Austria, Germany, and Russia Kicked My Ass

Red Bull is often billed as a "sports drink." Vodka is not, but it usually comes from Russia, and they've been cranking out good bike racers. Jägermeister is German. Nobody in their right mind would consider this a sports drink, though it can be consumed as a sport.

We started at Party Central. Party central is loosely based as a house, but it is really a crew of people. We had it turned up to ten, since it was The Assassin's bachelor party. The appropriate movie is playing on the big screen tv, Jackass. There were several computers displaying other fine art as well. Burgers and dogs were grilled up by the captain of the GSTz Party Team. He'd even booked the party bus. He had a black eye. But that was before the party started.

I've been taking it easy for a couple of weeks. Sort of letting the body recover from the stress of the season. Been feeling pretty good, actually, and ready to start the building process for next season. You know how those hurricanes that have been hitting Florida? Things were looking so good for me for a minute there.

Since I had been taking care of myself, I figgered I'd imbibe in a few drinks over the course of the night, but I wasn't going to turn myself inside out, even if it was his bachelor party and B. Thomspon was conducting the orchestra.

But when Robbie put that damn Jägermeister shot inside an already nasty glass of Red Bull, something turned inside me, and at that point, it wasn't my stomach. Chugalug. Hopefully the 'rita before and after would dampen the damage. Well, it made sense at the time.

Since Red Bull is a sports drink, and Vodka looks pretty much like water, the drink of choice as we hopped a couple of bars was already made. I mean, I'm taking care of myself, so the sports drink has to be the healthiest choice.

What the fugg?

So we're all walking around the Dallas hot spots wearing t-shirts with Erik Estrada prominently displayed on the chest. But we made it look cool.

That is, we looked cool until The Assassin decided it would be good fun to tell anyone and everyone that it was he and I to be married...to each other.

So I had another one of those healthy drinks.

Whatever you do, don't drink seven of those things. Six may be OK, but I don't know. I didn't have six.

We managed to get most everyone and the extras we picked up along the way onto the party bus. We went to another establishment where it was like my sixth grade dance--only the girls were dancing. It was just a token appearance there, though. Sort of like crossing off an item on a scavenger hunt. By the time we got to the dance, the outcome of the game had already been decided.

Back on the bus and back to Party Central. A few guests were sucked into The Vortex, and seeing it happen and develop was kind of like that scene in Twister when you see the cow, still alive, in the tornado being taken to wherever tornados take cows. Those guests were just hoping they got let off the tornado in some way that they could tell the tale later.

Jump off the roof onto the bouncy house, put on the head gear, tilt your head back to stop the bleeding. Flower Mound sure is a long way from Party Central. Chloe beat me home, but not by much. I hit the bed just as the kids were waking up.

I've said, "That was stoopid" 112 times so far today.

Good times.