2005-07-06 - 7:10 a.m.

Now I'm quite sure that some would think that since the three of us are from NH (and from LA no less!) that we didn't have to dress up at all. You'd be wrong. And you'd probably think it was all Jewish food. Well that wouldn't make any sense. Honestly - how often do you see poor white Jewish trash? I mean, did you fall on your head and hit a really sharp Jew-hating rock? Because honestly - that's just stupid. Anyway, the food was not only all a heart attack waiting to happen, it was damn tasty!

Except the pork rinds. Oh god almighty, not the pork rinds. I'm gonna let all you dudes and dudettes in on a wee lil' secret. And the secret is this (please don't hate me): Before the White Trash Party, I had never had a pork rind. Nope. Never. Apparently my mother isn't totally the crazy clovis pin that I paint her as. Because if she did one thing right, it was shield her son away from the triple foulness that is pork rinds. Did I mention that I'll never have a pork rind ever again after the White Trash Party? Well, unless someone bets me. I mean, I'm a damn fool when it comes to bets. Unless it involves spiders. I won't even *spell* spider for a bet. [Ok, that's a lie. Yes, I will. But it better be a big payday. And I don't mean the candy bar! Oh man, now I want a payday candy bar. Damn it.]

But yeah, I think Peter, Ben, and I were under the assumption that we don't get that drunk at parties (which is a lie, we never thought that), that there wouldn't be much beer at the party (another lie), and that the Kyoto Treaty isn't worth signing (that's just damn Republican idiocy), so to counter all that, we brought a few 40s for each of us. Which, while yes, was more to fit in with the theme than to give in to our love of Colt 45 and Olde English (also a lie, we don't love them at all), when we did the autopsy of the night the next morning, lots of finger pointing went to the 40s. God, I feel like this is a Kate story, where all the major players are touched by the ridiculously potent power of cheap 40 oz. bottles of sewage beer. Oh well, I'm sure she was proud at the time. I can't remember. That shit was like a month ago. God, get off my back. I do seem to recall that during one of the very first games we played, (this is before shots of MAD DOG 20/20 were being passed around, which if I had ANY long term memory at all I would have staved off, but I did not, so I did not. And somewhere, as I drank down the toxic 20/20, Fred's skin crawled. I don't know why I made Fred and I the Cobra Twins from G.I. Joe. But I like it. God, long parenthetical or WHAT?), I somehow was forced to chug a majority of my 40. And by "forced", if I know me, it was that I was "mildly suggested" to do it and wanting to seem like Joe SuperCool I did it. Hmmmm. Not the best idea. But Little Chris was there and so were a tray of fluffernutter sandwiches . . . on hamburger rolls! I think I heart White Trash. Don't you?

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