You know, you don't see enough fuckin' peg-legs anymore. I don't know about the rest of the world but god damn prosthetics have fucking pussified America.

Last Saturday started fine and ended fine, but there were a few hours in between where I don't know what the fuck was going on. James St. James and Isitalive met me and Birdman up at my apartment sometime in the early afternoon. We watched Kill Bill Vol. I, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but tempers were flaring between Birdman and Isitalive. Birdman didn't seem to like Isitalive's attitude or some shit like that. James St. James and I turned to the bottle to drown out our friends' petty squabbles. We were on my porch drinking beers until I ran out of beer and instead of going to the store we began pouring ourselves adult drinks. I should have known things were going to get out of hand when I was pouring my second drink and the daystar was still firmly in place in the sky.
I distinctly remember two points during the night when I looked at my watch to note the time. An alarm began blaring in the parking garage and wouldn't go off, we walked down to the garage with liquor filled intentions of destroying whatever device was emitting the terrible noise. It turned out to be a pool pump alarm signifying a massive pressure breech in the pool's underground plumbing (or something equally terrible), the alarm box indicated high voltage lines were inside and we sagely avoided tearing it apart. That was 11:45pm. I remember being amazed it was that early given how much liquor I had consumed.
The next vague memory I have is of rushing out of my bathroom and explaining to James St. James how I had seen his skidmarks in the toilet, attempted to scrape them away with the toilet plunger, and managed to launch a bunch of water infused with shit onto my eyes and tongue. I don't have the slightest clue why I was trying to dislodge James St. James' shit off the toilet bowl or what time of the night it was, all I remember about the whole affair was being mortified when it splashed in my face. My next solid memory is of the daystar beginning its morning ascent, seeing that it read 7:15am on my watch, and feeling completely drained.
Sunday afternoon I tried comparing memories with James St. James, Isitalive, and Birdman but there was a total information blackout from midnight until 7am; until James St. James found this* quasi-homoerotic video on his camera. Pretty fucking disturbing if you ask me. Jesus, there's no telling how long we were doing that shit. One minute you're just two dudes drinkin' beers and talking about fuckin' bitches and who can breast a dove the fastest, the next you're belting out early nineties power ballads to the night. The video was recorded at 5:50am, and we seemed to be going strong. Enjoy.


*Warning to any suckers on dial-up, the video is close to 6 MB.