Yeah, That Happened: What Really Happened: 17-18 July.

Let me just start off by saying that I punched Mikey in his little hobbit face this weekend. I did it as a friend, as a mentor, and as a wing man of the most supreme kind. But here I am, already getting ahead of myself.

How does one keep busy during the summer? Real simple: party hard. And that isn't hard when you are both attractive and powerful. I happen to be both. You, silly child, are probably neither. Read on to find out what life is like on the greener side...

Friday night was a BIG NIGHT. There was a party I had been invited to, one of many actually, that I planned to attend. After a brief pregame with my distinguished compatriot, Barry, we decided it would be a good idea to check things out. Well, fail. Worst party ever compared to the hype, especially. We arrived late, of course, as anyone of any importance does. It's not your job as a notable figure to help the hosts warm up the event, they should be prepared to carry it in ready for your arrival. This party failed to do that in the heaviest way.

When we arrived we found that we were not the only ones who had been deceived by the promise of a most righteous party. Our good friends Stan, Andrew, and Mikey had also arrived and were already in the full swing of the evenings activities: enjoying the company of sexually confused adolescent males from the great Wisconsin northwoods. No wonder one of them was wearing a UW-Stout shirt. Unlike my wonderful friends, that abject human can never hope to attain a degree from UW-Eau Claire.

If you note the picture above, both Barry and Mikey are keenly interested in something that is NOT the party, not a good sign for you, party hosts. FAIL. Lurch in the background is having a killer time though for sure.

It was also brought to my attention that Barry and Mikey were wearing the same shirt, a fact disputed by both. In the end, Barry's Japanese paper denim jeans won out.

All in all, I'd rather sit at home while flogging myself and singing in Latin than experience neanderthals splashing about in beer puddles and sitting in chairs on top of kitchen tables shouting to no one and everyone.

But things did pick up eventually just a little bit and saved the evening from being a complete loss. You see, in addition to being athletes, Stan and I both train as skilled fighters. While we were standing outdoors, preparing to depart, one fellow we knew stormed out of the house and at the command of "ATTACK!", Stan did just that. Except in the manner of a friend, he allowed his victim to go, only to be thrown like a doll. During this moment a dark thing happened: Stan's last beer had been tipped over. Thrown into a rage like I have seldom seen before or since Stan snatched up his beer and in the most primal scream yelled "WHO DID THIS!!?", then turned and hurled his beer into the street. Immediately our friend sensed this a provocation and gave Stan the good old Goldberg spear! WCW what!? Slowly staggering to his feet, Stan was handed not one, but two beers. His response? "Well now I have to shotgun this one."

And that, my friends and lesser-thans, was Friday night.

Now, on to Saturday and the main event:

This is the image that will forever be imprinted on my mind when I reflect on the events of this particular Saturday evening. The day started slow and only got worse when it came to light that AT&T sucks more than anything else in the world right now. So many texts that didn't even go through. Fortunately the slow night in the party department gave me some time to work on being destructive to/around the property I live at. And also play some midnight-parking-lot baseball. You probably can't even throw a baseball, you girl.

As soon as I did arrive at the "party", I was ushered quickly to the kitchen by an alert and rather spry Stan. In the kitchen, laying on the floor was a shouting and belligerent little hobbit, known to his friends as Mikey. Mikey is very dumb when he drinks, in a good way. Much like how all of you are dumb in each and every way at every waking moment of your small, sad lives. As a result, Mikey has cut and re-opened and re-cut his right hand each weekend for the past month. A skill to be sure. In the picture above you may note that his re-opened hand also happens to be full of sausage and ketchup that, placed there by Andrew, was about to be thrown all over the kitchen and me.

Wa!

Note the mix of anguish, pleasure, and awareness of his own dead-end life: Mikey Lantz prepares to receive the gift of ketchup covered sausage courtesy of Andrew.

Some of this was beer. Some of it was...well, I'm not sure.

There was a lot of chaos to this portion of the evening and a lot of great things happened. This picture captures just one of them.

Here we have Mikey trying to convince CJ that he should punch Mikey. CJ didn't agree and refused to oblige Mikey. However, he did allow Mikey to hit him in the face. Odd choice. After several more minutes of pleading, I agreed to do the one thing Mikey asked of me: Punch him in his little hobbit face. His theory was that it would help him get girls. I have never heard more sound theory in my life, and I doubt that you have either.

So all in all, I gave him a straight fist at about 65% of full capability. The sound of my fist against Mikey's face in still to this moment one of the best sounds I have ever heard in my entire life. Immediately afterwards we all burst into laughter, especially Mikey, who while staggering backwards decided to stick his entire head into the dish water/dishes in the sink and just sit there for about 20 seconds. After several more minutes of stumbling around unsure of where he was, Mikey began to hug me over and over. This was a great experience and maybe some of you will also share in it one day, but I highly doubt that because you are nowhere nearly as good friends with me as Mikey is. He bought me bananas at the Oxford house 5 years ago.

Most of the rest of the time at the house was a blur, but I remembered it ending when the two sluts Mikey was towing around got blamed for the "mess" in the kitchen which I do not recall any of us being involved in. Then Mikey started yelling at the girl who was larger than him like most girls who read blogs. Mikey's comeback? "You're wearing Aeropostale" Yeah, that was golden. Very funny. He also made a comment about wearing UFC gear, which summarily brought roughly 5 sweet dudes, wearing UFC gear no less, teeming around the corner looking for some violence or something. Sadly for them all that happened is that they got clowned by a very belligerent and drunk hobbit as I shuffled him out the door.

Our next destination of Stan's gf's house. We walked there, somewhere along the way losing Mikey, but not the two annoying slags who claimed to be "dyke lovers" together. Really cool. Oh yeah, that is why I don't hang out with girls just out of high school, they think things that were played out while Fresh Prince (amazing show by the way) was still in syndication are somehow new and amazing and really catchy. False. They were not attractive and very annoying. Double fail. When we got to Smashley's house, Stan and I took to making any and all food and drink that we decided was pleasing to us. After the pizza was done cooking and Stan was cutting it, Smashley was hitting him, which in return waranted wild slashing from Stan with...a butterknife. Turns out that while butterknives are useless in limb removal, they are really good at ruining the stitching that they catch on, and thus effectively ruining the previously nice shirt/shawl/whatever thing that Smashley was wearing. This pissed her off. So she would hit him more. And he would slash wildly more. Than Stan tried to choke her out, it was mostly working, but he had set his front arm wrong at the hand and therefore wasn't yielding maximum results, to Smashley's cousin, Jamal, was like "What?" and tried to restrain Stan by putting him in a chokehold, which mostly worked except for the fact that Stan, determined to see Smashley exit consciousness, had managed to maintain a double-handed grasp on Smashley's hair. Don't get too worked up, most of you average looking girls could only be so lucky to find yourself in a position where Stan would have two fists of your hair. How sad it is that you average girls even exist, imagine how the completely unsightly ones must feel! I digress. After Stan's death grip on Smashley's golden locks was relinquished she fired off the best punch that Stan has ever taken in his life. Bloody lip. Amazing. At this point I got kind of conflicted/turned on. It gets really grey from that point out.

Stan slashes with butterknives, Smashley punches faces, I hit Mikey in the face.

UPDATE: Comments on my facebook.