How did this good yinzer turn into such a parody of fraterdom? I guess the short answer is vodka. Well...that's the longer answer too.
On Saturday, I went over to Corey and his partner's house to have some good clean fun. The plan was to eat some marinated pork and read Batman comic books. (We are CMU alums, we can only fake normalcy for like 20 minutes). My contribution to the dinner party, other than my general awesomeness, was tequila. After 500 ml of tequila, the three of us mozied to Saudia Aurora and Corey's local watering hole.
To be honest, the bar was not my scene. In the sense that there were morbidly obese women wearing super-tight clothes and belting off-key versions of Donna Summers, Christina Agulera, or Celine. I think after the second bad rendition of My Heart Will Go On, I decided that we should go on. To Vegas. To see Celine. Because, fuck it, I have sick days and just got a new credit card with 0.00% APR for 18 months.
So, we went to Corey's flat. Corey had time to pack, and this is what he chose:
Except of course...I didn't have any clothes at all. The shirt that I was wearing was stained with sweat, tequila, and poor choices. So, I had to wear some of Corey's clothes. Corey...is...not...my...size. So, it was really interesting to try to find something that would work.
Five minutes outside of our hotel, I found my dream the yard long margarita.
|Look at that glorious margarita|
In a side note: I drank that shit for 5 fucking hours and still didn't finish it. It was fucking huge. And painful.
Walking around, we drank and saw all of the sites. The sites in Vegas mainly consists of porn magazines, undocumented workers trying to get you to fuck a prostitute, and small children frolicking around drunk guidos. Seriously, who the fuck brings their kid to Vegas? Probably someone who got drunk in their mid-20s and drove to Vegas.