There is a lot of very deep programming involved in getting us to trade our scare time for green paper (that certain people can make more of very cheaply). I am very interested in using magic ritual to intentionally reprogram your subconcious beliefs...so I destroyed some fiat bank notes to remind myself that my labor is the scarce valuable assett....not the fiat bank notes that are used to measure and trade it.
Considering the timestamp on this photo says 4:09am, I'm guessing this photo was taken as (a totally blottoed) Lawrence took the stage to (angrily) thank everyone for coming before he sang the last song of the night. Lawrence, why are you waving a dollar around? Does anyone remember what was going on here?
Then at the end of the night Sarah paid up for losing the $40 bet we'd made about whether or not she'd ever make out with a certain guy (she said she wouldn't, I had bet that she eventually would).
...I decided to duck into the only pub that I could find that seemed to be open on a Sunday night at 11pm. Some replica British pub filled with UK ex-pats. I had few pints and half-heartedly watched Chelsea v. Birmingham (booooooring) then decided to call it a night.
Besides getting some great boob pics at the party, I also won a $20 bet. This girl was talking about the movie Goonies and turned and asked me "Hey, what was the name of the lumpy head guy?" "Sloth," I told her. "Sloth Fratelli." She was like "That's not even close." Anyway, I was positive that it was this his name. We were gonna Google it, but no computers were around. In the end, we decided that we'd walk around the party and ask other party-goers the same question. If at least five other people, unprompted by me, named the lumpy-headed character in question as "Sloth," I'd win $20. If, I couldn't find five partygoers to corraborate, I'd have to pay her $20. Needless to say, I had that shit wrapped up in about three minutes. Here's me with the girl I made the bet with. Hahah. (Just for the record, I'm so right.)
Grant managed to win this one (but the fact that he's still in the hole for $100 ensures that he'll rise to whatever Siege decideds to bet him on next).
I brought over my recently purchased mattress from the warehouse apartment in the Mission that I'd almost moved into and then stopped at the ATM to get cash to pay the movers that I'd scheduled to deliver all my stuff the next day. Then I went to sleep in my MONEYBED, Scrooge McDuck style.
We quickly traded in our tacky greenbacks for a fistfulla polychromatic peningur (which is Icelandic for "money"). Or as the natives say, "Najök-najök," which is Iceland for "Bling-bling." (P.S. - I am totally lying.)
Joanna, Grant's former Nerve intern (and founder of BurningAngel) came down to hang out. She recently started dancing at a Jersey noodie club and is making so much money that after three weeks she was able to buy a new car (which she paid for with a garbage full of money that she brought with her to the dealership). You probably won't realize that I'm not kidding until you see me in three weeks after I'm back from my breast augmentation surgery.
Look, my clothes aren't even off yet and all the ladies've got their money ready! Aw yeah, boyee. (Too bad they all put their money away once I started getting naked...).
We returned to the safety of the Nerve offices the next day only to receive a standing ovation upon our entrance. We had returned from the land of crazed girls with our egos intact and a fistful of cash taboot. Thanks Cake!
Grant tallies up the Benjamins (okay, the Wahingtons and Lincolns) in my car after we had dropped off the girl looking to get some Hot Male Stripper Double-Dong Actionâ„¢. We both still have her business card that she so smoothly stuffed down our underwear when we were dancing for her!
.jpg)
.jpg)
