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When bored, party

As promised, Tuesday night was spent partying too long into the night. Apparently, the trams don’t run around 5am, and that means you have either to walk home from the other side of the city, freezing your ass off the whole way, or hail a cab and get absolutely owned by exorbitant nighttime rates, when you’re shit broke because you just blew all your money buying rounds for your friends. And sometimes you’re with whiny drunk girls who don’t want to man up and walk home in the refreshing bite of Bavarian winter.

Sigh.

But seriously, it was a fantastic time, as I’m sure the pictures indicate. The photoset is yet another tortuous series of drunk laughter pictures, but sometimes looking at those are just what one needs. And what can I say? I love to spread joy. I hereby infect you with the effusive gladness that is my existence.

Carl rocks socks, as I think is obvious. Also, for the record, his expression is always that of, “My, is that a camera you have there? And are you planning on photographing yours truly?” That expression has absolutely nothing to do with the presence of a camera in his immediate vicinity. Believe me.

Man, if you think my eyes are haunting in that picture, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

Here’s one of the crew of jerks I typically run with. And don’t comment on the perspective, because I don’t understand it either. We were in an M. C. Escher club or something.

But probably my favorite picture of the whole night is the one that follows, just because it so perfectly conveys everyone’s personality in it. It’s a masterpiece. Dave has a freaking library of party photo faces, and he manages, even while drunk, to tailor them to the situation at hand.

And that’s that, I’m afraid. As ever, there’s a full album up for perusal.