My old friend
I had a bunch of peeps over at my place for beer and tunes on the weekend. There's something about having company that makes one's home less like a pit of despair. Here's to cheer. Yet again I showcased my new-found powers of restraint when I began an Old English well into the night and, despite intense peer pressure to continue (Thanks Breeners), stopped halfway through the bottle. Those of you who have known me long enough will know that I have an almost morbid love for the horse piss that the liquor store calls Old English, and that I have never been able to stop mid-bottle before. Am I a changed man? Well, not completely. After the term is over I plan on convincing someone who has a bigger place than mine to host a white trash 40oz party during which I plan to participate in an Old English race and beat my previous record of eleven minutes. Frat-like? Yes. Any challengers?