7th and Going: The Speed Dating Party 10/20

The first question I asked when told that there would be an amateur speed dating party was: How is that going to work? The answer is simple enough and surprisingly obvious: It won’t. However perhaps if it had been publicized as more of a speed dating themed PARTY and less like it was going to be an actual singles mixer well maybe it would have been slightly more successful. Then again who’s to know. It was a nice house with a well manicured lawn- replete with trimmed and shaped hedges! Yes. Fancy digs. It turns out that the party would be exactly as I had imagined it, lot’s of guys sitting around a table full of booze talking about what they had imagined the party was going to be like. The hosts were great. A+. Jason Simms showed clips of fake comedy speed dating on his computer and kept the drinks flowing and the conversations rolling, the two ladies that were there were his two present roommates and they were cordial and not freaked out at all about the fact that they were the only female presence in a room full of dudes and I suppose you could look at it like well of course cause they were the center of attention, but in actuality there was a very calm egalitarian feeling once everybody mutually concluded that no actual speed dating would be happening. We all wore name tags despite the extremely low capita of the group and everybody seemed to be having nice laid back conversation in happy moods. That is until a couple of drunk girls showed up and did in fact become the center of attention. They were loud. They were witty. And these dudes were completely unprepared for the sort of boisterous verbosity these ladies were spitting. Unfortunately they perhaps had drunk a bit too much during their pre-party cause just as quickly as they had come in and livened up the place they disappeared: one to the couch passed out and one to who knows where...Though there were a few less guys there as well soooooo….Right. Any way then we decided to check out this other party we had heard about earlier, mainly because the liquor table was beginning to clear. Up we went into the chilly chilly night and walked up to 11th and Killingsworth. Much to our chagrin the party had already ended and the supposedly “these guys fuckin’ rock” rock bands had already fuckin’ rocked as much as they could much earlier in the night(though in fact it was only 1am when we showed). Of course, house parties must abide by neighborhood rules and thus the music usually does end rather early. Jim Stone got his bike stolen and so check it out: Fuck you retarded crack head bitches who go around stealing bikes from people and then selling them for 30 bucks to hipsters. Why don’t you just go suck a dick for some rock like your mother used to do back in the good old days. Last time I checked dome was still a perfectly reasonable currency for hard drugs. You sans nut pussy fucks are the guys I see in alleys holding sacks of adorable kittens and just chilling there chuckling through your swollen festering gums while you jam an ice pick into the helpless mewing bundle. You smell like a dead up wino ate his own shit and then vomited after chugging a jug of Carlo Rossi…I hate you and so does everybody else. Your mom cries every time she thinks of you. You suck. Oh and Portland…I realize that winter is here and everybody in the room is skirting around him being like: “Uhhhh….It’s that guy again…Everybody pretend like we aren’t trying to have a party.” But check it out. In a month or so he’s gonna be the one throwing all the parties and so let’s step it up a notch and just include him this time so that we can have a little fun again. ALRIGHT!