When Phallic met Erin

Yeah, the access code TO MY PANTS

I don't particularly know why Kongye believes that I would be the best person to recount the events of last night, because my experience was not really all that remarkable. I got incredibly drunk and struck out with a woman dressed as a cartoon character. Basically, it's the same thing for me as any other weekend, except with cheap pink wigs.

As Kongye detailed, we started the night at our table at our bar with service from some of our favorite waitresses. After drinking our fill of quality beers on my part and some pink concoction called a "9 1/2 Weeks" on Kongye's, we headed out for a liquor store to look for official blog drink Jekyll & Hyde while indulging in another one of our favorite pastimes: calling up our college friends and drunkenly berating them.

So halfway through one of Kongye's old standbys about how you're a loser and she hates your girlfriend, we are interrupted by a familiar song. That's right, the Geico caveman was wandering the streets of Manhattan with a boombox blasting his "theme song" and Erin Esurance in tow. Erin grabs us and tells us we're the coolest people ever or something and insists we accompany her to a party.

So we get to some apartment party. Now, I've been trying to find a classy way to say I got incredibly fucking hammered, but I'm at a loss. So basically, I got incredibly fucking hammered. I got into the party and immediately ripped open my index finger opening a bottle of Blue Moon with a metal spoon. It gets hazy after that.

In an effort to stop the bleeding on my hand, I grabbed a bandanna and wrapped it around my finger. (I later ended up wearing it around my head, and eventually walked out of the party with it.) Then they ran out of beer, I started hitting the mixers hard, and it all becomes a vodka and Hawaiian Punch flavored blur.* However, by reviewing the numerous cuts and bruises on my body, I can only theorize that this was the Vietnam war of parties: A long and bloody battle of attrition against not only my fellow partygoers but also my impending liver failure.

My war against my fellow partygoers became more apparent after Kongye got herself locked out of the party and wandered off to wherever she went and some douchebag decided it was his sacred duty to keep me from ever talking to Erin Esurance for the rest of the night. So after about 5 minutes of some dipshit in a Bruce Springsteen costume making veiled physical threats every time I got near a certain pink-haired vixen, I decided to register my displeasure by spitting a mouthful of lukewarm vodka and fruit punch into a beer cooler and staggering out of the party. Judging by my knee, I then punctuated that sentence by falling down a flight of stairs at some point.

Call me

All in all, a classy end to a classy night, and as a bonus due to my references to both 9 1/2 Weeks and Erin Esurance, we'll hopefully attract people running google searches for Mickey Rourke/Esurance porn.

*Coincidentally, "a vodka and Hawaiian Punch flavored blur" also describes the substance that came out of my mouth the next morning.