08/18/2005 - 11:31 a.m. | three three three three three three

Tuesday was Part I of Shelly�s 21st birthday festivities. She didn�t make it to Part II, but we tried to make up for her.

I had to work on Tuesday night until midnight, and since everyone will be gone this weekend (In Sheridan? Canoeing?), we hit karaoke on a Tuesday. I ran a crazy path to Geo�s, cutting diagonals through fields and empty parking lots, darting across train tracks and over bridges, down mountains. When I got there, everyone was soooo drunk. Kyle was pretty average for the night (which is still to say, �Far drunker than any other mere mortal could manage�), Tebben was pretty gone, and Spritz probably should not have been giving either Shelly or Smacko rides home, but considering their respective states, it was still the lesser of two evils. Shelly was about where I wanted her to be, only a day early. She was all big stupid smile and wet noodle form (Carl from the bar giving her free shots every hour) for the twenty minutes I saw here, and then it was off to home to throw up all over everything for the next day plus! Smacko, following in almost the exact steps of Ducky, entered the rare state I can only describe as �zombie drunk.� He spoke and his words were gibberish, with an occasionally-recognizable swear word here and there. His eyes were dark and hellish, and he tilted violently as he tried to move forward, ever forward. He even took to falling about as many times as Ducky on that fateful journey, although granted he managed to equal the number in the space of about 20 feet. Lord knows what would have happened had I not summoned Spritz to get him home. The consummate photographer, I captured every moment of it, including a strangely reminiscent moment where Smackos collapsed in the street and his hat popped off behind him.

The rest of us continued drinking and singing. Kyle did MetAlanis, which was fairly impressive, and we all danced around in my ridiculous cowboy hat. We stopped for Hungry Man dinners on the way home and spotted some dark spirits in a parking lot. I ate a cornjuice-soaked meatball for a dollar. Allison and everybody went over to terrorize the passed out Smacko by rubbing their cocks in his face, but he was just awake enough to prevent that from happening. At one point, we tried to order a hooker, but apparently 4 am is too late for hookers. 24/7, my ass. The failure only waged on when Kyle and Spritz tried to light a fire pentagram with lighter fluid, and it did nothing� nothing� nothing.