goodnight dirtballs

BLOOMINGTON, IL - another weekend recap! mine's good because i'm the only one ballsy enough to give you dirt (read: be indiscreet). more on that later. friday night ended with an anti-climactic run-in with the saddest soul in urbana: Backpack. this is the kid who pretended to drink turpentine at our last party and made off with a dewalt drill, possibly two shitty speakers, and bert's copy of 1984 i had sitting next to the toilet (in his backpack. ere go, nickname). my two months of tracking him down led nowhere, and natalie spots him at a random party in the hippiest party i've ever had the pleasure of ruining. i got in his face for an hour, took his money ($6 is all i get for a $250 drill and a book i was in the middle of), and left when caroline asked me to leave. no drill, no ass-kicking, no restitution, no apology; just a pathetic snot-nosed hippie and a strange lesson about victimization and the futility of revenge....uncomfortable silence....saturday!

laura's birthday was great. i debated at the store whether to bring merlot or cabernet sauvignon, and whether to get the big bottle so everyone could have some, or to get the smaller one because big bottles look so cheap. from that moment it just got classier. melissa was too drunk to say hi. she slapped my ass and dipped into the bathroom with laura to tell secrets. we spent the walk to the bar scheming how to get her into *****'s *****, **** **** **** ***, with an occasional warning that i wasn't being smooth enough. the men spent the night in man fashion, buying rounds for each other, making friends with another group of guys over our mutual determination to save the president from french terrorists, armed only with giant plastic guns and a jack and coke. those crafty french snuck at least 200 special ops ninjas onto air force one, but they were no match for me and ed. k didn't look comfortable until he found a stool next to a doorway, a seasoned doorman who might never readjust to civilian life. then we let a bear mauling a woman on tv (in slow motion! three times!) distract us from our offensive linemen duties. a third-string safety found a hole and got his hands on our quarterback. this was the sack of his career. we didn't even give him a hard time. we were so stunned by his skater shoes, sagging pants with red bvd's, jack-the-pumpkin-king beanie, and no kidding absent front teeth that all we could do was record it on cell phone cameras. none of us are sure how we let him take her home. anyway, ***** has herpes and syphillis now thanks to us. cheers!

i spent the rest of the weekend with sambo, but not before checking out this pierce brosnan lookalike's friend's party. we got there just in time to see the place clearing out. one of the "hosts" was showing us the door by sticking his tongue out and miming how he would masturbate on us if we didn't get out fast enough. shoo had just enough time to capture the experience by taking a picture of the stolen heineken banner with holes cut in it to allow for the mounting of $10 speakers. instant mtv grind dance party. i understand guys: it's not rape if you earned it by throwing the krunkest party ever.

thank you ISU, for making me feel as decent and wholesome as the potato salad at a st. alfonsus pot luck.