Shelley Pomeroy's End of the Year Party is actually happening. I'm not sure what's more impressive: That we did something we said we were going to, or that we all think we can be in a small mountain cabin for three days and not hate each other by the end of it. Excuse me, I mean hate each other more.
If I were betting, I'd say the odds are good that someone is trapped in a refrigerator that's on fire before Memorial Day. And if pressed, I'd name Moronica as the favorite to be enjoying an up-close view of the crisper drawer.
In real life, the blog's writers and posters act just like they do online. So you can imagine the potential for anti-awesomeness this trip possesses. It's not a vacation, it's a prison sentence.
On the other hand, Moronica is threatening to bring ungodly amounts of alcohol, and my favorite friend Doogie will be there.
More to come, I'm sure, after I serve my time. I'd write more, but the labels say it all...
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3 comments:
Oh shit. That's a good looking dog. And he's been lifting weights, i see.
Seriously, are we going through with this? It's not too late to skip our flight and do something more fun. Like gouge our eyes out.
What else is Moronica bringing ungodly amounts of?
I'm sitting on Cruella DeBoner's couch right now, about to head off to Shelley Pomeroy's End of the such and such.
How happy are you you're not in my place?
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