Too tired to do the weekend writeup justice.

Maybe not. Let’s see.

It started with me, drinking with Godot in the IFC. Was soon met by Caspar, The Snoop, Barnaby, Gudmond and The Counter. Over to the aiport to check in with our e-tickets, that turned out to be 100% paper. I was moaning, but we had biz class seats in the end, soooooo.

On the flight I watched the latest episode of 24 on my PSP. Lovely. Gudmond listened to music very loudly. It was his birthday, sooooo. I think we got to the hotel, into our rooms and out again by midnight. I wanted to head over to Greenbelt, to meet Mili, alas I was outgunned by naughty bars. Don’t recall much of the banter. I do remember this:

Girl: “You want to play a game?”
Counter: “Do you have chess?”
Me: “Or cribbage?”
Girl: “Yes I have cleavage, look!”

Riiiiiiiight.

Caspar did his usual, and ended up somewhere mad. A ‘dance rave’ that was playing Barry Manilow. The Counter was wandering the streets until 10am. I was tucked up in bed with my camera and a coconut scented mermaid. No. No photos on here.

We were collected at 12 by Cheech and Chong for our ride up to AC. A place that exists for pretty much one thing. Noncing. Check out the Oasis Hotel:

The suites are among the largest rooms in Angeles and a good option if you like to have two or more girls for the night.

Erm. Oh my zut!

Cheech and Chong had no idea how to get there once we got off the expressway. They stopped every two hundred metres or so to ask someone. Ridiculous.

Right, getting tired now. Let’s just do a precis.

Out for food.
Sweating.
Met mad Doris from t’internet. She was sweating. And lovely. But mad. She left.
Few bars. Me singing Bohemian Rhapsody on a mic. To a bar full of hyuuuuuukers. Autographs. Offers of free tattoos. No thanks.
Hey Ya Sambucas.
Lancelot Club. Birthday cheers. Welcome to the MLCCC. Some Tagalog song to the tune of Another One Bites The Dust, but is naughty I think. I can hear ’salsal mo’ and ‘blow job mo’. The first one means ‘wanking’. Not sure about the second. [All links MP3, < 120KB]
Met mad Doris again. She left again. Saying I didn't like her. She couldn't have been more wrong!
Again, our motto was "No stone unturned", Caspar's was "No stage unturned": in every bar, he danced on the stage. He also sang into a flip flop. Then lost it. I found it. Then, the worst signing. Ever. [AVI, purposely adjusted the contrast to protect the guilty. 1.9 MB]
Ice in the bog.
Queen.
DJ Caspar.
Arse. [CAREFUL!]
A bleached blonde from the “Malay-Hispanic-Sino-American mélange to our south“.
All of us.

There will be more. Once I get The Snoop’s photos.