Insane Analog

Roxy Reynolds is the truth. One of the finest black adult actresses, big ups.

Mac Lethal is paying for me to go to Paid Dues this year.

I feel like I should explain this picture.

On a total whim, my ace-boon-koon Maurice and myself decided to go visit our friend Theo in Carbondale, IL. Once we arrived after some shenanigans with Theo’s faulty directions and a barely functional gps, we got fresh and hit up the club with a lot of vodka in tow and Kid N’ Play dance moves. Yeah, we got pretty loose.

Once we all got back to Theo’s apartment, I remembered that there was more alcohol in my suitcase. Everyone took a few swigs just to keep their respective buzzes going. I however, decided to get all Hollywood Ko’ and mix various drinks and just get overall hammered to the point of no return. By the end of the night, I was break-dancing, rapping and doing all kinds of other unruly shit.

Did I mention that I didn’t eat at all beforehand?

The next morning, I felt like Death himself came with about three of his homeboys and jumped me like that one scene in Don’t Be A Menace. I tried to get up and walk to the bathroom but I fell back to the ground (not before I hit my head on the wall though). I tried to talk, but I couldn’t; everything just came out incredibly slurred and barely coherent. Even my thoughts were jumbled. I kept yelling for help because I honestly thought I was going to die if I wasn’t dead already, but nobody answered. I was alone. All alone.

;_;

I managed to crawl into the bathroom and sit by the toilet encase I was going to vomit and HOPEFULLY FEEL BETTER. Unfortunately, my body wasn’t having anything of that nature. My still drunken rationale convinced me that I should crawl to the other bathroom to throw up, since the one I was currently sitting in didn’t arouse my stomach acids enough to actually form an exit strategy.

I sat in the second bathroom for about an hour before everyone else showed up with Arby’s and various groceries. Myself smelling the food and hearing everyone talk about chips and chicken resulted in this picture; I tried to crawl as fast as I could because gawddamn I was fucked up and needed medical attention. Or food.

As you can see I didn’t get very far which explains this picture; me trying to crawl, drooling on the floor, barely conscious. And Maurice not asking me if I’m alright, not checking to see if I even had a pulse, but just holding up a bag of fucking beef jerky over my head.

Thanks, Maurice. Bitch ass nigga.

Joystiq, never change. Ever.