America, F#ck Yeah!!

I just knew it was going to be an awesome Friday night when at around 4.45pm my boss walked out of his office and announced that it was officially "beer o'clock" and handed some petty cash to one of the staff, who shortly reappeared with a slab (24 bottles) of beer and began handing them out. Then again maybe it was some sort of substance abuse test, which I consequently must have failed since I literally had four beers in the space of 40 minutes while everyone else had one each. If it comes up, I plan to argue something about cost efficiency. No, I'm not quite sure what I'm talking about either.

Anyway, once I'd finished my beer, I headed to Jon Jon's place, as did the rest of Team America. I was a good boy and stuck to vodka and beer, as did most of the team. Scooter and Danny, however, decided that the mood was right for some vodka, some gin, a few shots of tequila, and a few beers to top it all off. Which was alright for Danny seeing as he's a big guy, who only got a mild telling off from the bar staff for being slightly beligerent. Little Scooter Lachey on the other hand weighs about 27 pounds on a good day, and ended up worshipping the porcelain gods shortly after we had arrived at the local drag bar to watch a few shows, and girlfriend Kate ended up hauling him home. America, represent, guys.

The rest of the weekend was a quiet one, since most of us were relatively incapacitated by Friday night's festivities, pictures of which you can view here (all completely out of order, not quite sure how I managed that). I had a great photo of Scooter that I wanted to include with this post, but Blogger Photos has decided to take this moment to fuck with me, so I guess we're all losers.

And now back to that little thing called 'work', which I'm surprisingly not such a big fan of. (Actually it's not that bad at all, but I think I underestimated how hard it would be to walk into an office when it's beach weather outside, damnit.)