Saturday Night's All Right For...

...well, anything really.

Tonight was one of those hot nights where you do not want to go to bed at all, in case you miss something. You know what I mean, right?

Hotness.

As usual, my wingman Greg and I headed down to the Napier in Fitzroy, for our regular Saturday evening dinner and warmup.

As usual we ate way too much, and as usual, we flirted mercilessly with the bar staff.

As usual, Andrea (Queen of all Hotness) behind the bar growled at me for not saying goodbye last time we were there. I like to play it cool, you know.

Not as usual, I took a photo of myself on the toilet, and here it is:


"plop!"

I think this sign above the bar sums it up best, really:


That's 4 eva, peepz!

The Napier rules...a lot.

After Greg had 6 pints of beer there, we decided to go the Labour in Vain on Brunswick Street, for 6 more.

While Greg was ordering I wandered up onto the roof and saw this lovely lady:


Odette!

Odette and I always have strange conversations, and that's the way we like it.
What we say doesn't have to make sense, especially because as far as I'm concerned, words are just little time-wasting devices that allow me to look at her for longer.

She asked me what I was doing there, and I told her I was looking for my calculator.

Odette said "You're such a nerd, with your tatts".

Classique.

By the time we left, the sun had gone down.
Greg's beer count = 12 pints.

We headed straight for The Espy, which was like one of those weird things you find in childrens playgrounds indoors, like a swimming pool full of balls.
Only the balls were pheremones, and everyone at The Espy was in the pool together, drowning in them.

Nice.


Omigod, graff gets me so wet.


So very, very wet.

We had headed down to see Lorenzo's band, who have been in rehearsal for years, and played their first show last week.
I can't remember what they were called, but it was something like The Desperado's, or, The Renegades, or something.

The first five rows were all girls, and they were screaming and wanting very much to make the sex with the band.

Excellence.

Greg had some beers, believe it or not.
Beer count = 15 pints.

At this point I should mention Greg has the fastest metabolism known to man, his whole family does.

This is illustrated by the fact that if you stand close enough to him, you can actually hear him whirring like an iPod when it's loading up.

Plus, he farts like a racehorse.

By about 2am, we headed into town to a place we'd never gone before...Phoenix, on Flinders Street.

The cool thing about going somewhere new is, I pretty much always have a great time, and this was no exception, helped in no small part by the following parties:


He loves salami, and she's the bad influence of the family.


He was super-cool, she is in big trouble.


He has ingested 20 pints of the brown stuff, and Simon looks like a superhero.


He is like a Maelstrom of marketable chic, she's still a bad influence.

...who were all on a tequila-fuelled rampage.

Greg avoided Tequila, opting instead for a few beers.

Greg's beer count = a gazillion-thousand.

Ben and I had a shoe-off, maybe you guys can help?
My original !995 Adidas Gazelle's-


Old Skool, fool.

Versus whatever the fuck these are supposed to be-


May as well write "I am a homo" in texta on them, and finger yourself.

Don't get me wrong, I like Ben's style...ok, so I don't.

Greg had some beers, and I received a text from an insanely hot Spanish girl I haven't seen in ages, inviting me back to my place for no sleep, and lots of exercise.

Unfortunately, I can't post those photos here, but, seeing as I know you all in real life anyway, I'll just mail you a copy of the DVD we made.

I think Greg went on to Cherry, for some beers.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.