BBP6. It's been too goddamn long. I think we had more BBP newbs this time around than at any previous point. LOki had to sit this one out for reasons insurmountable, which struck fear into my very heart that a sign from on high had been delivered warning of mass suckage. In spite of his unprecedented lack of presence, this shit turned out extremely well. Next time, I need to remember to drink less so I can remember more: if I truly love me, then I need to be there for me more often. Hence, I am sure I have forgotten many good wonderful stories, and I urge all participants to post those here or elsewhere.

The LBP, Kahuna and I landed in Boston to find SexNinja, Clavis, Gothmog and Logan having set up camp at the hotel. Backus, AKA RuthlessPastor (newb, who I will continue calling Backus because that's easier) was right behind us.



Clavis' hand, Logan (Gothmog fuckpiece), Backus, SexNinja, and self. Not pictured: LBP, Kahuna, Gothmog, and a whole slew of fags who didn't make it.





I'm there 13 minutes and I'm already on the laptop. Clavis and I are looking up a good local bar. We didn't find any, but at least this was basically the last time I looked at this laptop all weekend. So since the Internet sucks for finding us decent bars in the neighborhood, we headed out to find one the earlybirds had spotted earlier.

The first one we see looked promising, but, as it turns out, refuses Canadian driver's licenses and unfortunately also gives a shit about ID, and despite Kahuna's deft playing of the race card ("So you're saying since I'm Canadian I can't come in your bar?") we must go elsewhere. In fact, after Clavis makes fun of the guy's accent ("Then I guess we'll have to go to ANOTHA BAH") we really *must* go elsewhere not slowly, preferably before a fight erupts out of the bouncer's shaven biceps. Luckily, this seems to be a two-bar town, so we end up somewhere that looked really shitty from the outside but was actually pretty decent once inside. Drinks were cheap. We had many of them. I believe this is SexNinja's first time drunk.






First bar, first night. LBP giving duckface, Clavis sharting, and Logan suffering bacterium gothmogilia being blatted onto her face.





Kahuna, Backus, Clavis, SexNinja. Here's us on the phone with Dumbskull, I think. She had called me earlier in the day and I let it roll to voicemail since I kinda recognized the area code and thought it might be Wotak (don't mean to tase you bro -- thumbs up on the New-Leaf Wotak -- but the surprise Wotak phonecall policy evidently involves a hermetic voicemail wrapper). We were on the phone here a long goddamn time and nothing of much consequence was said though I think Dumbskull is doing pretty well for herself and also was threatened with a lot of fucking by any and all of us. There is video to corroborate the latter claim.

Also, for some reason, guitarjon got called each and every night -- I think from my phone -- but I'm pretty sure I never dialed his number. I guess a sober review of the evidence might suggest that SexNinja loves guitarjon's e-cock and whatever, but, so OK, this might also be guitarjon getting called, I dunno.





The LBP skanks near some awkward-looking bar-ho.




Obviously, we don't get lots smarter or cooler when drunk, but we seem lots funnier to each other. This includes discussion on the logistics of nailing Dumbskull up her butt. Also, for those of you who haven't learned this important life lesson, there's a quick example on how to effectively repel womenfolk boarders from inserting their weepy morality shit into man-time. It's literally this simple, easy and fun. FYI.





4 LS admins.





4 LS admins, with Three Stooges sound effects, and man-kissing.





Hahaha. I told you this was SexNinja's first time drunk. Here he is consuming a burrito like a vicious animal. Just getting these was its own drunken adventure, since there were a shitload of us in multiple cabs trying to get about a dozen burritos all microwaved at once in a 7/11 microwave that was not designed to cook a dozen burritos at once. The shopkeeper guy didn't like this. He also didn't like us stalking the back area of his joint looking for a bathroom. We were only trying to set us up the bomb.





Burrito, wallet, and 4 hot inches of drunk Iowa peener. Come calling, ladies. lofl.





Lal.





loLOloLOLolol. "So that's what a peepee looks like. It looks chewy."





I seem to find this all quite exciting.





So apparently our partying has caused enough complaints that the front desk guy -- and I hesitate to bestow such an official capacity upon him -- calls us and warns us of cops. Clavis takes the call and talks sense to him. Funny, in all the hotels we've partied at, this is definitely the worst, and it's also the only one that we've ever gotten this call in. I wonder if there's only so far you can push most customers and the hotel did most of that already.

So we wander outside, to make less noise, and end up making just as much noise, only now we've got cavernous covered courtyard to provide a nice echo chamber effect for our dipshittery. Someone thought it'd be a nifty idea to leave a little wheeled cart thingy here, and Backus and Clavis thought it would be equally nifty to take manpowered slalom rides in it. This lasted all of 7 seconds until Clavis spilled out cinematically, losing most of his beer, much to our cackling delight.

The guy came out again. We agreed that we'd move to the end of the hotel, by a little grassy area, and make even less noise. Once there, Kahuna shoomped a sixpack into a bush, providing a real-life Zelda treat. Just hack the bush, out pops loot. There was also a fifth of some scotch or something we got in there. That bush had capacity. We'd come back here the following night to touch base with the Zelda treat again and were rewarded with Kahuna's lootstash cleverness all over again.





I dunno if we kept making noise or what, but someone has a sweet picture of the guy coming out the side window with his arm at a full-length point. I have no idea what he was pointing at, but some of us followed him back in for what probably amounts to no good reason.





Next day, Friday, ready to head out again. Wrecker has just met up with us, and his head is in reality every bit as big as it looked on the Internet. This time we're in Official Bullshit LinkSwarm shirts, which, I had magically bought almost enough extras for like 14 people.





Almost. At least they have the ability to blend out of the crowd in case someone starts causing a scene. "Tut tut, don't even know these rude ugly-black-shirted folk, ole chap."





T platform. We headed into city center and were on a mad hunt for breakfast but apparently this just doesn't exist in Boston past 11AM, go fuck self, you're eating sandwiches. We finally found a decent little breakfast cafe thing and were part of the way through getting food when it became clear that, like everyfuckingone else, they in fact served no breakfast at this time. We all got whatever and wolfed it down.





Wrecker took this picture and I'm stealing it because the LBP pointed out how not a single nigger isn't staring his food down right in its soul. It's remarkable how your body needs food at periodic intervals and doesn't give a shit what you think about that fact. Go, cute little meatbox with requirements and such, go. I'm behind that glass wall with Clavis waiting for some entire family of whitebread shits to get the fuk out of the bathroom already, holy crap. Requirements again.





Then the architectural version of eating your vegetables happens and we see some shit outside of a bar.





You can't even really see the guy on top of that orange building next to the yellow pipe thing holding his arms out like that scene in Titanic like he's about to jump, but he was holding his arms out like that scene in Titanic, like he was about to jump, so we moved toward him and tried to capture the moment. It lasted for minutes and then we realized he was wearing a harness and was going about the business of securing himself on top of the building -- only very dramatically, like a Celine Dion music video, but presumably without jumping off as soon as we turned our backs. I got kinda paranoid that was going to happen. Ultimately, this was a big fucking disappointment. Weird trick-playing non-jumper faggot guy, fuck you up your ass.





If you are clever-cat, you can take pictures of 4 boobies at once, and no one knows. ^_^





So from there we went on to some other crap, like a couple beers at the Rattlesnake, and the farmer's market thing, and then we happened upon the Boston Public Library, which was leet. Seriously, the BPL is unstoppably cool. You know that crap you hear about reverently preserving the accumulated body of knowledge for the future of mankind? This is the first thing I've seen in a long time that reminds me that at some point, someone did something about that.







You can't tell too well, but that fireplace is like 15 feet high and totally made me get a emperor boner and want to crush stuff and people and things, and then retire to my manor, where I could despise peasants at my leisure.





This is some fucking douchebag, probably dead.





Neat little fake-perspective diorama-type thing.





They were having an exhibit on American World War II propaganda posters, which is kind of exactly like us stumbling into the Furrycon last BBP.





Sailor beware!





Kahuna wanted a picture of this one. I think it's the exposed skin.





I thought this was kind of interesting. Minus the state-ordained bit about the Lord, isn't the rest of that what we were fighting?





Hitler, as it turns out, was rather wotakky.





I don't know who put these together originally, but I have news for them: books can, in fact, be killed by fire. It's the suffering and stupidity of man that is eternal and deathless, u stupid n00b filth.





O.K., this part was cooler than it had any right to be. This was a recreation of an epic cautionary tale to heathens meant to scare them away from their evil polytheistic ways into the warm Fatherly arms of Christianity. What they totally fucking missed is that the old cruel whimsical cannibilistic pre-dawn Gods looked cool, way cooler than faggy bleedy Jesus all moping around about lost fish and jerky apostles and pointy spears and smurfbarf and whatever.





See? Jesus could make my laundry smell sweet but this dude knows how to rock.





This bit reminded me of Raiders of the Lost Ark.





Little courtyard in the back, Gothmog and Logan pimpin on by. It was about this time the topic of Masonic stuff came up and evidently Clavis bolted and Wrecker thought that maybe Clavis was funny about Masonic shit, like he had gotten raped or abused or something, but in reality, Clavis had to go take a big failshit in the bathroom and not wipe good enough, a fact he will come to regret at many points throughout the day.





The LBP gets its dumb little head carefully measured for a good crushing. Its brains will glop out like a bucket of warm grape jelly kicked over by an expensive but ugly farm machine.

We move on from here to Solas, which we hit last Boston BBP, only we were in much worse shape last time around. Let's have a look... Update: I can't seem to find that picture. Anyway, we're at the front of our BBP this time around, and not the back, so we're not grouchy and stale and shit. We are spry.





OK, found the picture. I guess I've been stupid about filing these away. Here's me and Gothmog tired and hung-over in our Science Shirts at BBP4 three years ago -- not last time.





A good chunk of us move outside to enjoy the breeze and the boobies and the beggars, one of whom tried to sell us a bottle of wine for $20, even though Kahuna pointed out that it was worth $9, and none of us would pay even $1 for it in any case. I admired him for his beggarly innovation but have to dock him points for not studying up on his supply and demand.





I wandered back in to make sure no one was taking advantage of my delicious white woman and I found this alien sitting next to it. In the LCD of my camera, Wrecker's face was a hilarious white extraterrestrial nothing, with two glossy black bits peering out of it, but here he just looks like a well-fed Thai child praying you adopt him. Haha. No one's going to adopt you, you douche. Except maybe to harvest the fresh crop of meat growing out the back of your high-surface-area skull.

The bathroom they have you use at Solas is fuking dope, and I hope they never get their own. It's like bathroom of the future, seriously. I know what you're thinking; I hate when people go places and then rave about how incredible the bathrooms were. I always figure they're douches and I don't understand their value system. Welp,





We eventually leave and move down to Bukowski's. Here's the LBP, kahuna, SexNinja, and Wrecker, all perched in front of William S Burroughs and some mildly interesting prostitute the LBP informs me is Anais Nin, but whatever, bitches ain't shit.





I caught this neat contemplative little eyeball-picture of SexNinja -- at the risk of sounding like a glib freshman about to get dateraped, it did strike me as something rather Charles Bukowski -- in front of WSB there looking on all inspirationally, but of course I missed it and here's everyone valiantly trying to recreate whatever asshead image I had in my mind, and Wrecker having a faggoty little peek to see how it's all working out. Careful. WSB will fuck you right in the butt, buddy. Sailor beware!





Durrr-urrrrrrrRRRPPP?





Gothmog wearing sunburn fruitgrin, Kahuna elvis-singing into a bottle or practicing lip-heavy fellatio.

Then Backus just about gets us thrown out of this place because evidently they have a non-zero-step "how to leave your beer at the bar and not get it tossed out" tradition and Backus didn't learn this by osmosis and angry cat is angry to have had our beers tossed but we manage to reach armistice and keep our names good but we don't get extra beers out of it.





Luckily, our last moments on earth are spent joyfully in this elevator, thanks to the tiny atomic bomb I'm releasing here and now.





We're in Quincy Market eating. This part seemed to take forever, like Brownian motion played out with people and meal purchases. This looks like Backus and Clavis are seated at pews guffawing over stupid shit like excited schoolboys but we are in fact standing in front of these neat open-air public eating bartops guffawing over stupid shit like excited schoolboys.

Then we go have a beer or two at the Black Rose and then get a interrogative textmessage from Crackalackin, who, we don't know it yet, but is about to fail at BBP a second time, but ultimately we'll realize apart from dutifully carrying out the logistics of teaming up with a fellow nig, no one cares, because he's blacker than sin.





Then, the Hong Kong, and the scorpion bowls, whose chief purpose in life is to let you know you have begun drinking in earnest.





Ah, the nose-horns, an old favorite.





Ah, the sweater-meats, an old favorite.





Gothmog's undies. I figure, if you're going to get patterns like that on your underwear, get a kitten and some mud, and make the kitten do personal sweet little pawprints on your undies. Otherwise, you're just trying to confuse the eye and probably hide some poo specks.





We're getting down to business.





OMGS I FEER SO ARIVE!!!!

So we leave Hong Kong, and finally decide to go next door, which I guess is called Trinity. We'd never been in there before. It's pretty fratty. We do a lot of shots, more than is probably good for anybody.





Kahuna calls in the cavalry while SexNinja is farting out "Gricolaaaaa".





We met some whores. The one Kahuna is handing his phallic cock instrument to there will spend 20 minutes begging for a LinkSwarm job. We try to make it clear to her that there is exactly one job for her at LinkSwarm, and it involves her asshole and/or other orifices doing shameful things to themselves and each other... but she wasn't hearing it. She wanted to surf links all day or something, I dunno. Anyway, if one day I build a LinkSwarm corporate empire, I guess I'll need paid stooges, so keep an eye out for this chick in an unemployment line near you.

So this place kinda sucked, in like that "there's a much better place right next door" way, so we went right next door... back to the Hong Kong.





This is the single nicest picture of Gothmog I've ever seen... probably because Kahuna has meat on a stick and may not be sharing.

Then we went to Ames Plow, where Backus met up with his buddy Willem, and I was having a really good time here, as I recall, until evidently the bartender decided I was too drunk to not get cut off and I decided she was too stupid a bitch not to be told so and then she cut everybody off en masse. Fucking EVERYBODY to the limit. I dunno, I hear conflicting stories on this one, but the LBP was sober as a church and says it was all my stupid fault, so maybe we can't blame ALL the bar-getting-thrown-out-ofs on ol Backus, that dirty pedophile.





So we leave that bar under various brands of evil eye and somehow decide it must be time to go home, which is nice, since the T's magically still running and I've already had too much to drink at least twice tonight. Under the station, Clavis kisses the fan or something, and ends up kittenfacing himself with fansoil. Wook at da wittow nose on it, it poops in da wrong places.





And then gets all Cpt. Morgan on the train.





And he's pissing in the street and cars are going by and who cares.





And he's pissing on my ankle... and, evidently, who cares. This video makes me Laugh Out Loud unreservedly.






And back at the hotelroom, mundhra shows up with Heather! We are now complete minus the fags who couldn't come. (And Cube, who, I'm preparing to be flummoxed if and when he actually shows.)





We do some more drinking, and Wrecker then defends himself from balls as they attempt to drape themselves over his large meathair head in celebration of mundhra's arrival. Yes, I snuck these balls up on you with no warning. That's just how we discovered them, too, as I recall.





To continue in the vein of Clavis being this BBP's sacrificial mascot, when he passes out, we discover that no nigger in this world sleeps as deeply as he does. Hence, Kahuna drags him off the bed, and he slumps compliantly into a mess on the floor. Here the pictures end, cause we're too busy stuffing the ass of his pants with animal crackers and about $5 in change and a snippet of scripture (John 3:16, which Kahuna found poignant and relevant, and he's the local Bible authority, so) and I went looking for one of those meatstick snacks we had but somebody ate them all and I couldn't find one and there was some other stuff and I don't remember all of what it was but understand that once I ran through all the silver coinage in my pocket, I moved on to all the silver coinage on the nightstand, and only avoided pennies, because I don't want to be a dick. At one point I remember cracking my eyes through the hilarity and drunkenness and giggling and noting that the lump sticking out the back of Clavis' ass was definitely at least as big as a softball, and we weren't finished yet, and he never once woke up.

Reports indicate that roughly 2.5 hours later, the stillness of the room, heretofore broken only by quiet sleep noises and huge gatling-gun niggersnores, was shattered as a certain sleep-angry individual woke up, discovered a softball-sized lump of foreign matter in his asscrack, and slung hot handfuls of assgarbage around the room. I imagine it being much like that cool opening scene of Sawfish, tracking the hot projectiles as they cut through space. I was sleeping in a separate room, as was Kahuna. ^_^






Saturday. We wake up the next morning and go outside and are all group-booya and such. Tom and Logan are still in bed -- I guess everybody thought somebody else had seen them up and moving, so at this point they're still asleep. The LBP banged like black people on their door but I guess even this didn't do the trick, so apart from posing for gangsta shots we're trying to do the math on should we skip the next bus into town or just what.

Which, speaking of which, this BBP, aside from a couple laggy bits, was some efficient-ass shit. At prior BBPs, usually we wake up and then mill around and then someone's snacking and then everyone needs showers and oh man biggest shit ever, don't go in there for like 35-45 minutes, and I gotta fix this rocket launcher circuit board and whatever. I think it may have been that we had 4 rooms, so 4 showers and 4 toilets. That may have been key and if you think I'm not locking that in as a serious future consideration, go fuck you, because every day we were cleaned and motivated and the fuck out early, like 11AM.

Well done, all fags.

So then we get to the T stop and the whole shit is broken, like fuck-off broken, and like 100 people are jamming into a make-shift shuttle taking everyone to a couple hops down past the broken piece of the line. This looks like it's going to take forever, and suddenly the LBP disappears and then suddenly the LBP appears and she's suavely secured us two cabs, driven by African madmen, who are enthusiastic about taking us into town for $21/cab, which is outlandishly good, and this is an example of why my bitch rocks. So we pile in and are then pinballed through all these backstreets and our guy was fresh off the boat from Nigeria or Botswana or something and clearly driving was still a video game to him cause he hadn't yet seen a human body die from car impact and I take it the cab in front of us was even better. We eventually get out downtown and meet up with Gothmog and Logan (who somehow got there even before us, which seems to defy physics) and move into Quincy Market looking for breakfast.







Then Wrecker has this huge like panic attack thing and no one knows wtf, least of all him or anyone else. We eventually do the math and realize he's dehydrated, hung-over, calorie-less, and sitting right in the busiest foot-traffic part of the busiest part of the area in one of the world's busiest cities, and also menstruating, so, that was dumb. We move.





He then gets better and we go eat at the Black Rose.





HEY! IT IS MY PAL THE OLD LOBSTER. HOW U BEEN LOBSTA!!!





meep meep here come the lobsterfight

Lobster is basically disgusting but it does taste pretty delicious if you can concentrate your eyes on the white bits.

It was pretty tough getting this place to work right as far as serving us when and what the fuck we demanded, but the food was very good. The waittress had a stupid accent and this grody zitbeard so I was willing to cut her some slack because I am a motherfucking philanthropist, and that is how we ball.





Woots 2 u

Left-to-right in case you haven't paid attention: Kahuna, SexNinja, Backus, Wrecker, Logan, hop, Gothmog, Clavis, LBP, mundhra, and Heather. I'm taking the goddamn picture.





It was around this time we decided to take advantage of Wrecker's free Science Museum tickets to see some Science. We get there and of course find out that the whole shit closes in 15 minutes, so we tear-ass through the museum and try to take in a healthy dose of Science while we still can. They had an Apollo capsule mock-up you could climb into. This is a dinosaur. They used to go "rawr" and stomp around and terrify our tiny soft mammalian forebears, but now it's our turn to rule this shit, and I support the destruction of reptiles whenever feasible.





There was a giant Faraday cage with all this crazy giant zappy shit in it. These two Science Balls were so big and so high up I didn't even see them until I had been in that room 10 minutes. Those 10 minutes were taken up in the following manner:

Kahuna texted me and told me Electricland was awesome, so I got out of the space capsule, smooth-talked Heather and mundhra past the poorly-facial-haired ticket-taker guy ("they're with us", like that means anything) and then found Electricland. There was Kahuna and Wrecker standing in front of a man-sized plexiglass display with a giant rod going into the ceiling. The rod sat on a plate, going through the hole of a donut-shaped disk that sat flat on the plate. You'd hit a button and static electricity would discharge and the plate would shoot up, guided along the pole, like 25 feet, then come back down (of course, because of the whole gravity thing). There was this black kid directly in front of Kahuna, whiling away his (our) time staring vaguely at the display. There was this big sign about one foot in front of his dumb face saying "WHAT MAKES THE DISK JUMP?" and then a few short sentences in English explaining just WHAT MAKES THE DISK JUMP. The answers had nothing to do with impact, but the kid had the distinct idea that force was involved, so he figured the button had to be slammed as hard as possible. There was some commotion prior where the kid had taunted his dumber younger brother for not deducing this. You could see a meter reporting the gradual build-up of charge, and the kid was looking sort of at it, but I don't really think he knew what it was telling him. He just knew you had to wait for some magic time to pass. So there we stood, waiting for him to be satisfied enough magic time had passed, when he eventually wakes up from his mental walkabout, slams the button as hard as he can, resulting in the disk jumping straight up exactly as high as every other time you touched the button with a full charge, and then bolted up the stairs. This was funny because Kahuna's face when I came down the stairs was a classic mix of incredulity and disgust, and then I got to see the backstory slowly unfold in realtime. He can tell this story better, complete with facts and figures, and should.

So basically this kid came to the hallowed halls of White Man's Science, but refused to let any seep into his nappy-headed-ho head.





Then mundhra and I played with a horizontal version of one of those zappy plasma-globe things. It was set into these kinda neat wooden stands like something off of D&D StarJammers, if you have the misfortune to have been exposed to that. Coming out, we saw a couple behind a security gate who evidently had wandered deep into a section that had then gotten closed off, so they were trapped in there... and the place was closing. We Did The Right Thing, though it's clear we could have Done The Wrong Thing and it would have probably been funnier. Anyway, mundhra is now a Science Museum Hero and that rocks.





Here is the delicious LBP behind some crazy Science Window.





And some fags behing the Science Window. What does it do? No one will ever know. We just have to sacrifice things to it or it will destroy us and our delicious white women.





So we have to leave the museum because all the Science is over and we take the T back into town, trying to hook up with Cube, who has texted me with his location. We've just found out that we're not only "three stops away" but like forever away and Cube's not even sure wtf. This is the Bostaan Death March mundhra refers to in the BBP6 forum thread, and it sapped our will to party for at least an hour and a half.





We're getting closer to this place, having walked from the Public Library to Fenway during a Red Sox game. Here's Kahuna doing an angry pirate walk and everybody else basically dying from exhaustion and soul injury.

Also, I've just learned that when people aren't watching, mundhra and Heather communicate in LOLCatspeak.

Heather> "Can has piggybacks?"
mundhra> "Sorries."





Arrived. The Bostaan Death March is over.





We've met up with Cube and Stephanie, and Cube looks like Fidel. It's pretty awesome. This place was called An Tua Nua, I think, and it featured a large nifty window opening onto the street, so white kids could smoke and chill with the black kids sitting down inside, who could pass them beers every so often on the sly until the bartender told us no.





Here's Clavis punching me in my goddamn aorta.





And aw like cute couple pic and whateva.





I didn't know I could make this face. I won't try that again. What a faggot.





Haha.





Proof that Cube has arrived at BBP. This niger is far too absent.





Haha.





This chick was across the street up on the third floor moving her room around, and I guess we all hoped we could provoke her into an impromptu showing of her vagina and/or tits and/or probably whatever else we could get, but none of it came to fruition, really. She whipped her shirt up for a second, but for a true player like me, that equals weaksauce, and I rate that bitch a poor tease, F-.





Then the bartender decided it was time to shut the window, which means it's time for this bar to suck a fat dick, so we GTFOed.

Breezysummerday, truenative, middle_age_man, and acidburn all deserve our thanks here, because their cash allowed us several rounds of shots at this place. Sadly, I don't have pictures, because I was too in the bag to remember (did anyone else get pictures of this?). This time around, we waited to do the big bar-fund finale on Saturday, since it took us til then for everyone to show up, but by this point, we're all so dragged out and sleep-deprived we shoulda taken care of this business earlier, I think, and you late peeheads can suffer slings and arrows. Anyway, thanks guys.

Thanks to shitbox, too -- as it turns out our hotelroom didn't have a goddamn coffee machine, so his gift of deluxe coffee delights went home with Wrecker, who reported it as excellent, and described some kind of olfactory effect that may have been heightened due to the size of his head (bang for buck, ++).

We leave this place and go to Boston Beer Works, where I personally took no pictures. I remember SexNinja using my phone to call guitarjon (yes, yet again), who I think I got to abuse a bit. I think someone tried to call Acidburn, but I don't know how that worked out. What I do know is that I didn't call LOki or meta, a fact I didn't have the presence of mind to regret until the next day. Ah, Sunday, the day of regrets.





From there, on to Jillian's, where I had had distinctly too much to drink already. Wrecker parted. This shot is funny.





This shot is neat. Shot by Kahuna, I think, into the mirror facing you in the closed-in roof area. I didn't give a fuck, being too busy consuming victuals like a madman. My burger here was good, as I recall, and I had to wash my face after like an otter or kitten, with little licks and swipes, quite self-pleased.





THE JUICE IS LOOSE

Cube and Stephanie peeled off, and we left here in some large cabs. In the back of the mini-van one, halfway to the Harvard Square Hong Kong, SexNinja gives me something like the following, and I'm sure I misremember the fluff, if not the meat...

Q: Hey, something's been bugging me...
A: What?
Q: I haven't been able to get a boner since Thursday.
A: LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
A: LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
A: ...
A: LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

And he was dead serious. A nigga was genuinely worried that, because of BBP, his boner was broke.





Then we got to Hong Kong, where things start to unravel pretty quick. I only got to go upstairs for a single scorpion bowl, due to some mysteriously pressing need to fuck off in every direction at once. I noticed they were very stingy with the colorful animals -- our bowl only had two giraffes and some other thing. The giraffes provided a welcome sense of tranquility, though.





Kahuna looks like a scorpion bowl centurion here, standing at the ready with six feet of assembled uber-straw. I dunno what the whores' position on the uber-straw was, if any.

Eventually some of us started eating in the restaurant below, which was extremely good Chinese food, and I got to snarf a bit of it from various drunk and distracted fellows. mundhra and Heather went home early, which, fags.





Then Gothmog showed up and started a whole new kind of houseparty which, if you missed it, you are sad. We kinda got thrown out of here, too, and I guess it would have been his fault.





Then it was Sunday, and my god, am I tired by this point. Everyone's gone except for Kahuna, Gothmog, Logan, the LBP, and me. We go to Fire and Ice downtown, which is always good, and then wander around doing shit-all for a few hours. We went into the Army Navy store and saw this chick wearing my NASA shirt, which, I could get catty about her having the same shirt as me, but it'd be stupid, and gay, especially since this is the very store I bought it in, and I'm not a woman. It was wierd seeing someone else in one of these, though. We bought those retractable spring-loaded-type attack sticks, which I think are illegal here. Then we went home and BBP6 was over.





Except on the way back to Syracuse, we convened at a rest stop and ate Boston Market and found one of those stupid old-school physical video games had 32 credits already in it, because the ball was stuck in the back and everyone would come by and throw a quarter in and then leave all dejected without figuring this out, so Gothmog got the ball out and we played a couple games each and then left the remainder of the credits to a mulatto kid with that wierd dappling some of them get and he was like whatever but I like to think that inside he was secretly elated but was afraid to be vulnerable because half-breeds have it hard in this world.

So the game had a helpful map showing you were the PRIZE HOLE was; here it is. But the real PRIZE HOLE is in my heart, where BBP sits. You can see the entire collection of photos and crap here.