I saw summer away proper, by shooting her in the bathing suit, until she was nothing more than a lost cause or a thoroughbred racehorse named Barbaro. Gone, but not forgotten. Grab a can of Fall Zero and pop that top…

This Shit Is Mango Pickles

My hips don’t lie, nor do the shimmies of the belly dancers at Konak. In case you weren’t at the Vacuum for Click. on Sunday and didn’t catch the postgame play-by-play, there is a universal knowledge between those WHO LIVED that it was baby-ass smooth. That’s being cool about it. It was Euro Disney and Hogwarts’ architectural lovechild. BYObackpacks made sense here. Beer sliding. Rakish simpletons rappelling rafters. Paying off cops. Patio networking. Diplo downgrading with less funktastic ladyfolk. Sunglasses all over the place. Instead of partying, some people just stood around and talked about how it was such an omega party. The Code of Rave was an innate sense that we all downloaded upon entrance. [photo credit: yapsnaps]

At 10:38am on Monday, I was still partying because there was enough Monster in my body/soul to power my laptop for a month. Enough here means hardly an entire can because I was too distracted to finish. If you even suggest the color green in my presence I get high. And if my laptop does get so amped that it becomes a human vessel, I could date it and my sex life would be as foolproof as my nightlife. You don’t realize what Firefox does for me. [photo cred: North Philly magic]

By Tuesday, after I met that hot, hot sleep, I was ready for the DHC & PBJ show. No, they’re not a Talkin’ Shit Favorite Pet. I’m just as hard on you if I love you as I am if I hate you. DHC took it to the max, haven’t turned into assholes yet, and are made for magazine covers. You’ll know.

How To Get Kicked Out Of…Making Time

Ever feel like you’re having such a gay ole time that you need to kick the blast in the ass? That is when you need to be forcibly removed from the game. In this feature, we’ll deconstruct every spot/event known to clubkind until we’ve got the keys to the endz. This week, I got the inside whoa on pissing your night away at Making Time, ye oldguard favorite, by rounding up everyone I know who has been down that road. Here is the surefire:

Fall down the stairs at Transit. If your fall is annoying and disruptive enough to the hustle and flow, security will show you the door.

Do nothing, or become so intoxicated that you cannot remember what you did. Make drunk calls to your friends when the police are frisking you outside. Insist that you are innocent and did nothing.

Piss in the sink. Get caught. Give your dick all of the credit.

Or you could go all the way offensive and throw a cup of urine or beer at the crowd like one of our informants, but lemme get that heads up text first?

DO WANT/DO NOT WANT

Cowbells/Whistles
To Climb The Comcast Tower/Whatever New iThing Is Forced Upon Our Culture
Nonverbal Communicae/Cryptic Text Messages
Grasshopper Limited Ed. Tees/the 90’s

Confessions On The Dancefloor

“The point is that no one realizes that September is summer. In September, the water at the shore is the warmest.”

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 6th, 2007 at 11:45 am.