The Chug's blessing. Too bad the Chug is a curse in itself.
BUSTED. I praised Crom while others moped.
American Idol!
America's Got Talent! Hey Ya!
Busted foosball table means air hockey. Megan... check.
Dan-boy put up a good fight, but couldn't step.
Yart! 3 for 3.
Beer, pre-Binkley match.
Pat stepped up and came out ahead. 3 for 4.
Beer, post-Binkley.
Anna? Effectively handled.
Woe is Anna. Apparently.
God. Victory shot, I think. This signals portrait time.
Megan is the only person I know that will purposely take a really awful picture of themselves.
Hay, Ray.
No one plays pool at the Chug.
People got siked on this but it was a false alarm. I, again, praised Crom.
Chug's "facilities". Pat just discovered that you can flush this thing. As I was taking this, some dude walked in and I told him I was taking a picture of my dick. He looked weirded out.
The last thing I remember. Aside from cutting the fuck out of my finger on Evan's razor. God dammit.Later.
Prayer Breakfast tonight.
2 comments:
Man, I felt bad for dipping out early, but it looks like it was just air hockey and broken foosball all night. I'm glad Mo's is closed but not if it means every night's going to be like this. Partiez 24/7
Mo'z blowz.
Table games in Muncie's shittiest bar is weak.
Apparently, there's a party at our house tonight. Apparently.
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