Too much Fighting Cock

Alcohol can be such an asshole sometimes.

Especially 103 Proof alcohol named after feisty male genitalia, under the guise of fighting, ferocious game chickens.

My birthday was a lot of fun! It was like a rollercoaster, except it only had two parts -- the part where excitement courses through your veins as you keep going up and up... then to the point where your supposed trip to the heavens is abruptly interrupted as you breach the crest and just go careening towards the ground.

Too much Fighting Cock.

Drink's kept coming to me. Being the occasional asshole and that it's my birthday, I take on all comers -- pounding them out as if I was a combination of Justin Slayer and Mr. Marcus. *pause*

Eventually, the inevitable dethroning of King Arthur happened. I just wished that it didn't happen before 11 PM.

Too much Fighting Cock.

I mean, I didn't even get to go out to the bar I was supposed to go to -- I was blacked out and dunzo by then. Some things that I did as told to me by my friends the next day:

Acting like a douche, I yelled out "WHAT UP!?" as I was stumbling to the bathroom. I then run into the wall.

I sat down on the curb then just fell backwards and smacked my head on some gravel. This explains the bumps on my head the next morning.

I went to go pee next to some dumpsters in an alley with my roommate *pause*. After he's done, he rounds the corner to find me laying down on the ground. In the alley.

Too much Fighting Cock.

Not everybody could make it out because it was a Tuesday, but to everybody that did... thanks ya'll! I truly appreciate each and every one of you for coming and celebrating King Arthur's birthday.