On Saint Patty's (better known as 'How Badly Can You Butcher an Irish Accent?' Day) we ventured to our regular digs in Hollywood to... well, get drunk. And I can't apologize for my atrocious photography in this set because I wasn't even drunk for the bulk of it.
The eternal documenting of makeup and outfit shots - note eye make up matches lipstick matches shirt... I shouldn't be allowed near cosmetics...
Luna, the fucking lunatic...
...on earth as it is in Hollywood...
Johnny Papa. Michael Jackson... separated at birth?
The latest victims friends to take part in our festivities. We only
gave them a leeeeetle cancer...
I'll miss your ballet when you go back to New Jersey or wherever the fuck country you're from, Christian.
Ahhhhhhh! She's crushing my head!!!!!!!
"Fool, please." ::snap snap snap::
Dravin: inspiring abject hatred in the opposite sex since 1843.
Is that beer on your pants or are you a little too happy to see me?
The One. The Only. The G-to-tha-Finn.
Me and Meghan smoked all that in one night. We're trying to cut back.
But if we get cancer, she'll just cut it out with her light saber. Score!
2 am. First drink of the night... it gets worse from here, folks. Sorry Mom!
Someone gets it into their head that 4am is a good time for drunken hardcore dancing...
Smile for the camera, goddamnit!
Passed. Out. Pussy. You're supposed to be European!
Ryan Luna. The Cheshire Cat. Separated at birth? (Didn't I do this joke earlier?)
I hope you don't think I really drank this. What did I drink? One vodka and coke. OneDrinkDrunk. I rule at life!
All that remains of the once proud Marlboro Wall...
"What are we going to do tonight, Brain?"
This is where that one drink really sunk in... I laugh in the face of all your drinking tolerances!!!
So, that was my intoxication for this season. Look forward to more inebriation come summer.
Happy Saint Patty's, kids!