About 8:30 this morning I heard my phone make it’s pleasant little text message noise. This was a good thing because it implied my phone made it home. By extension, from my position under three pillows avoiding any possible light sources, I could summarize that if my phone made it home, my pants (that normally hold my phone) we’re mostly likely here, which means that against all odds, I had made it back safely from badowski’s bachelor party.
A few notes –
The wine bar, where all this chaos kicked off was lovely, but why the hell did they have the UFC up on the big TV ? It’s a bit of a miss-match (wine bar and cage fighting), and only served to get certain people even more riled up.
JagerBombs are always a bad plan.
Many apologies to the girl who’s foot I ran over with my bike. I’m sure the tire marks will come out of your over priced shoes. Wedges are so last year anyway.
Shots of straight Jager are an even worse idea.
Many thanks to the dude who offered to help us fix the busted chain on the bike that Brian stole from Germ. While your laughter at how incredibly mangled the thing was wasn’t exactly helpful, I guess it’s the thought that counts.
Ok, fine, the JagerBombs were my plan.
I’m not really sure who’s idea it was to buy a massive Braut from the street vendor, but dear god that was good, and probably contributed greatly to our continued survival. May the gods continue to bless the wonder that is german sausage, and all the fine street vendors who distribute it.
And finally, even though we are old, it’s good to see that Badowoski Tim and Rob still posses freakish, near superhuman skills at foosball.
(Also, many many thanks to Kyndal for giving Rob her sunglasses and then taking the picture above)