Does anyone have a towel? I know where my towel is, but the laundromat is closed for the night. My hotel is also convinced that I am a pervert, but some things aren't worth denying, even when one's honor is at stake. Let me put it mildly: I was out for a solid day's worth of wank when the call came in. Not quite downtown, but close enough that any further deviation would require at least 2 more trips to the liquor store, and frankly, that just wasn't going to happen. What would they think of me there? I have a reputation to uphold, after all.
Didn't have my camera or a tripod, but my homeboy Billy did me a solid when he told me to just take his infrared camera and "wank as hard as you can".
In retrospect, a more fitting analogy would be "what a hooker wearing sunglasses sees when you're beating her up, minus the violence". I'd like to think that if every sexually transmitted disease got to the roof and took a picture, it would look something like this:
Perhaps a touch less herpes here, but nauseating nonetheless:
We really tried to get Harrison Ford to come rock out with us, but he's too busy pissing all over your childhood with the new star wars fiasco, so Gary Busey was happy to fill in. It was his kind of party:
After we dragged poor ol' Gary Busey back to his hotel room (he didn't handle the rohypnol very well, to be honest), we decided we'd rooftop that shit as well. Camera graciously balanced atop the head of a hooker we flat out refused to pay: