04/22/2005 - 8:08 p.m. | with your dark eyes

Here is a funny advertising joke I made:

TA: What is the difference between hard-sell and soft-sell?
Me: The former did not sing "Tainted Love."

AHAHAHAHAHA That is a good one! You will be brilliant in the creative field, my friend.

I want to get a bunch of stupid D batteries and rock out while crossing the guard, all dancing and yelling vulgarities.

Is it a bad omen when you nearly hit a slow flying crow as it flies in front of a car with a struggling rat in its mouth? If so... uh-oh.

Ducky is here now, and he said that Carter thought I was gay. Why not Spritz, is all I have to say. How do I come off as so gay? All the gay guys seem to think so, too.

So, remember the paintcan drink I mentioned last entry? Yeah, we made three of them last night, and I think all of us reached new heights in drunkenness. Seriously, boy, they were all tart and fairly delicious, so we all sucked them all down watching Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen and whatnot. Smacko hit at least 2/3 of his can, I went through about half, and Kyle and Spritz hit up everything we didn't when the two of us passed out. Shelly had been telling us about this house with all these lawn gnomes chained up in front; Smacko wanted to hit that up, and I figured if he went alone he would be massacred by a bus, so I came along as chaperone. No one was willing to lead us there, though; they just kept pointing in a vague direction, which we went out and attempted to follow. I was at least able to keep some facade of sobriety up and about, by which I mean I could keep my meandering contained within the bounds of the sidewalk. Smacko was far too gone for that, weaving in and out of the street, barely keeping upright as far as I could tell. He took my phone and started calling God knows who, asking about parties. There were no parties. Soon enough we decided we would never find our goal, so we started heading back, and Smacko started unscrewing light bulbs and tossing them in the street. He went down this scary little basement thing, though, to get one by a door, and all of a sudden, we hear this black lady yelling, "What you doin', unscrewin' my lightbulb?!" "Run, Smacko," I yell as I take off myself, but he is clearly in no shape for walking. He probably killed her right there in the alley; I didn't see. We decided to head back home then, and that's about all I remember.

I woke this morning and investigated the damage - 1 can completely empty and hidden, the other 2 less than a quarter full. What the fuck? I check outside for vomit. None. What the hell is going on? Shelly was up by the time I crossed the guard, so I asked her for details. I know this is about the tenth time I've said this, but Kyle got drunker than he ever was in his life. He just keeps outdoing himself, is all. Anyway, Shelly went to bed at 11:30 but didn't get to sleep until nearly 4, as Kyle tried to sneak around and mostly stomped and fell on the ground a lot. He thought Smacko was missing and started screaming his name and frantically calling Shanks. It was apparently so bad that his speech was nearly incomprehensible; he just moaned and got names wrong ("Brytne Walsh," he said), screaming about how beautiful Shelly was and occasionally trying to tongue her face off. "I LOVE YOUR BEAUTIFUL TITS" He mashed words together, such that "Chresus" was there and he apparently played some "Starcraft." For a while, Kyle and Spritz sat out on the porch, smoking (Kyle never smokes), and he invited this couple that walked by to our party like 20, 30 times. Then he mostly talked about how strong he was, because me calling him fat all the time is apparently starting to get to him. I only do it because I love you, man. I can teach only through derision. And then he was talking about that Micah guy and who he wanted to "defend the only thing he was willing to fight for" or something gay like that. Poured cold water all over his chest and collapsed on the floor, resigned to his fate. He also walked out of his room stark naked, not really contemplating the fact that Spritz was out there as well. Honestly, next time wake me up so I can record this shit. I'm so sad I missed.

It was a pretty horrible hungover day for everyone involved, but I guess we also made a pact to go to the strip club tonight, and if you can't trust a drunken pact, what can you trust? Kyle kept telling me to call Dank to get him to go, but I am not one of those people, so I did what I thought was a fairly marvelous job of acting like I was talking to him. After we all went to bed, Spritz made ramen and somehow managed to get dry noodles in every room in the damn house. The only plausible explanation for this is that he tried to punch the ramen open. Much love.

The church key is my new favorite tool.

EDIT: That is, until I get me a White's Brand Metal Detector and start running around like a crazy old person, getting all sorts of buried treasure. TREASURE!