November 21, 2004

  • Hit that C spot…

    Well, Friday night nina celebrated her birthday.

    The celebration ensued at the fabulous c spot space.

    The fencing swords came out for several duels.

    My father went to the Olympics for fencing in Munich ’72. He would have wupped up an all these wannabes.

    Three canvases were out for for communal painting (an activity I always get a kick out).

    I even got into the action, there’s my trademark sun design, and the intruction to Live!

    Can you guess what I drew in this much older compilation? (this is old man, like back in the day sophomore year, and yet it still lives.)

    (You might think you can enlarge it if you click on it, but we don't roll that we here at Shut The Fuck Up.)

    After fencing, arm wrestling comes easy.

    You know sexy sadie, right? Well what about Sada?

    We chilled it for a bit on that couch, until her journalizing got the better of her. She had to go interview char about her clothes as an assignment.

    This guy arranges flowers.

    Mark loves him his haikus.

    Doug is a true artist, beret and all (it turns out that once you are writing fiction as what you do, the beret ceases to be pretentious).

    Paul strums him a mean guitar.

    Alison went rudolph’s cousin with yellow nose.

    I crush the birthday girls head.

    Charlotte lays out.

    You know it’s not a party until someone wears a lampshade.

    Or passes out.

    Like me, except I blend into my surroundings.

    All in all, an excellent soiree. Except I slept on the couch in a cold room and awoke with a sore throat.

    Maybe a hang over too. Charlotte was letting her gas man in and felt my pain.

    As they say, if you live by the sword, you just might die from said sword.