This Means You
Celebration is this Saturday. Post-Celebration Celebration is at my house. DJ Beck and the ubiquitous DJ Drunkguy to blow up the backyard. Ample parking, bring your poisons. Pass it along.
"But ah'm not afraid of dyin'. Cause I know that when I get to heaven there are gonna be these wonderful trees, and ah'm gonna climb them. But you know what? Instead of leaves and flowers, those trees are gonna have fried eggs, and delicious Virginia ham, and big heaping bowls of biscuits and sausage gravy. And one day, Sammy, you're gonna meet me there, and we're gonna climb those breakfast trees together, and it's gonna be delicious and we're gonna be happy until the end of time."
Once upon a time, a dear friend of mine brought over Season 1 of The Office. Watched it in once sitting, I believe. The sun joined in about episode 5. Lapped up season 2 quickly with relish. Haven't seen the special, but would very much like to.
Ask yourself this...
I should never have opened the fucking mailbox.
This is my friend, Britt, after a hard day of paintin' fire-hydrants. We were once mortal enemies, but now she cracks my ass up. She's short, but she'll bite off your kneecaps if you cross her. She's from Philly and smokes Newports. Most importantly, she don't give no fuck, and that's what I admire the most.
Just when you thought it was safe, I hit the words again.
Zoolander is funny. When you're drunk. And I was.
If I'd chosen a more expensive method of shipping, you'd be looking at some great pictures right now. We got drunk last night, set a mattress on fire, and then took turns jumping over it. Because we're rednecks, and we ain't got no cable. Here's a tip, because I love you: Don't ever, ever, ever smoke in bed. That shit isn't pretty. I take that back, it was really pretty, but you wouldn't be if you woke up in the middle of it.
Holy Jesus, I've gotten really fucking terrible at posting, and if that weren't enough, I didn't even realize I had comments on that last post until just now. Ludicrous.