I HATE THE DRAKE: October 2008

What to write about... I'm at work from 11 to 2 on Thursdays. That's a lot of time to sit on the internet. I'm out of things to look at by about 11:30. My guess is that if I start writing in the blogsphere, I'll waste another, oh, fifteen minutes. Hmm... well.

How about Halloween? That works. Kyle is set on Paperboy and says I should do Little Mac from Punch Out. I think it's a good idea. I just don't know how recognizable a dude in a black wife beater, green shorts, and green gloves will be. My guess is that boxing gloves ain't cheap, especially when weighed against "what are you supposed to be?" all night. Add a beard, which I am not willing to shave, and you've got confused looks all around. Speaking of my beard, if you're expecting to see another shaving spectacle during the party this year, you can forget about it. You shave during the summer, when it's pretty much necessary. Not during the fall when it's about to get as cold as Stephanie Kaye's disposition towards Arthur. Speaking of Degrassi, I want to be the Zit Remedy. Kyle thinks that's pretty gay, which it is, but fuck if Halloween isn't about being gay. I wore a dress last year. There's going to be three million Jokers running around with their knives, shoving it up to people's mouths all over the nation. That's gay. Couples? There will be a million Margot and Richie Tenenbaums. Gay. God, Halloween is just gay. I'd rather skip the costumes, drink copious amounts of beer, and talk about how gay Halloween is. The part that pisses me off is the snobbery put into. Yeah, dude. Good for you for dropping close to a hundred dollars on your Batman as a Warhol painting costume. Way to go on that Ultimate Warrior outfit. Give it, oh, eight hours and that costume is worthless and you'll never be able to use it again or you'll get called out. Meanwhile, I'll spend $8 on a Mickey's, a Sparks, and a six pack of Pabst for my "drunk" costume and I guarantee I'll have a better time especially because I don't have to mind my giant chicken feathers all night or whatever. Okay, the "drunk" costume is gay. I think only rednecks do that one. I'll spend maybe $10 on a yellow sweatshirt and some puffy paint for my Zit Remedy costume and anyone who is cool (aka, watches Degrassi) will get a kick, I'll feel good about myself, and I can still drink comfortably without having to mind a bird beak or something. Or pour beer down some hole where my mouth is because I built this big, dumb box contraption that lights up and shit.

Shit, I'm not against anyone who goes all out. I think it's really cool when people care enough to put in the effort to make a badass costume. Especially when it's spot on and doesn't look like a craft store's worst nightmare. Like... oh... Steve's costume last year. That ruled. Even Joe Ozinga's was cool, despite it being Wes Anderson and a film that had been in the theater for like maybe a month. Nonetheless, they looked good. But to me, Halloween is a party, therefore I treat it like one. That means drinking, dancing, and having fun. If your Cloverfield costume kicks the shit out of my Zit Remedy costume, fuck it. Let's drink and have a good time. I guess that's all I'm trying to get out.

Which reminds me of this SHITTY costume I had when I was a kid. Creative? Yes. Resourceful? Yes. But got, it was gay. Halloween is pretty soon after my brother's birthday. He had all these birthday hats. You know, the pointy ones? I spray painted those black and made this shitty monster mask thing out of them. God, it looked stupid. My mom did my makeup, I wore black sweats, and I made a stupid broken chain necklace thing out of tin foil. Jesus. I was a smash fuck.

Here's a costume idea. Be a blogger. Sit at home, DO NOT go to any parties. Just be really bitter and type the night away.

This was the weekend.

Thursday:

A couple daddies.

Pussy Control. Or pussy patrol.

Kyle, probably singing Green Day's "Good Riddance".

JJ's crew.

These next few pictures are from the series "Megan Likes to Have Her Picture Taken".

Zolt, expressing his thoughts on the evening.

FALL BREAK!

Zach, trying to get kicked out by laying on the air hockey table.

The epitome of "daddy".

Infinite dudes, slangin' suds.

Pff, not gay.

DADDDDDDYYYYYY.

Anna is fond of Kyle.

By Zach Holt.

Abe, playing air hockey with a pitcher. Except not really because it's broken.

Drinking makes people hungry.

When I was showing him these pictures, Kyle was reminded that he got pizza.

The following pictures are all part of this new photography style I invented where you stick your camera as close to a person's face as you can. It is both annoying and weird. It creates unflattering pictures and that is why I will share them. Enjoy: