Writing Prompts!

Not sure how I found this link, but someone out in the internet yonder posted this 365 Days of Writing Prompts, and I thought it would be a good resource for this here blog. Figured I could take some of the 365 topics and write about them, which is what I think they planned on all along. So...guess I proved them write. HA! See what I did there? 


Here's the link in case you want to take a gander...


http://dailypost.files.wordpress.com/2013/12/365-days-of-writing-prompts-1387477491.pdf


So just to help you along in your reading, assuming you've continued reading, the writing prompt is in bold, followed by a quick explanation. Below that you'll find my hilarious responses. Enjoy.

Fictional Elevator

You're stuck in an elevator with an intriguing stranger. Write this scene.

Me: Hello. 

Intriguing Stranger: (small nod)

One hour passes. 

Exit scene. 

Alternate extended encounter. 

Me: Hello. 

Intriguing Stranger: (small nod)

Me: Wasn't really planning on being stuck in an elevator all afternoon. 

Intriguing Stranger: I'm sorry, did you say something? 

Me: Just said that I wasn't really planning on being stuck in an elevator all afternoon. 

Intriguing Stranger: Yeah me neither. 

Me: Do you like plastic silverware? 

Intriguing Stranger: Huh?

Me: Do you like plastic silverware? 

Intriguing Stranger: Why are you asking me that? 

Me: I'll take that as a no. 

Intriguing Stranger: What? 

Me: By your response, I can see that you don't really like plastic silverware. 

Intriguing Stranger: How do you figure? 

Me: I don't figure, I calculate! (pulls out plastic spork and gouges out said Intriguing Stranger's eyes).

Elevator opens. 

Exit scene. 

Tagline

Often, our blogs have taglines. But what if humans did, too? What would your tagline be?

Peanut Butter Socks! 

Keep out

Who is the one person you hope isn’t reading your blog? Why?

As much as I miss both of my Grandmas, I'm happy they are unable to read this blog...at least in the physical realm. And it's not so much because I think they would take exception to some of the content, but because I couldn't take the gushing praise and constant adoration they would both send my way. I was pretty much the favorite grandchild for both of them, that's a pretty well known factoid in our family. Don't get me wrong, they both loved all their grandchildren, but it was obvious that I was their shining star, their fortunate one, their Elvis Presley, their as Christ is my saviour...David has descended straight from the heavens in order to shine light upon our collective weary souls. And I totally get that. I do. However, I still love all my brothers and sisters and cousins and whatnot, regardless of their shortcomings. They're good people. What my grandma's couldn't see in them (but saw all too easily in myself), I'll never know, as my heart is kind and loving and I only see the good in all. 





Kick it

What’s the 11th item on your bucket list?

11. Splurge and get yourself a new bucket at CVS.

(Message for my Mom. Please stop reading now.)

Call Me Ishmael

Take the first sentence from your favorite book and make it the first sentence of your post.

I can do better than this, I'll write out the whole first chapter of my favorite book, Jesus For Children.

"Stay where you are," said the young girl, "or I'll scream!"

"My name is Gabriel," said the tall stranger.

"Are you an angel?" asked Mary

"I have a message for you."

"You shouldn't go about surprising people," said Mary closing her book.

"Angels are for surprises," said Gabriel.

"I didn't know that," said Mary.

"You are one of God's favorites," said Gabriel. "He wants you to know that."

"Thank you for telling me."

"And he wants to ask you a favor. He wants you to be the mother of his child. The child the Scriptures speak of. The child that will save all the people of the world. Will you do God this favor?"

"Does he have to ask?"

"God always asks."

"He knows I read the Scriptures and will do what he asks."

"Blessed are you among women," said Gabriel, and the angel was gone. 

Yes, God did have to ask, thought Mary as she returned to her book, and yes, she would never say no. 

Holy balls is that creepy. I should probably just stop here, but that's pretty f'ng creepy, and I feel kind of obligated to talk about this sex trafficker, Gabriel, and his imposing bossman, who goes by the name of God. Seriously, what better way for men to get laid, than to ask women to believe in a God who wants you to procreate all the time. Ya can't say no, that's for sure! Do what you're asked. And if that asking happens to involve a bit of hanky panky in yer stanky, well that's alright, just pull that lambswool thong to the side a bit.


Perhaps I misinterpreted this scene, but I doubt it.


Sorry Mom, I couldn't resist that one. Hopefully you stopped reading like I warned you.

iPhone Photo Blogger Blog.

I'm not sure why I'm always fascinated by the amount of decay in the Chicago subway system, but I am. They should really figure out a way to give subway tours, especially while the trains are still running, but I'm sure that's a no-no since 9-11 and all. Don't want those terrorists learning the deep, dark secrets of our transit system. Kind of makes me think they should stop posting the transit maps all over the place. Plain and simple, they're just inviting an attack. 

There's a special place in my heart for Boston Baked Beans. I'm probably in the minority on this one, but what can I do? Old candy habits die hard.

Pretty swank motel over on Cicero, not too far from Midway. I imagine many travel weary folk reserve rooms here so they don't have too far to goo once they depart the airport.

This picture isn't all that good quality wise, but if you look closely over there on the left, that's Dan Buban on lead guitar showing off his hot licks and sleazy tricks! Doug Marks would be proud. I believe this was the first time I ever witnessed my brother playing live and he didn't disappoint. Reminded me of Nuno Bettencourt and Vito Bratta 69'ing while listening to Bang Tango's Pistol Whipped in the Bible Belt album.

I'm not sure who's to blame for Maxine picking up this nasty habit, though I imagine it was just a matter of time. I mean, hell, if you're going to eat Popeye's and get plastered on Evan Williams whiskey all the time, you might as well top it off with a few smokes.

Count the Daves! Count the Daves! Why aren't you counting the Daves? How many are there? Bet you don't know the answer. Trick question! There's only one. I went to school for printing, not gene splicing...or Jesus studies.

This is what I've been sort of waking up to...25 to 45 minutes after I actually wake up. It's the view from the Halsted Orange Line station. Well, it's one of the views, I suppose. You can choose to look whatever direction you want, but quite often this is how I choose to orient myself. Can anyone tell me what those rail cars are purposed for? I've never quite understood.

This one just goes to show that you can find beauty in the most unlikely places, even if you're programmed to not look for beauty anywhere. Sometimes it just slaps you upside the head and there's nothing you can do about it, except pull out your iPhone and take a picture.

Can you guess who was excited to see Judas Priest? That's right, these three were excited to see Judas Priest! There may also have been a fourth excited person, but I can't confirm nor deny those allegations, though I did fire my Deputy Chief of Staff just in case. 

Uh oh. Me make bad. Yeah it finally happened. Not only did I spend the last four days, of the first week of being 40, in much intestinal pain and watery craptitude, but I got in my first car accident as well. Not my fault. No one was physically injured. No one cried. Well my bosses may have shed a few silent tears, but I didn't notice. Perhaps it'll happen when the premium goes up? Good news is that the van still runs and I can still make the pickups and deliveries. The show must go on, right?

State of the Buban.

I just realized that the chair I use at my desk should probably be a bit taller so I can type without my arms resting on top of my laptop. Perhaps this will be the cause of the carpal tunnel syndrome I'm sure to acquire now that I'm officially past the point of my youth.

Of course my definition of youth has evolved as I've tacked on more and more years. I'm sure I said the same thing about it back when I turned 30, but those were different times. I was more carefree, had a decent career (or so I thought), had a long, prosperous future ahead. Heck, I even threw myself a pretty damned good birthday party as well, even though Jennifer didn't show up, since she was too busy sitting inside a boiling cauldron of a tent at some hippie commune out on the west coast. Ten years later, I suppose it's time to forgive her for that, but I can probably wait another year or two, she won't notice.

So here I sit, thinking about this being the last day of my 30's and trying to come up with something interesting to say about moving on up in the age brackets of life. Unfortunately, early onset alzheimer's has really early onsetted, as I'm kind of drawing a blank, or writing a blank, or shooting blanks or whatever the phrase is supposed to be. You decide.

Well I lasted a lot longer than Marc Bolan did, there's always that.

If you don't know who that is, please stop reading my blog, or if that's just not an option, which I completely understand, Google Marc Bolan and immerse yourself in the Warlord of the Royal Crocodiles whilst Carsmile Smith and the Old One Groove a Little.

Now where were we?

Oh yeah, I'm old. That's where we were.

Dangit.

Sometimes when I close my eyes and the world goes numb, I pretend that I'm not old. It's nice for a moment, but then that moment fades and something much harsher returns to focus.

So this is how you feel, Loreen?

I only wrote that to see if you actually ever read this blog. You're the least old person I know.

Maybe I'm not all that old. I mean, I've got a copy of The O'Reilly Factor For Kids right here on the top of my desk. This probably means I'm a kid, right? Right???? It should probably be on the bottom of my desk, but it somehow weaseled it's way up near the top. Funny how conservatives can do that. Anyway, I'm too busy reading Sarah Palin's last book, so I haven't started this one, but believe me, it's in the queue. Heck, even though I haven't started reading it, I've started tonguing Bill's ear in hopes of gaining a bit of his life wisdom. It's sort of like osmosis, but through the tongue. I've had some good results with this method, but I haven't been able to get anything out of Palin or O'Reilly so far. For the life of me, I can't figure out why not. Here's the method in pictorial form if that will help you see what lengths I go to in order to assimilate information into my being.

Information Whore

Feel free to click on the picture in order to enlarge it.

Okay seriously, where were we? Still talkin' golden oldies, right?

Right.

I also have some Silly Putty on my desk and a Smurf Birthday figurine, so maybe I'm not as old as I claim to be. Actually, let's see what else is on my desk to prove that I'm not actually an old geezer.

There's a Greg Brock baseball card from 1991 that I found on the street while walking to work a few months back. Though baseball cards used to be for kids, no kid these days is collecting beaten up Greg Brock cards from the street. Trying to be a kid fail.

There's eight unopened fortune cookies. No kid would have that many unopened fortune cookies on his or her desk. They'd be opened, eaten and digested a long, long time ago. Fail. But those are for a blog feature that I like to do now and again, so they'll stay unopened for a while.

There's a bottle of water. Do kids drink water these days or is there an app for that? Ha ha ha...that was clever.

There's some headphones. Okay, kids use headphones.

There's a mostly empty box of Milk Duds. Kids still love Milk Duds, right? That's one of the coolest candies of all-time. You can find them right beside the Sno-Caps and the White Fish at your local movie theatre.

There's a mostly empty cocktail glass of what used to be an old-fashioned. Damnit, there's that word. I knew I should've just made some sizzurp, or at the least, picked up some Four Loko at CVS.

Maybe I shouldn't have looked at what's on my desk.

There's no doubt about it. Tomorrow, I'll be 40 years old. Four decades of life. For a second there, I was trying to change the math in my head, thinking it might not be that long, but I was wrong, it has been that long. I'm not sure how I made it this long. There were many times in life when I was ready to call it a life and head on downstairs to hell, but for some reason, I didn't choose that path.

Of course, now that the gun laws are finally changing here in Chicago, maybe I'll reconsider? That's such an easy way to do it. When I start writing blog love letters to the NRA, please understand that I'm gonna off myself pretty soon.

Anyway...

I have nothing but love and gratitude for all my friends and family who kept me afloat during the darkest days and who also...desperately tried to drown me when I became so famous and cool that they couldn't stand it. That hasn't actually happened yet, but when it does you can all suck on my O'Reilly as I'll be too cool for school.

Well here goes...

I'm sorry to those I hurt along the way.

I'm grateful for the love I've received throughout from my family. You kids are the best, regardless of whether or not you happen to be older or younger than my present self. Of course, as the youngest of six, all my brothers and sisters are older than I am...so....uhhh...there's that I guess. We may not have the most normal of families, but I'll be damned if I'd have it any other way. Oh sure, throw in a few million inherited bucks and my tune would change rapidly, but it doesn't look like that's happening, so let's all be thankful for where we're at and who we've got. And what I've got is, without a doubt, the best there is on this here Earth. Thank you!

To my friends...besides my family, you're all I've got. You'll never quite understand how important you are to my existence. Without you I'd have only strangers to make fun of and put down and that's bound to get old after a while, so thank you for accepting my verbal abuse over these past however many years you've known me. You are all amazing, beautiful people and I can't wait to come up with some more zingers to take the wind out of your sails.

I miss all those who passed away too soon, as well as those who passed on at the right time. I'm not going to name names, but you know who you are.

This has been your State of the Buban.

Thanks for putting up with all my nonsense for 40 years.

I love you all.

David Anthony John Buban

Drivin' Mr. Davey.

Happy New Year my friends. I hope you are all doing well here in 2014. Last year was nothing short of amazing and I can only hope that 2014 will bring more of the same, not just to myself, but to all of you as well, my loyal blog readers. Not that you're necessarily only loyal to this blog, as I'm sure there are many, many other interesting blogs out there that warrant your attention, but I just want happiness for all blog readers out there, regardless of which blog or blogs they may be following. That's just how I am....always wanting the best for those who read short posts on occasion.

Anyway, one of the things that 2013 brought me was employment, and not just any employment, but employment that finally delivered the dream sort of job I've only dreamt of for all (almost) 40 years of my existence. I always wanted a job that would afford me the luxury of driving a Mercedez-Benz, and now I've got just that....as I drive a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter Van most of each and every Goddamned day! All those days of my youth when I'd spend my time rolling metal toy trucks to and fro across the carpet from this side of the room to the next have finally become reality. Oh sure, I don't actually drive a big rig, but this is a step in the right direction. I always said you gotta start somewhere and if that's at the bottom of the driving chain, well gosh darnit, that's where I'll start. Here's a little picture of my own personal paradise....

And here's what the inside looks like...

Bitches gotz to ride in style, am I right?

I'm wrong.

It doesn't actually look like that. It's much more metallic looking and quite a bit more sparse. Also since I'm driving it wouldn't really matter if it looked like this would it? The answer is no, no it wouldn't.

However...in lieu of not having that sweet setup inside the back of the van, I've got myself some other pretty entertaining options up front behind the wheel and I'm going to tell you all about them. Lucky for you, as I'm sure there are times when you're out driving around wishing texting and drinking weren't illegal as there's not much else to keep you entertained on the interstates and city streets. Well here are some games I've devised to help quell the boredom that can set in pretty much every hour of the day.

Please keep in mind that my company is located on the South side of Chicago. I won't disclose the actual location or the company name as I certainly don't wish to be fired or embarrass my employers, who are pretty fine people, but just for clarification, it's in between Midway and the Stevenson expressway.

Anyway on with the games. Feel free to play them when you're out driving.

The Double Mex!

Also known as a the Mexican! Mexican!

This occurs when I pass by two Mexican restaurants which are located right next to each other...no other businesses in between. When this happens, I honk for 3 seconds and shake my fist out the window while singing whichever Menudo song comes to mind. It makes no sense, as Menudo was a Puerto Rican band, but I do it anyway.

Terry Cloth Gross Robe. 

This is a fun game. Just tune into NPR. That's 91.5 on the FM dial here in Chicago. Once you start to space out for a bit (and it'll happen eventually), imagine that you're sitting down for an interview with Terry Gross, who's only wearing a terry cloth bathrobe. The interview doesn't have to get sexy, but for me, it always does.

Billboard Solutions. 

This game is played most often on 294, but you can also do it on the other highways, it's just that you're probably not going to solve anything quite as easily. The premise is that before I leave work I pick out one problem that I've been encountering in life lately and by the time my trip is over I have to find one billboard that advertises the best solution to my problem. Honestly, this works out better than most of the advice shrinks have given me over the years. Of course, JBK is the only shrink I've actually known and since he's my friend and I only see him when we're drinking and bullshitting, I probably shouldn't discount the value psychiatrists can provide. Anyway, back to the game. So pick out a problem and find a billboard that offers you a solution to that problem. It's almost foolproof. I've never solved so many issues just by going to White Fence Farm and Sybaris.

Wheels of Confusion

This is fun and really easy to do, so follow these instructions. Start driving down the highway and stare straight ahead. Don't look in the mirror. Don't look to the side, stare straight ahead. It also helps a LOT if you're hungover and/or very, very tired. Anyway, keep staring straight ahead and try to focus on one small, single dot way out far in the distance. Then let your mind go blank while staring at that dot. When you've gotten that far, start to think about being back at home and climbing into your warm, comfortable, inviting bed and pulling the covers slowly over your eyes, blocking out all light and life from your existence. Now the game begins. Sooner or later you're going to hear someone honk at you or you're going to crash into something. You win when you hear the honk and can react to it soon enough to prevent the crash. If you crash, you kind of lose, but not necessarily. It all depends on your perception of the crash, and it also depends on if you're dead or not.

You can also play the game by substituting death in place of your warm bed, but I find that to be a bit morbid, but feel free to play the game however you want. Regardless, if you play the game right, this is what you might see immediately before the exciting conclusion...

The Bob Seger Tweaker. 

This one is pretty easy to play. Every time a Bob Seger song starts playing on the radio, shoot up a bit of meth. I'm not sure any artist more accurately expresses meth use with his song titles than Bob Seger. Night Moves, Turn the Page, Still the Same, Roll Me Away, Beautiful Loser, Like a Rock, Mainstreet, The Fire Inside, The Fire Down Below, Get Out of Denver, Nutbush City Limits. The list goes on and on and on, never ending...just like I feel when a Bob Seger song hits the radio. He may not be a tweaker, but he's definitely the Seger.

Flash Cab!

Every time you drive by a Flash cab, you have to flash them! Now this is kind of difficult, since I don't have a pair of tits, so what I do is flash them mentally. Not with my non-existent tits, but what I do is mentally try to get one of my testicles to drop a bit further down than the other one. This is much more difficult to do than it might seem, especially when I switch it up, as I'm right-brained, but left-testicled, so when I try to do the opposite, it's very, very difficult. Also, this probably doesn't qualify as flashing, but when you're out on the open road making up games, you have to give yourself a bit of latitude with the rules.

Banquet Hall Bawl. 

You probably won't understand this one, but every time I pass by a banquet hall over here on the South side, I let out a bawl that would make a thousand banshees envious. This happens because after pretty much every death in my family we usually end up at one of these banquet halls for some sort of luncheon, so what I'm doing is honoring the deceased with my bawls. I don't know if that should be pluralized, but after the Flash Cab game, it seems more appropriate. Actually now that I think of it, it's not so much honoring the dead as it is wanting more South side kraut and polish sausage in my belly. Damn that stuff is good. One of these days, I'll stop and get some.

Nose Pickin' Trickin'

This is probably the game I play most often. All you have to do is stick a finger up your nose and start picking at your boogers. It doesn't matter if you're pretending or if you're really going at it, the game still works. All you have to do is get the driver next to you to laugh at you for your picking prowess. Most of the time they just look over with a dumb expression, but some will laugh. But really, the laughs on them as I'm really usually picking my nose. Like I said there's not much to do on the road. If the driver laughs, you don't have to eat the booger. If they don't laugh, well...

This game often segues nicely into the last game I'm going to share with you...

White Booger, Yellow Booger, Green Booger, Red Booger, STOP!

Now some of you who were just pretending to pick at your nose (liars) won't do so well at this game, but I'm pretty well versed in this one. So start picking and if you come out with a white booger, don't do anything, just keep searching. That's a freebie booger, since they're so common. Now if you come across a yellow one, you're getting somewhere, but not really. Yellow booger means you let off the gas and coast for ten seconds. This is really fun, as it pisses off a lot of people, especially when you're on the highway. Keep picking. If you happen upon a green booger, slam on the gas and haul ass for ten seconds. I don't get too many of the greenies, so this doesn't happen too often. Consider yourself lucky if you do, as it's always fun to haul ass. If you keep picking long enough, eventually the boogers will turn red. Slam on the breaks! Usually the people behind you will be able to stop, but if not, it's their own fault as they should have been paying more attention. If an accident does occur, make sure you clean off your fingers before getting out of the car to confront the asshole who hit you. If no accident occurs, stop playing the game, because red booger is synonymous with blood booger, and your'e probably doing some damage to your nasal passage.

Well that's all the games I've got for you at this point, but believe me there are plenty more. I may have my dream job, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun while daydreaming away my job. Perhaps that doesn't make sense to you, but it does to me, and this is my blog so that's all that matters. Good night.

Die Young.

Apparently I'm getting old.

On Friday, when I finally got near home after leaving for work 13 hours earlier, I stopped in at Subway and ordered a footlong Italian BMT sub. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, so I was kind of hungry. Sandwich in hand I went next door to CVS to get a 6-pack of Busch, but instead I decided on the 12-pack in case my roommates wanted some as well. We drink cheap beer at the homestead. Figured I'd spend my evening eating some food, drinking some beer, rocking some tunes, and correcting some photographs.

I ate the whole sub, drank half a beer, and went to bed about an hour and a half after getting home.

Lame.

Fast forward to Saturday night and the exact same thing is happening. This time, I got through two beers before the sweet, silent call of sleep started permeating my thoughts. I've resisted it's delicious call though. Cracked open a VanderMill Blue Gold cider to switch things up a bit. Not sure it's going to do the trick, but at least no one can say I didn't try.

I suppose all this bullshit not being able to drink some beer and crank some tunes and enjoy my evening   is the fault of my work schedule, which forces me out of bed sometime between 5:30 am and 6:00 am. For those of you who know me, I'm sure you can understand why this is problematic. Me no likey wake up and me no likey go to sleep. But I gotta do what I gotta do in order to pay some of these bills that keep piling up. Oh sure, I'll give you $415 for a party I told you I wasn't able to pay for at the time. I'll get right on that. You want $200 for a fantasy baseball league in which half my team was on the disabled list to start the year and ended with me selling off most of my good players in order to start a rebuild. Okay. Oh missed some tolls because you thought your friend had an I-Pass in her car? That'll be $300 please. Lord knows what will be next.

Life was much easier when I was unemployed, but as I told a friend recently, loyalty to your financial provider just doesn't matter all that much in America these days. I was loyal. I was a great receiver of that unemployment money. I cashed that check every single time I got it. Every single time! Not once did I forget. Complete loyalty and what did they do? Cut my pay. Not once, but twice over the course of a few months. And still I cashed the checks. I didn't call up and complain. I didn't quit and try to get the money elsewhere. I stayed on, loyal as can be. And then...it just stopped. They stopped sending me money for no reason at all, forcing me to find other means to get by. I gave them months and months and more months of constant loyalty and they kicked me off for some bullshit reason or another. I blame the democrats! Or is it the republicans?

I forget.

Either way, it's definitely not my fault. All I wanted to do was have some fun. What's so wrong with that? Ronnie James Dio can answer that question...

"So live for today, tomorrow never comes. Die young, die young, die young."

Spanish Midnight.

I wonder if my publicist would be amenable to a publicity tour in Latvia sometime this Autumn?

I wonder if this greek salad is the most enjoyable salad I've eaten since my last salad?

I don't know if there is enough water in this glass.

I wonder if Judas Priest was the appropriate musical decision after being sequestered in my bedroom quarters, so my selfish roommates can watch a Breaking Bad episode?

Honestly...I'm going to change it.

You don't understand how ashamed I feel at this moment in time. I am letting down 40+ years of the best heavy metal known to mankind.

I'll listen to Jackie by Sinead O'Connor. This is pretty ridiculously damn heavy in it's own way.

I've been on mostly a juice/salad diet for the past 6 days I think.

Two or three servings of juice per day.

Lots of water as well.

Freshly made juices with apples, cucumbers, red onion, celery, cabbage, beets, swiss chard, kale, oranges, ginger, lemon, carrots, tomatoes, and probably some other vegetables I'm forgetting.

I was sitting comfortably at my desk this afternoon when I sharted.

Of course I didn't know at first.

I knew when I stood up and felt the wetness seep through my buttocks.

You live you learn.

Hustled my ass to the bathroom and finished the shart.

Cleaned up.

Dried off.

Sat in my room in a clean pair of boxers for about 15 minutes before I had to quickly put my shorts on and get to the bathroom.

Brought my own roll of toilet paper this time as we were getting low.

"Ran down and the lady said it
It got torn down
And the priest just said it
It got burned
They give me five years, five years
It's my turn"

Well that's it for Sinead.

Anyway I've dropped 12 pounds in the last 6 days of this dietary adjustment.

I don't own a scale.

I purposely deceived you for the purpose of my enjoyment.

I am sorry.

Can you believe it's almost September?

Let's not discuss that as the end of summer is a very painful, depressing episode I endure each and every passing of the year.

Besides the Cubs and family and friends and the Bears and the pretty obvious coolness of Chicago, I should probably be somewhere else.

I have to ask myself where does the world need Dave most?

It's a difficult question, but I have to believe there is an answer.

Sucks that it's not an Obama rodeo clown, but that guy already took care of that.

I have to pee. BRB.

IABFBRB.

Who's up for a bit of T-Rex?

All of you, that's who!

And, if you're not, I'm sorry for your misinformed existence.

The end.

Bachelor Party Shenanigans Extravaganza!

We all made it out alive, so that's positive. Nothing else really needs to be said. 

Kind of low res files since there were so many of them. Click on the first one (after the movies) and they enlarge into a very convenient slideshow format. Enjoy.