I got back from Florida last week, but as soon as I returned it was Skark Skarey movie night, complete with dry ice to make fog and some extra that I stuck in a punch bowl with berry limeade and vodka to carbonate it. It somehow turned into Skark night swimming in the pool during a thunder storm (yes, I know, but at least we weren’t holding golf clubs high in the air). Disregard my arm looking fat, it's really not like that in real life.
Then on Saturday I had the gays (Timmy and Bill) over for bbq and a couple pitchers of mojitos, then subsequent walking around my front lawn with champagne flutes full of pink champagne. At some point one of us had the grand idea to bake a cake (this might have been fueled by Timmy’s bearings of high quality greenery) at 1 am. So we walk down to the gas station, buying our cake mix and the gas station attendant who had already seen us in there a couple times that day was like “really, REALLY now? Baking a cake in the middle of the night?” Nevertheless, chocolate cake with strawberry frosting and oreos on top never tasted so good.
The trip went awesomely, and eventually I’ll get to all of my stories with corresponding pictures. I went to Busch Gardens, and it turns out it’s not a good idea to eat a hearty meal of ribs and French fries and then go on Kumba twice in a row (yay, we had platinum passes that let us skip to the head of the line and go twice on all the rides)… the three people behind me that were covered in my rib-french fry vomit also figured out it was a bad idea. Hell, I’m just glad I didn’t throw up on my friends or family. That wouldn’t have been cool at all. Notice I'm wearing two different pairs of sunglasses; fucking gwazi stole the first pair (as well as almost thieving a shoe). To recoup the loss, I stole a replacement pair from the gift shop