Oh man, I'm not gonna do anything, I think, except tell the truth.

Night the first:
arrive in SD. Walk up to Andy and without saying hello, shove phone with my mother on it into his face. This may have explained the next set of actions: the two of us devouring 20 beers in, oh, 2 hours. There was no breathing, only drinking. Until Andy broke out his airsoft guns.

Everything was fun and games and then the fucker shot my beer can (which dumped all over my crotch as I suckled as fast as I could). And then me. Of course we broke into a spontaneous gun fight. I totally won. His lip and arm were bleeding. Only my arm was bleeding. Of course, after I kicked him for falling asleep during the third Metalocalpyse viewing he woke up and threw a can of beer into my face that knocked one the lenses from my glasses about 15 feet.

Morning the Friday:
Woke up with a delicious taste of tecate (hint of tequila! and ass!) in my mouth. Proceeded to airport to collect Erica St. Louis that Andy did not know was going to be arriving. It was awesome. At lunch Andy was unable to speak for about 5 minutes. Which is hella impressive. Dude can chatter. Then we hung out on an air craft carrier and I though about shooting down Nazis. It was awesome.

Friday night was barhopping of doom. I was that guy with the camera in the fourth (fifth?) bar. However, in my defense, I totally blame Kara. She demanded I chug a pitcher of beer. Which I did, even after I reminded her it was her bathroom I was going to be vomiting in that night.

sadly, I didn't. I tried and failed. I needed that tactical.


Saturday the crying saw me shaking with I-don't-know-what through breakfast. But I did get a mild sense of reassurance when Kara reminded me they know where all of the nearby emergency rooms are. Sightseeing, blah, blah, Kara telling me not to be a drunk, blah, get to a party, down half a bottle of Jim Beam and 4 beers, kick both Andy AND Erica awake after they totally passed out at like midnight, if that late. Pansies.

Sunday was full of one breakfast, one airplane and one book on math.

In conclusion: my winter break rocked and I'm never forsaking beer again. Let's go get fucked up.

EDIT: just saw the post below this one. Check that time stamp. I have no recollection of writing that. heh, go me.

Labels: beer, booze, guns, kicking, Metalocalypse

- posted by Pat @ 9:07 PM