Buzzed Jogging is Drunk Jogging

Ooh, you have a Slanket too? How utterly urbane. Come here, hat-hair... let's get cozy. Literally.

I like how in this advertisement, the guy wearing the Slanket has been shunned by his friends/companions/significant other, and is sitting quite alone. Because he’s at a sporting event. Wearing a f-ing Slanket. The beer does not cover for the fact that you are wearing glorified feetie-pyjamas, sir. Luckily the Slanket is not only impervious to cool drafts, but the cold sting of ostracization as well.

In other news, I’ve not been home for more than a week, and have had to snatch access to the internet whenever it comes up, such as the public library. Where a man who looks like the evil brother of Santa Claus told me I had my file sharing on. From behind some bookshelves. Like Wilson, from Home Improvement. Or Deep Throat.

Do me a favor and let me know if you guys see any saucy pictures of me floating around on the internet. The only one who should make a profit off of those ultimately disappointing boudoir photographs I have stored on my hard drive is yours truly. And don’t give me that shit about how the warm feeling in my heart that comes with sharing my assets with others should be payment enough – my Animated Hitch Critter, Slanket, NFL Forest Faces, and Car Antlers did NOT pay for themselves, people. SkyMall is not cheap, and neither is the lifestyle that comes along with my sophisticated tastes in understated douchebaggery.

Sun God 2009: The Pillowfight to End All Pillowfights

 

12: 55-1:30: Theory of Funkativity

Let’s get this party started! Upon procuring copious amounts of alcohol, from the general store, and feasting upon local fare in the form of sub-par fish tacos, Danielle and I returned to the batcave to commence the ritual of noon-day drinking. Beginning with badly made mojitos, nuts n’ berries, we had an impromptu fashion show, and waited for Kim to arrive.

 

1:45-2:45: The Cool Kids

Upon Kim’s arrival we continued the drinking ala mobile sprite bottle which we replaced with a concoction of vodka and seltzer water. Having disposed of unwanted rotten fruit (not a euphemism), we made our way to the bus stop near the apartment in an attempt to get to campus. The “party bus” arrived momentarily and we proceeded to finish our flask. We knew we were on the “party bus” if only because there was a sign that said “party bus”; a sign that was written with a Bic pen and then unceremoniously taped to the outside of the bus with cello tape. This was in direct contradiction to the signs equally unceremonious in their distribution that stipulated “no alcohol on the bus.” What’s a girl to think?