Don't know what was funnier:
A wasted Mr. L subtly trying to feel up the lady in the beige jacket while he schooled us in his breast fondling techniques, then insisted I was next (refused). Maybe it was Christiane, at the sight of the insulin tube in his hairy belly, shrieking, "What the FUCK is that?!" and then directly falling over, right on top of him. Perhaps it was the argument I had while thwarting the idea of an ecstasy party anywhere near the vicinity of my house. Possibly it was being chased around the apartment by Christiane as she professed her love, simply because I had worn, as she put it, "the Alice band." Most likely it was RPP screaming about bringing back "titty-fucking," then trying to use the drunken barrister as a prop in her clothed demonstration. I might have said something about that being "so '97."
And our young associate was worried that becoming an attorney would make his life boring.
Congratulations on passing the Bar, Sir!
1 comment:
yup, dem beatles is on a bar code (though i can't take credit for doctoring the photo).
and what could be better than a rave at your place? set the cage up in the living room.
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