A great big vomit-y hello to Victoria

Yikes. I'm a tad hungover. Here's a tip. Don't ever go kickboxing with a hangover. Just saying.

Last night, we celebrated the Tart's first night back in Victoria with a tipple and a boogie. This morning, on our way home, we celebrated the Tart's first morning back in Victoria with a vomit on the side of Warrigal road, underneath the Monash freeway (a big wave to all passing motorists).

It all started with a little (okay, a lot) of this:


I swear, I never knew my TV could be turned up so loud.

So after we relived the Tart's 19th birthday at (the now defunct) Transformers (Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride, nobody's gonna hold me down. Oh no! I've got to keep on moving), in my living room, we jumped into the awaiting yellow chariot and drove to our destiny.

Or quite possibly, we just drove to a hole. In fact, if it had of just been a hole in the ground, with a bar and a dancefloor, it probably would have been much better. However, considering there was a bar, and a dancefloor there anyway, it was much of a much-ness really.

I must say a big cheerio to the cunt in the Easter Bunny costume who decided it would a good idea to go round and hand out easter eggs/cop a feel all night. As you all are probably aware I'm SHITSCARED of rabbits, and SHITSCARED of people in real-size animal/weirdo costumes. IT'S NOT FUNNY TO CHASE PEOPLE AROUND PUBS, OK? Glass the Easter Bunny.

Somewhere in between, I remember Tart disco-pashing some guy in a tight western-style shirt. Whenever I staggered in their direction, I yelled 'Yeehah' or 'Ride'em Cowboy', and was of course met with death stares, which made it even funnier. I am nothing but an excellent best friend, of course.

I also remember hanging out with some random guy who appeared to dislocate his finger on several occasions. I also know he was drinking beer with raspberry lemonade, so he was a pussy and I should have dislocated his finger harder for him.

I vaguely recall dancing to 'Flaunt it' and thinking I was teh sex and all things equivalent. I know it's a lame song but that guy's voice is pure sex (especially when amped with alcohol) and it got my juices going. Fortunately, I was able to hold back the tidal wave of girlcum and no one drowned. Hurrah!

Then the next thing you know, the Tart is passing out in the taxi on the way home. No KFC run either. WAH! No wonder why I was seedy this morning. There was nothing to soak the alcohol up. After she was safely home, I stumbled my way to my apartment, proceeded to convince myself that Ferrero Rochers were a great hangover cure, drank the rest of the milk, and eventually passed out.

Mental note to self for next time:
1. Do not take mobile out again.
2. Chips with potato & gravy are a required pitstop.
3. Watch out for rabbits.