Marcy was nice enough to give him a new one, complements of the house.

John and Erik 

Me, rockin out with some hot chick. I forget her name. She was good, though.

Dave and Lindsay 

Some hot dude with some hot chick. 

Brandon, Stefan, Vivi, and Stefan's dirty whip cream-stained shirt in a bag. 

. Yeah, we're retarded. And maybe a little drunk.  

Stefan's only solution to the lack of facial hair.  

Stefan's proposal to Vivi. She looks skeptical.  

Stefan with his new t-shirt, and Brandon, his new boyfriend. 

Dont fret, new pics soon

I'll have new pics up soon, don't worry. My bro is in town visiting, so we'll get some good shots I'm sure. Until then, I've decided I need a catchy title, so I'm asking for submissions. I've come up with a few for myself, but all suggestions are appreciated and considered. For now, I'll be:
Assistant Sheriff of The Opposite of Triangle Theorems, Ombudsman of The Hellmouth, D.J. Adam Cornelious MacWillicut.
I shall bring you the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat, and because I've got soccer highlights, the sheer pointlessness of a zero-zero tie.




A platypus by any other name would be just as fucked up.

Hey Idiots, St. Valentine worked for Hallmark

Some douche decided the best way to succeed was to CREATE a holiday. Boom, Valentine's Day! Ahhh yes, the holy day of obligation for anyone within a 50-mile radius of a fuzzy stuffed heart to run out and purchase it for their beloved. It tortures just about everyone and fattens the pockets of flower peddlers and greeting card companies. Everywhere you look, there's disgusting mixtures of red and pink. Please ignore this fictitious day altogether, whether you're in a relationship or not. I've had Valentines some years and other years not, but they all sucked Cupid's balls. If someone truly cared about you, you think you'd hear it more often than once a year, presented with a heart shaped cardboard box picked up from CVS filled with cheap chocolates made with oils and lard and a card picked up for $3.95. This will supposedly cover all wrongs and faults in the relationship with one fell swoop, leaving the giver allieved of all sins committed within the past year. When was the last time you wanted someone to feel they are forcibly handing you a gift? Was it just before or after you put on your "I'm a greedy bastard" t-shirt? More that likely, the gift that you get on this day of sick public displays of affection is nothing more than a little something to say "I've upheld my end of the bargain and have fulfilled my duties. Now please have sex with me."

MARDI GRAS 2005, Crazy San Diego style

So it was my idea for a bunch of us to go out and celebrate Mardi Gras, as I've never done that before. So here I submit, crazy Mardi Gras '05. Booze, and beads, and drag queens, oh my!

Me and some guy who was really tall. It must be a bitch shopping for pants. 

Damn, maybe I should've kept the mask on.  

Whoa. I think Starkeisha (I'm just guessing) was more ready for this pick than I was.  

If you're like me when you look at this pic, I'll just go ahead and tell you that that's not Emily's big brown hair on top of her head. It's the 6 foot drag queen behind her.  

This was the only Tina Turner impersonator I've ever seen, but I must say, I probably wouldnt have been able to disagree if you told me it was actually Tina Tuner. Quite impressive.  

Sara heading down the slide. Why is there a slide at Mardi-Gras? Well why not? 

Sara, Emily, Me and Conny. ( In left-to-right order, not gramatically correct order, for all the Cornellians reading this and correcting me as they read....bastards!) 

Ohh, too bad Sara and Conny weren't having any fun. And in case you care, the dude's t-shirt in the backgorund says "My sexual preference is often".