I Smell Sex and Tacos.

3 Feb
The stench of Taco John’s remains on my fingers for days. It reeks of rotting cheese, raw beef, decomposing plant matter and bleach water. It’s disgusting, and unless science discovers a way of disembodying my separate appendages, I’m f’ed in the A.
Summer has been phenomenal thus far. Okoboji was more than your average person could handle, Jordan’s has proved to be a fun little party venue as of late, and Laurel’s rents evacuated the premises this weekend, leaving us to experiment with stimulants, depressants, and nudity. No harm done. Really fun time, let me tell you. The groups of people we get together are fantastic. I love everyone, except everyone that lives in Council Bluffs, North O, and Mexico.

And Laguna Beach. Those people look like fags as well.

Last night was a great time. Fiestas at the Freemyer residence always prove to be satisfying. However at some point in the night, I ventured upstairs to find a dimly lit room full of naked nancies playing some sort of game around the ping pong table. I saw more tits and dongs than your average creeper watching late night HBO. I was completely unprepared for such a sight, and quickly and quietly returned downstairs for beer bong numero catorce, or twenty something, I’m not certain– foggy memory, things of that sort, you understand.

In other upcoming events, my birthday (the big 1-9), in cooperation with Nicholas “I nip out harder than a military boot camp” Lang’s birthday will be celebrated in a Norwalk/Iowa City combo over July 25-27. If you think I’m not excited, you’re sorely mistaken. Cole’s father will be participating in Fagbrai, wheeling all over this godforsaken planet, so we’ll be drowning ourselves in alcoholic beverages and illegal painkillers the first night in his vacant houshold. Then the second night will be spent in the bars in Iowa City, since Nick and I will legally be able to get in finally. We’re infants. Alcoholic infants. It’s fine. Tell the police not to waste their time, because I refuse to get a ticket of any sort in any circumstance. Just go home, po.

Minnesota with Midge, a.k.a. “Midgeasota” is this Tuesday through Sunday. That should be stimulating, although unfortunately there are more mosquitoes than there are people in that place, and the odds of me avoiding malaria or West Nile are slim to none. I’m probably going to die. That sucks.

Other than these landmark occasions, my days will be spent slaving in Taco Gay daily, and dabbling on the guitar which I am not impressive at. That is all.

“I’m REALLY drunk still.”

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