La musique: just because/jane's addiction
"I can't believe this is happening, this is totally ruining my scene cred..."
-Jonah Campbell between vomiting spurts out the side of the car.
So I spent the weekend in Halifax. I know this not really because I was coherant for much of it, but most of my body is indicative of a good and/or interessting trip. Across my knuckles is written "FEEL THIS" in big black letters, and there's reisdue of some red spray paint on my hand.
The knuckle writing came about on the way there where the backseat dance party that was me, gabrielle, and Jonah got rather crunked. A rather pissed front seat had no option but to grow increasing frustrated as we incoherantly tried to voice our desired destination, then stop to urinate on a church, then found our destination, but no one was home, etc.
It was decided with the presence of a large PEI posse a pub crawl was in order. We made home made "Broken heart's club" tshirts with a stencil and spray paint. Alas, we never used them as we all got too fucked, inked each other up with marker (I have "fuck me quick, the aliens are coming!" on my back), followed by much making out and subsequent picture taking, then passing out without going to any bars.
Sunday, I woke up before everybody else and strolled around halifax solo. I hit up the casino, made $10 on the slots and bought a cd. After a lot of pot smoking pizza buying, and pop stealing, a comunal nap was taken. We were awaken by at 9ish by Bob Best and co. And it was decided that we'd get licked, then hit up the dome. Beer was shotgunned, not to mention spilled all over my pants, we eventually hopped 2 cabs to the dome. As I shared pitchers with one Best, then another. Hazziness ensues. Eventually I got kicked out. I'd imagine partly due to my level of drunkeness, partly from because of my "lewd" behavior with a certain Best on the dance floor.
I have a good scrape from the wrestling matchup on the way home. In a 3 on 12ish fatal fury death match, it was Ling-Best-Sangster V. Assorted mailboxes, newspaper boxes, and garbage cans. Needless to say, we prevailed.
We returned in style in the ol' land rocket, after recovering a joint we lost through the steps. We smoked a bit more of the ol' ganj on the way back, and I got to spend the night in my own comfy bed again.
Verdict: Success.
"I can't believe this is happening, this is totally ruining my scene cred..."
-Jonah Campbell between vomiting spurts out the side of the car.
So I spent the weekend in Halifax. I know this not really because I was coherant for much of it, but most of my body is indicative of a good and/or interessting trip. Across my knuckles is written "FEEL THIS" in big black letters, and there's reisdue of some red spray paint on my hand.
The knuckle writing came about on the way there where the backseat dance party that was me, gabrielle, and Jonah got rather crunked. A rather pissed front seat had no option but to grow increasing frustrated as we incoherantly tried to voice our desired destination, then stop to urinate on a church, then found our destination, but no one was home, etc.
It was decided with the presence of a large PEI posse a pub crawl was in order. We made home made "Broken heart's club" tshirts with a stencil and spray paint. Alas, we never used them as we all got too fucked, inked each other up with marker (I have "fuck me quick, the aliens are coming!" on my back), followed by much making out and subsequent picture taking, then passing out without going to any bars.
Sunday, I woke up before everybody else and strolled around halifax solo. I hit up the casino, made $10 on the slots and bought a cd. After a lot of pot smoking pizza buying, and pop stealing, a comunal nap was taken. We were awaken by at 9ish by Bob Best and co. And it was decided that we'd get licked, then hit up the dome. Beer was shotgunned, not to mention spilled all over my pants, we eventually hopped 2 cabs to the dome. As I shared pitchers with one Best, then another. Hazziness ensues. Eventually I got kicked out. I'd imagine partly due to my level of drunkeness, partly from because of my "lewd" behavior with a certain Best on the dance floor.
I have a good scrape from the wrestling matchup on the way home. In a 3 on 12ish fatal fury death match, it was Ling-Best-Sangster V. Assorted mailboxes, newspaper boxes, and garbage cans. Needless to say, we prevailed.
We returned in style in the ol' land rocket, after recovering a joint we lost through the steps. We smoked a bit more of the ol' ganj on the way back, and I got to spend the night in my own comfy bed again.
Verdict: Success.
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