Keith served up another legendary Mardi Gras Bash at Barry that quickly morphed into the Grand Guignol of debauchery. It was a pleasure to be victimized on Saturday.
The party people got vibrantly festive, a few bringing their colorful and intricate feathery masks along to celebrate a usually decadent holiday.
The Hat was up to his recurrent hi-jinx, blending valor effortlessly with gusto and a sense of wonder.
When Raj arrived I knew that Night of Champions would take on the usual ebullience and vigor we've greatly grown accustomed to. The Abita was on him.
We sampled hurricanes and began mingling. It had been forever since I’d occupied the same area as Tatyana, and she emerged from the woodwork to put her harmonical talents on major display.
Warmly seated around the central flame, she sweetly harmonized underneath the bare black sky.
I never knew of her secret gift, and she serenaded us all beautifully. Paradise was a place we found in our hearts, and I told her she could join me on hobo-trains anytime. Meanwhile, Keith was indulging in his homemade gumbo.
That stuff was unstoppable, and apparently the cake bordered on incredible judging by the fact it didn't last. Winslow was in the house, so it didn’t take long for him to line up a target and attack.
The Bash also featured the worst DJ of all-time. Normally I would never say anything so mean or spiteful, but since I’m musically inclined and have successfully controlled turntables, changers and computers with incredible results and applause, I’m able to insult this guy without a tinge of trepidation.
Bad song selections coupled with an even worse attitude are inexcusable. When Marylou requested “Nuthin’ But a ‘G’ Thang” he shrugged. What? Dude didn’t even have “Hoochie Mama” when I asked a couple minutes after. Later on, I jokingly told him that it’s the last time he’ll DJ their party. I wasn’t really joking, and everyone polled agreed: Loser.
All wasn’t lost when Roxie crashed the Bash around 3am, bringing in ample reinforcements to elevate the status of an already mythical night.
Her crew was relentless upon entrance, steamrolling through the lavish Bash unflinchingly, forcibly pulling back the eyelids of drunkards to create a brutal combination of apprehension with ambitious vulching.
Except for Raj and I, everyone was unaware of the legend Roxie carried everywhere.
I hadn't seen Bernadette and Jill in months, both truly deserving of honorary Basher titles. And after Mardi Gras, they all do.
Raj dove into the fray headlong, juiced up by the courage dished from dueling hurricane mixes, confident in his focused verbal tactics and bold bodily demeanor.
The Hat and Raj have recently formed a steady alliance that transcends most of what the average onlooker could possibly comprehend. The Hat was caught in the headlights for about 10 minutes, but recovered after a crucial key lime shot and stepped his game up big.
Tommy, who I hadn't seen for a long time, got the edge he needed by knocking back a few hurricanes to eliminate false bravado.
On the other hand, Steven is really coming into his own.
As an added bonus, he's officially a Basher.
His success with Jager-pouring girl may have earned him a promotion up to the secondary rank and file in The Circle. He needed to finally get Rebound Theory to work, and he did so with the authentic aid alcohol provides. Liquid courage has its tawdry advantages. Not sure how well he felt in the morning from actions, but that matters little.
Jager girl got me blitzed. Winner for the "Coolest T-Shirt of the Bash" went to this hero.
R.I.P. David Palmer, Jack Bauer rules, and as a side note, I recently acquired the official Jack “Tactical Gear Bag” Sack for $24.
Raj eventually went interior and posted up before leaving.
And then there's the tribute to the fallen, with this particular guy holding up the wall after being moved from the outside once projectile vomit escaped his frothing mouth.
I was astounded as to how fast the vomit was cleaned, I mean seriously, how many people like watching that or seeing the aftermath? Good job by the host. At one point I was crowned king, probably out of recognition for Bashing gloriously yet again.
This was the last photo taken.
Johnny ended up leaving with her, destination unknown. The only thing that brought a smile to my face on Sunday morning was the appearance of pretty balloons over a car dealership.
Late afternoon realization confirmed the night was awesome. For the first time in the history of consciousness, I decided to sleep instead of watching the Oscars. I don’t care about the Oscars when I’m freely dreaming.
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