LAST NIGHT I PICKED UP SOME FINE SCOTCH AFTER WORK

[lambmcspicy]

My roommates has just duct-taped me to the floor when the neighbors rang our doorbell. We had Zach's dissassembled drum set scattered about the room and had just finished banging on it to Nirvana's Live in Rome February 22 1994 recording and some early 80s Michael Jackson. Before that we'd been dogpiling and tagteam wrestling. Matt and I assumed they were complaining about the noise, and Chris mistakenly pressed the Talk button on our call box, thinking we had visitors from the outside. We invited our neighbors in for a beer. I was still taped to the floor. One neighbor lives below us and is an Irish gentleman who speaks some Magyar and can't drink Whisky but does have an incredibly sexy apartment with lots of modern furniture he's made, and the other is our down the hall neighbor, a pretty girl who lives in the apartment that something like seven people share (all stacked up on bunks) with a svelt pitbull/boxer mutt. The Irish guy was carrying a gigantic Hoover Windtunnel Mach 6.9 like he wanted us to start vacuuming so as to make even more noise. Once I was able to pry myself off of the floor, we had to cut some of the duct tape out of my hair. I wrestled with the dog on the couch. She humped my forearm. She didn't eat my face like the Black Lab that ate the French woman's face that thusly just had the first face transplant.

The Hoover Windtunnel Mach 6.9 is still here this afternoon, facing the door like it wants to go home.