So I had some high school friends over last Friday. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Just a drinking session with my bestest friends. I mean, we've gone as far as having gin-Milo before. And when I was going through a tough break-up 6 years ago, we drank so much lambanog that we found ourselves playing with our own puke. Not that I advocate getting wasted, because that would be immature. But I just. Like. Drinking. Too much, sometimes.
But now that we're somewhat grown-up, we've settled on having the usual, safe beverages like Red Horse and some gin mixture. That night, we had gin pineapple. Marc came at 9PM, on the dot, and it wasn't until an hour later that anybody else arrived. The two of us kept ourselves busy by downing the first of six Red Horse Grande bottles, by playing pusoy dos, and by talking about romance and work and studies and how special children aren't really that special, because some of them can't walk and shit.
We also got a call on my celly from Kitkat, who's in Chicago, but I didn't get to talk to her that much since I bump into her over at YM almost every night, anyway. By the way, she gave me the most awesome (and four month-early) presents: a Hasselhoff t-shirt and an Anberlin CD. I really don't remember much because I was busy running around, cleaning the slightest mess, and also I was super drunk. Though another bottle wouldn't have hurt.
I slept at 3:30 and woke up at 7 and had the worst stomach ache. Did my business and went back to sleep for another couple of hours. I had to get ready for my nephew's party at Shakey's, and what appeared to be a normal night out with The Bim, only it was something completely different.
I hail from the far kingdom of Las Pinas City, and have put an end to the debauchery of numerous monsters of the land and of the seas.
Furthermore, my scrupulous attention to detail has entitled me to garner the following honors from ages past: best in art, best marksman, and most likely to become Emperor of the Philippines.
