So, I decide to go out and see Jim's band play at broken city....k, so he owed me $170. I meet up with Jeff and Neal at Derek's. Jeff gets bored and so we started playing quarters. After consuming all of the beer, and moving on to the rye, we almost don't even leave to go out. We walked downtown, and Jeff procedes to vomit about seven times on 17th ave. We get in, drink, see the band, close the bar, Jeff steals a bunch of SixPackJacket stickers, which we coveted the downtown core with. Get pizza at 3am. Call Alston, wish her a happy birthday, Neal gets on the phone, tells her he's her boss and she is fired.
Leading on to the next morning. Laura wakes Neal and I up, the spooning should have done it, but it was the buzzer. She walks in, says, "why does it smell like puke in here." And Neal and I are unbeknownst to the large vomitous mass Laura would find in the sink, on the floor, and on her pajamas..... And we were like, "what the fuck!" We thought it must have been Jeff, so we're looking for him, and can't find him anywhere. "Did he even come up with us?, is he alive?" So, I try to recollect my thoughts of the previous 8 hours and have no idea, there was a 98% chance that I was not the phantom puker, but that other 2% still haunts me to this day, as I truly do not know, and I haven't heard back from Jeff.
