So somewhere around this time, I started spitting on my friends. Well, more like spitting on my hand and throwing it at them. I don't know, it seemed funny at the time. Needless to say, people weren't happy with me. After realizing that I'd been an asshole, I apologized and Seth opened his arms for a hug. Little did I know, it was a set up: while I was hugging Seth, Grant snuck up behind me and poured his beer down my shirt (while Fatty, privy to the plan, waited in the wings with the camera. Bastards).
Saturday night Grant and I stayed in watching TV at my house until like 1am (losers) and then finally got our asses in gear to go meet Seth (who had just come down from Boston) and a bunch of other people at Antarctica. (L to R: Seth, Big Daddy, Grant [looking tres Billyburg in his gay-ass, cocked, camo hat] and me).
....a night out on the town! Seth being a pimped-ass high roller, he called in to have a limo chaffeur our asses around all night. Nothing says class like a white-stretch with neon underrunners, baby.
In Montreal, we met up with the three other guys (who drove in from Boston). Seth (the guy next to me), Chef (not pictured because he's being blocked by Fatty's head) and the uber-scary (and therefore edited out of most of the pictures) Ethan (gee, can you figure out which guy is the sociopath in the pic...c'mon, look carefully.).
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