god speed little doodle

right, so this is what happens when you turn 26. actually, this is only part of what happens. what really happens is you have the time of your life, that is until the time comes when you decide the best idea in the world is to have a shot of whisky everytime someone leaves the party. this equates to not only a sudden onset of uncontrollable falling down, but barfing a night's worth of cheese doodles like it was some sort of new break dancing. consequently, i currently have a hangover the likes of which ye have never seen. i don't even know what that means, so stick it and let me continue feeling hungover and singing sea chanties. now where was i? oh yes. ahem, ahem. "blow the man down, blow the man down" "row, row, row your boat." "in the navy..."



furthermore to my achy, breaky pelvis, here are some pictures from saturday night. i feel much too terrible to make comments about people i don't know, so how about we try something a bit different and more interactive. post a comment you think best fits the soused face, and the weiners will be posted on this butt machine. agreed? good. (if you need an idea of what i'm looking for, scroll down and read an example of seth's picture. and, you cannot make the joke about a hand release for 5-p, as we make that joke every damn day.)

we will now celebrate this understanding with the adding of chocolate to milk. now excuse me. "row, row, row your boat..."






















my nose says "yes", but my eyes say, "where the fuck am i?"